Ten Years in the Ranks
U. S. Army

BY

AUGUSTUS MEYERS

New York
The Stirling Press
1914

Copyright, 1914
By Augustus Meyers
New York

Preface

This narrative of ten years' service in the United States Army on the frontier and during the Civil War at an early period of my life is written mainly from memory after an interval of more than half a century. I have endeavored to describe in a simple manner the daily life of a soldier in the ranks while serving in garrison, camp and field.

Augustus Meyers.

Table of Contents

PART I.
Enlistment and Service on Governor's Island, New York Harbor, in 1854.

On March thirty-first, 1854, with the consent of my widowed mother, I joined the United States Army. I enlisted for a period of five years, as a musician in the general service, at the recruiting office, at No. 115 Cedar Street, New York City. My age was twelve years and nine months. I was of slender build, but in good health and passed the medical examination. After being sworn in at a notary's office in Nassau Street, I was conducted by the recruiting sergeant to the Governor's Island boat landing at the Battery; there he placed me in charge of Sergeant John Brown, cockswain of the eight-oared barge manned by soldiers from the Island. As this was then the only way for passengers to reach the Island, I had to wait a long time for the next trip of the barge, and it was late in the afternoon when we started.

There were but few passengers besides myself, a woman, a civilian or two and a few soldiers returning from "pass," more or less hilarious. After a struggle with the swift currents of the East River and considerable pitching and tossing, we landed at the Island dock near the guard-house, where I was taken in charge by a corporal of the guard who conducted me to the South Battery on the east side of the Island opposite Brooklyn, where the boys learning music were in quarters. We reported to Sergeant Hanke, who was in charge of all the non-commissioned officers and music boys in that battery.

Sergeant Hanke, after looking me over, asked whether I desired to learn to be a drummer or a fifer. When I expressed a preference for the former, he made some remarks about my slim and very youthful appearance, and advised me to think it over for a day or two. He called for Corporal Butler, who conducted me to Room No. 1 on the ground floor, to the south of the sallyport, of which he had charge.

On my entrance into the room there arose a cry of "Fresh fish" from the boys who were present. They surrounded me, asked my name, where I lived and many other questions and demanded to know whether I had any money or tobacco, taking no pains to hide their disappointment when I confessed that I had neither. The corporal, who had left the room, fortunately returned soon and relieved my embarrassing position. He assigned me to "bunk" with the only boy in the room who had no bedfellow or "bunkie."

The corporal's presence diverted the boys' attention from me for a while and gave me time to examine my surroundings. I found myself in a room with two windows that overlooked the parade ground and one facing inward towards the interior of South Battery. There were six iron double bedsteads in the room and a single bedstead for the corporal in a corner next to a window. The double bedsteads were made so that one-half could be folded up over the other half when not in use. This in a measure relieved during the day the very crowded condition at night when all the beds were down. The beds consisted of a bedsack stuffed with straw, which was rolled up in the day time, and a pair of blankets, neatly folded, laid on top. There were no sheets nor pillows for the boys—the corporal was the only one who enjoyed these luxuries, and he had provided them himself. The boys slept on the bedticks and covered themselves with their blankets when it was cold, or used one of the blankets to lie on when it was warm enough, folding up a jacket or some other piece of clothing as a substitute for a pillow.

A wide shelf around the room above the beds provided space for knapsacks, extra shoes, drums, fifes, and other objects, and on hooks under the shelf were hung the overcoats. There was a coal fire burning in the grate. A few wooden benches and a chair for the corporal in charge; this, with a water pail and a tin cup on a shelf behind the door, completed the furniture of the room.

After a while I heard a drum beat, which was the first call for "retreat." Ten minutes later, the "assembly" sounded to form ranks on the parade outside of the sallyport. The boys formed in two ranks, those who were proficient with their drums and fifes on the right. The command, "parade rest," was given by one of the sergeants, and the "retreat" played by the musicians as prescribed in the regulations. Then came the command, "Attention," and a roll call, at which each boy present answered, "Here." Some special orders were read and then at the command, "Break ranks, march," the boys rushed back to their quarters, to deposit their instruments and adjourn to the mess room in the basement for supper.

I was directed to follow, and found the mess room large enough to hold the entire company of boys at one sitting. There were long pine tables and benches without backs, all scrubbed clean. At each boy's place was a thin plate, containing a small portion of stewed dried apples, a large stone china bowl filled with black coffee (sweetened but without milk) and a slice of bread about four ounces in weight. There were iron spoons, knives and forks, and a few dishes on the table containing pepper and salt.

I asked one of the boys if they had the same kind of a supper every day, and was informed that sometimes they got molasses in place of the dried apples. As the boys finished their meager supper they left the mess room without any formality and returned to their quarters or went out to have a smoke in some place unobserved. I went back to my quarters and sat on a bench, chatting with some of the boys, who told me many things about their daily duties and the treatment they received. They all wished to leave the Island, and hoped to be sent soon to join a regiment somewhere. Some were reading books by the feeble tallow candle light, some played checkers on home-made checker boards, or amused themselves with other games.

Thus passed the evening until nine o'clock when the call for "Tattoo" sounded. There was considerably more music than at "Retreat," otherwise it was the same. There was another roll call and dismissal to quarters, where the beds were let down and the blankets spread. With a little skylarking, the boys undressed and lay down. The orderly covered the fire in the grate with ashes, "Taps" were sounded by the drummer detailed for that purpose, lights were extinguished, and all were supposed to be silent. But there was whispering and smothered laughing, which ceased only after some vigorous language and threats of reporting by the corporal.

I lay down alongside of my strange bedfellow, who kindly shared his blanket with me, my head pillowed on my jacket. There was a glimmering light from the fireplace, by which I could make out the forms of my companions and that of the corporal stretched out on his more comfortable bed in the corner. Soon all seemed to be asleep except myself. I remained awake a long time, thinking of the circumstances that had brought me here, the strange company I was sharing, and wondering what my future would be. At last, weary with the day's unusual experiences and excitements, I also fell asleep. And thus ended my first day as a soldier in the United States Army.

I was awakened next morning at daylight by a drummer beating the first call for "Reveille," and the corporal's voice shouting, "Get up! you lazy fellows," to some who were slow to respond. The boys, who slept in their underclothing, hastily put on their pants, stockings and shoes. Then each grabbed a tin wash basin from its hook in the hall, went out of doors to a pump and filled the basin, which he carried into the hall, and, placing it on a bench, performed his ablutions, drying himself on a roller towel. In the warm season this performance took place out of doors. It was a cold, raw morning, and it made me shiver as I followed the others outside; but I concealed my distress to avoid being laughed at.

We finished dressing, and soon heard the drum beat the "Assembly," and the corporal's call to "Turn out and fall in." Ranks were formed, as at "Retreat" and "Tattoo," and the roll was called. The fifers and drummers played the "Reveille," which was a much longer performance than either "Retreat" or "Tattoo." It consisted of perhaps a half dozen tunes, commencing with a piece called "Three Camps," then "Slow Scotch," "Austrian," "Dutch," "Quick Scotch," "Hessian," etc. Some of these pieces were played in slow time and others in quick time; they and the regular calls were the same as were used at the time of the American Revolution and had never been materially changed since.

Immediately after we were dismissed, we went to breakfast which consisted of a small piece of boiled salt pork—cold—a piece of bread and a large bowl of black coffee. There was also some grease in a dish, saved from the boiling of the pork, which some of the boys spread on their bread as a substitute for butter, seasoning it with pepper and salt.

Soon after breakfast "Doctor's Call" sounded, and those who felt unwell were conducted to the hospital to be examined by the surgeon. The boys now became busy making up their beds, cleaning their shoes, brushing their clothes and polishing their brass buttons with the aid of a brush and what was called a "button stick." Some pipe-clayed or chalked the white braid on their jackets. The room orderly, who was changed daily, swept the floor, replenished the fire and everything in the room was put in order for the daily inspection made by Sergeant Hanke.

At eight o'clock came the call to "fall in" for guard mounting, ranks were formed and after a critical inspection as to cleanliness by the sergeant, the company marched to the main parade ground in the center of the Island. About the same time we heard a band playing as it left the main garrison followed by the guard detail for the day. The lines were formed, the adjutant and the officer of the day took their places. Then the arms, accoutrements and clothing were inspected. An orderly for the commanding officer was selected from the guard and one from the boys for the adjutant.

The entire interesting ceremony of the Guard Mount was performed according to regulation, the band playing at intervals. The guard passed in review, marched off to their station and relieved the old guard. The boys were marched back to the South Battery where, shortly after their arrival, a call for "School" sounded at nine o'clock. As I was in citizen's clothing I did not have to take part in any formation of ranks. I was simply a spectator until I was uniformed.

At eleven o'clock school was over and practice on the fife and drum continued until noon. The drummers, twenty-five or more in number, went outside and made a great racket under the east wall of the South Battery, which could be heard on the other side of Butter Milk Channel in Brooklyn. They were in charge of their instructor, Sergeant Moore, who was called the drum major and had Corporal Butler as an assistant. I watched the boys practicing and noted how difficult it seemed to be for some to hold the drum-sticks properly and beat the first exercise, called "Mammy-Daddy," without hitting the rim of the drum as often as the drum-head, which would bring down upon them a reprimand from the instructor, or in some cases a rap across the knuckles for some persistently awkward boy. When I took note of the exceedingly large and heavy drums used in the service at that time, which the drummers were obliged to carry, I resolved to become a fifer, as I considered it more genteel and a step towards acquiring some knowledge of music.

While the drummers were practicing outside of the Battery, Sergeant Hanke, the fife-major, and a corporal were instructing an equal number of fifers in the school room that was filled with a shrill din as each tried to play a different tune.

At noon musical instruction ceased, and we went to the mess room for dinner. The menu consisted of a bowl of rice soup containing some desiccated vegetables, a small piece of boiled beef and the usual piece of bread. I was told that about three times a week there was bean soup served with boiled salt pork or bacon and, at rare intervals, one or two boiled potatoes.

After dinner there was nothing to do until two o'clock when school opened again for two hours. At four o'clock in the afternoon drill commenced. The boys were instructed in what was called the "School of the Soldier"—facing, marching, etc. They drilled singly at first, then in squads and finally by company according to Scott's Tactics, always without arms. Drill was over at five o'clock when there was a rest until "Retreat." This was the daily routine of duties, except on Saturdays, when they ceased at noon.

On Saturday afternoons some of the boys were detailed in turn to scrub and holy-stone the floor of our quarters and the benches, which consumed some hours. The remainder of the boys were free to do as they pleased.

On Sundays we attended guard mounting at eight in the morning and at ten-thirty we marched in a body to the Episcopal Chapel, a short distance from our quarters. The chapel was a frame structure, seating about two hundred besides the music boys. The services were attended by some of the officers and their families, soldiers' wives and their children and such of the soldiers and recruits as wished to attend. There was no regular post chaplain; I do not think there were any in the army at this time. A minister from New York or Brooklyn conducted the services. I do not remember whether any collections were taken up—if there were I am sure it was fruitless so far as the boys were concerned, unless the Sunday immediately succeeded a pay day.

The interior of the chapel was very plain, only one aisle had cushioned seats and they were not for our use. There was a small organ and a few wooden tablets were hung on the walls. One of them was much larger than the others. It commemorated the wreck of the steamer San Francisco, bound for California, and the drowning of a number of soldiers and music boys, whose names were on the tablet. This always interested me, and if the sermon was dull or I felt sleepy, I would read it over and over again until I could repeat all the names by heart.

On Sunday afternoon we were free to roam about the island as we pleased, until about sun-down when, if the weather permitted, we had "dress parade" on the main parade ground. This was a more elaborate ceremony than guard mounting. It was always interesting to me and I liked to attend it. The post band turned out and all the armed soldiers on the island were present as well as our "Field Music Battalion." We made a fine show, and sometimes we had a few spectators who came from the city in row boats. Once in every two months we had muster and general inspection by the commanding officer of the post, who called the roll and looked over the arms, accoutrements, clothing and quarters. For this inspection we were obliged to appear on parade in full marching order, our knapsacks packed and bulging with our spare clothing. Muster was a preliminary to pay day, an event always welcomed.

On my second day on the island I was taken to the quartermaster's store house to draw the first installment of my yearly clothing allowance. There were issued to me, one blanket, one great coat, two fatigue jackets, two pairs of trousers, two pairs of white flannel shirts, two pairs of Canton flannel drawers, two pairs of woolen stockings, two pairs of shoes, one forage cap and one leather stock, also a knapsack, a haversack and a canteen.

The blanket was coarse and heavy; it weighed five pounds and measured seven by five and a half feet. It was grayish brown in color and had "U.S." in four inch black letters worked in the centre. The overcoat as well as the trousers and jacket, were of coarse sky-blue cloth. The overcoat was single breasted and had a cape reaching down to the elbows; there was a row of brass buttons on the breast and on the cape and some more on the coat tails. The jacket came to the hips, had a standing collar, an inside breast pocket, a row of brass buttons down the front and a few on the sleeves. The shoes were coarse looking with broad toes and heels and leather thongs, but they were good serviceable marching shoes. The trousers were plain without stripes and had two pockets. There were no waistcoats issued. The forage or fatigue cap was a heavy, clumsy looking affair, made of thick dark blue cloth. It had a large overhanging crown with a welt, a chin-strap with a brass button on each side and a leather visor.

The most objectionable part of the whole uniform was the leather stock or "dog collar," as we called it, intended to serve as a cravat and keep the soldier's chin elevated. It was a strip of stiff black shoe leather about two and one-half inches high and arranged to fasten at the back of the neck with a leather thong. It was torture to wear it in hot weather, but we found means to modify the annoyance by reducing the height of the stock and shaving down the thickness of the leather until it became soft and pliable.

As the soldiers' clothing was made up in men's sizes only, there were none to fit the boys. I believe there were about six different sizes in shoes and three or four in clothing. The smallest size in clothing, No. 1, was issued to me, and I was sent to the post tailor. He took my measure and altered the great coat, jackets and trousers. He also put some white braid on the collar and sleeves of one of my jackets. The cost of these alterations were deducted from my first pay due. It was moderate enough, for the tailor's price as well as those of the laundress and the sutler were fixed by the Post Council of Administration. With the shirts and drawers I was obliged to get along without alterations, voluminous though they were. The shoes were too large for me also, but the thick woolen socks helped to fill them. No dress coats were furnished to the boys while they were on the Island. We only got those after joining a regiment.

In about a week my clothes were ready. I arrayed myself in my new sky-blue uniform, experiencing a boy's pleasure in a new suit and some pride in what I considered my fine soldierly appearance. We were not allowed to keep any citizen's clothing, so I sold my clothes to a Hebrew "Old Clo' Man" who often visited the island for that purpose. He paid me a dollar for them, the possession of which made me quite popular with a few of the boys who showed me where we could buy pies and ginger-pop at the sutler's store.

On the third day after my arrival, I was ordered to commence attending school and to learn music. The school was in a room within the South Battery, which was much too small for the attendance. There were some pine desks and benches, a blackboard, desks and chairs for two teachers and some shelves. We were divided into several classes and were instructed in three R's by Sergeant Evans who taught the older boys and by Corporal Washburn who had charge of the younger ones. Each of the teachers had a rattan, for it required more than patience on their part to keep the unruly element quiet. I think both the sergeant and the corporal were very forbearing men. They were excused from all other duties and paraded at muster only, receiving a mere pittance of extra pay from the post fund.

Every month Sergeant Evans read to us the hundred and one Articles of War from the Army Regulations, wherein punishments were prescribed for all imaginable offenses, the ninety-ninth article covering everything else that might have been missed in the preceding articles so long as the offense was "to the prejudice of good order and military discipline." I noticed later that there were more charges and trials for "violation of the ninety-ninth article of war" than for any other. It seemed to fit nearly every case.

At eleven o'clock the two hour morning session of the school was over. The drummers who were nicknamed "sheepskin fiddlers," left the school room for an hour's practice, the fifers, called "straw blowers," by the drummers, had their instruments with them and remained in the school room. They got out their notes, and as soon as Sergeant Hanke and his assistant entered, commenced to practise, producing a terrific racket with their differing tunes. I was handed a "B" fife, the kind that was used at that time, and was shown how to hold it and place my fingers over the holes and my lips over the embouchure. I found it difficult to make a sound at first, but after a time I managed to produce some noise. I struggled with the gamut for a week or more and spent another in trying to play a bar or two of music correctly. After that I got along faster and commenced to learn some of the more simple calls and to understand the meaning of the notes in my music book. In about two months I had made sufficient progress to take my part in playing the reveille, retreat and tattoo. After that, I learned to play marches and other pieces. In the meantime, I had also made progress in drill and was considered sufficiently proficient at the end of three months to take part in parades and all other duties.

During the course of my musical instruction, I found the corporal instructor, whose name I do not recall, a rather impatient man very much given to scolding. Sergeant Hanke was more kindly, but he had a habit of taking a boy's fife out of his hands and playing part of the piece for him to show him how it should be done. As he was an inveterate tobacco-chewer this was very disagreeable. Wiping the fife on the sleeve of the jacket did not remove the strong odor. In my case I used soap and water as soon as I had the opportunity to do so.

I was obliged to submit to the customary "hazing," inflicted on new arrivals. I had to do various foolish stunts such as innocently asking Sergeant Moore for a pair of knapsack screws. He very promptly chased me out of his room. But the worst was what the boys named a "blanket court martial." This was performed in the quarters, a blanket was spread upon the floor, the victim was brought into the room blindfolded and placed standing upon the blanket by his guards. He was accused of a number of crimes such as stealing one of the heavy guns, swimming to Brooklyn with it and selling it for junk, and other ridiculous things.

Finally he was asked by the president of the court if he was guilty, and upon his reply "No!" the president said, "Then what are you standing there for?"

This was the signal for jerking away the blanket from under his feet, tumbling him to the floor. It was both rough and dangerous and I was sore after it.

I also had to have a few fights with some of the boys. These usually took place under the east wall of the Battery and were witnessed by a number of spectators. Such little affairs were not serious; the combatants usually had a rough and tumble scrap and the only damage I ever received was a bloody nose and a few scratches. Some of the older boys, however, occasionally had regular fist fights according to rules and had scouts out to give warning at the approach of any officer. Fighting was forbidden and the participants liable to be severely punished. After a time other "fresh fish" arrived and I ceased to be a novelty. I was then left at peace to pursue the regular course of events.

The greater part of the fifty or more music boys on the island at this time were from New York City like myself; the rest were from cities and small towns in adjoining states. There were half a dozen farmer's boys, mostly from Connecticut and the interior counties of New York State. A few of the boys were about my age, but most of them were from fifteen to eighteen or nineteen years old. None were enlisted without the consent of their parents or guardians whose inability to support them, no doubt, caused the greater part of them to join the army.

Some of them, however, seemed to have left good homes, or at least had prosperous looking visitors who brought them nice things to eat or gave them money. Poorly dressed women also appeared, mothers, who took their boys to some retired spot and had a cry over them. There was a very nice, genteel boy a year or two older than I, whose father owned a hotel on Broadway near Bleecker Street, in New York. I wondered why he left home to enlist. He and I became good friends and served in the same regiment later on, but he was always reticent on that point. By far the greater part of the boys were native born, but largely of foreign parentage, the Irish predominating.

With the exception of a dozen or so who were rather "hard cases" and boasted of it, and who formed a clique by themselves, the boys, I always thought, would compare quite favorably as regards morals and good behavior with an equal number of boys of even age at some private school. Discipline was of course stricter with us and punishment more severe. For minor offenses we got a few whacks over the shoulders with a rattan in the hands of one of the non-commissioned officers, confinement to quarters, or deprivation of passes to the city. The most frequent punishment of all was to "walk the ring," but this was inflicted only by order of the adjutant, who was the officer in command of the musicians. He could also confine an offender in a cell for twenty-four hours in the guard-house without formal charges.

The ring was in front of the guard-house under the observation of the sentinel of Post No. 1, who had orders to keep the culprits moving. They were required to walk around in a well beaten circular track of about thirty feet in diameter, sometimes two or three at one time. They had to attend to their duties and walk the ring during recreation time in the afternoon and from retreat to tattoo in the evening. This punishment might last anywhere from one day to a week or more at a stretch. Graver offenses were tried by a garrison court martial whose findings were submitted to a higher authority for revision or approval.

The punishments of a garrison court martial were limited to thirty days' confinement in the guard-house, part of it, perhaps, solitary confinement on bread and water, or the forfeiture of a month's pay and allowances. Very serious offenses were tried before a general court martial which had power to sentence the prisoner to almost any kind of punishment, including death, according to "Articles of War." Their proceedings were reviewed, however, by the Judge Advocate at the War Department in Washington, and some cases required the decision of the President. There was also an intermediate court named a regimental court martial which had somewhat larger powers than a garrison court, but no such court convened at the island during my stay there, as there was no regimental headquarters, all the soldiers belonging to what was called the general service.

One day at a morning inspection for guard mounting, Sergeant Hanke noticed the end of a pipe stem protruding between the buttons of my jacket. I had carelessly thrust it into the inside breast pocket when the call to "fall in" sounded. He pulled it out and confiscated the pipe, remarking, "You will get a month on the ring for this." I was greatly alarmed at this threat of so severe a punishment and fully expected to receive orders to report to the sergeant of the guard after school that afternoon to be placed on the ring by him and commence my endless march. When the order was not given I thought sure it would some the next day, but it did not. It was a week before I felt safe and concluded that the sergeant had not reported me. Only on one occasion did I receive any punishment. I once threw a basin full of dirty water out of a window and inadvertently dashed it over Sergeant Moore, who was passing. He saw me and immediately got his rattan and gave me a good whipping.

Governor's Island in 1854 presented a very different appearance from what it does in 1914. It was much smaller. Its diameter was less than half a mile and there were but few buildings on it. More than a hundred acres have been added to it by filling in a part of the bay and a sea wall has been built around the entire island. Many buildings have been erected; trees, shrubbery and flowers have been planted and walks laid out; sewers have been put in; water, gas and electricity provided and the island generally improved and beautified.

Many of the venerable old buildings still remain, however, as they existed during my time. Castle Williams, at the south-west angle of the island, is a circular structure, pierced with three tiers of embrasures. At its portal can still be read the inscription cut in the stone, "Commenced 1807, finished 1811." It is built of brown stone, backed up with brick. The granite parapet on top was erected shortly after Civil War, replacing one of brown stone. As a work of defense it has long outlived its usefulness, but in 1854 there were still guns mounted in the first tier of casemates which were considered formidable, and others were mounted en barbette on the parapet. These guns were used sometimes in firing a salute to foreign warships in the harbor.

Northward from Castle Williams, near the northwest angle of the island, was the ordnance building, then came the guard-house with its prison cells in the basement and the adjutant's office above them. The quartermasters' and commissary stores, the commanding officer's house and a few other houses for the married officers of the higher grade were all on the north side of the island. Next came the hospital on the east and near it, but somewhat to the west, a row of small two-story buildings partly used as the sutler's store and as quarters for some married soldiers and their families. At the southeast corner of the island was the South Battery, mounting a few guns. Some distance to the west was the chapel and next to it the graveyard, in which some officers and a number of soldiers were buried, most of whom had died of cholera and yellow fever which had often visited the island. Beyond the graveyard was the post garden, several acres in extent, in which all kinds of vegetables were raised. West of the garden was the parade ground, extending to the garrison, and from the commanding officers' house sloping gently to the shore line on the south.

Fort Jay, or Fort Columbus, as it was then called, was generally known as the "garrison." It is situated on the westerly part of the island on raised ground—a square-built, old style fortress with a dry moat, portcullis, draw bridge, and ramparts. Guns are mounted en barbette on three of its sides. An artistic and elaborate piece of sculpture over the portal, representing the various arms of the service, cut in brown stone, is still in a fair state of preservation. Passing through the deep sallyport, the interior is found to be quite roomy, having a sodded parade ground with quarters surrounding it on four sides. The buildings in the south were used as quarters for the unmarried officers. On the east lived recruits, and on the west were the quarters of a company of soldiers, about seventy-five strong, who were officially called the Permanent Party. On the north was the post band on one side of the sallyport and the non-commissioned staff and some buglers on the other. There was a smaller gate on the south leading into the moat and a sunken way leading from there to the entrance to Castle Williams.

All of the buildings which I have described still exist except a few of the officers' cottages on the north side of the island, the sutler's row and the chapel which was destroyed by fire and lately replaced on another site by a much larger and finer building of cut stone, a gift of Trinity Church of New York. The post-garden has disappeared and so has the graveyard with its few monuments and many headstones. The remains were disinterred and reburied elsewhere, and the site is now covered with buildings.

Governor's Island was the principal recruiting depot in the east, and in 1854 Major John T. Sprague of the Eighth U.S. Infantry was in command. He was a West Point graduate, who had joined the army in 1837 and had been breveted as a Major during the Mexican War. Major Sprague was relieved and ordered elsewhere before my departure from the island. He was succeeded by Captain Mansfield Lovell, a dashing artillery officer, who later joined the confederate army and had something to do with the surrender of New Orleans. A captain or two, an ordnance officer and six or eight lieutenants from different branches of the service, were all detailed on detached service away from their regiments to serve here as instructors of recruits.

A very fine military band was connected with this post under the leadership of Bandmaster Bloomfield, who was a celebrated musician. There were two drummers in this band, brothers, named Jack and Pete Vigo, who were considered to be the best in the army. Later on both served in the band of the regiment which I joined, Pete Vigo, in the meantime, having married Bandmaster Bloomfield's daughter, who accompanied him to the frontiers.

The band played at guard mounting and dress parade, musters and general inspections. It also gave concerts on certain summer days in front of the commanding officers' quarters. Bandsmen had permission occasionally to play in New York City, which was lucrative for them. Indeed they were very much petted and pampered and enjoyed many privileges. They received extra pay and had especial fine uniforms and instruments, all of which had to be paid for out of the post fund.

The Permanent Party, also called Company "A," was a company of soldiers selected from the recruits for stature, physique and soldierly bearing. They were mostly tall men and, as I imagine, must have borne some resemblance to the grenadiers of Frederick the Great. They looked well on parade in their striking uniforms—dark blue coats with facings and sky-blue trousers, white cross and waist belts, epaulettes and black shakos with blue pompons and brass chin straps. Occasionally some were sent away to serve with a regiment at their own request or as a punishment. The Permanent Party did all of the guard duty that was required on the island, and guarded the prisoners who did the scavenging.

Other troops on the island were the recruits, generally several hundred of them, who were quartered in the garrison and in the upper casemates of Castle Williams. From time to time they were sent away in detachments of a hundred or more, generally accompanied by some of the drummers and fifers, to vacancies in regiments serving throughout the country. Officers were detailed to accompany these detachments to their destinations. The non-commissioned officers were generally selected from the most worthy and efficient of the recruits and promoted to lance sergeants and lance corporals, a rank with authority but without extra pay. Often a few re-enlisted old soldiers, rejoining regiments on the frontiers, went with these parties and helped to take charge of them.

The recruits were unarmed. Arms were furnished when they joined their regiments, unless it became necessary to march through a part of the Indian country to reach their destination. In that case they were armed and accompanied by an escort of experienced soldiers. These departures from the island were always occasions of considerable military ceremony. The recruits were escorted from the garrison to the wharf by the post band and the Permanent Party. And when they had embarked on the steamboat and the lines were cast off, the band would play, "The Girl I Left Behind Me," amid the parting cheers of the spectators.

The final complement that made up the garrison of Governors Island were the music boys, designated as Company "B," and stationed in the small South Battery. We were under special command of the Post-Adjutant, but never saw him there except on muster days. He troubled himself very little about us, leaving the care and management of the fifty or sixty boys to the two sergeants in charge. Sergeant Hanke, of whom I have spoken before, was a Dane who had been for many years in the United States service. He was of low stature, very corpulent, with a large round florid face, and was bald, except for a fringe of gray hair below the top of his ears. He had sharp twinkling eyes and a strong voice. He was married but had no children and lived in a couple of small rooms on the second floor of the quarters. His Irish wife was his counterpart in stature and corpulency. She generally wore a white cap and a red skirt. That she had a fine brogue we knew from overhearing her disputes with the sergeant. She had a loud voice and was more than a match for the sergeant, whose English failed him when he became excited. Sergeant Hanke, while a strict disciplinarian, was not an unkindly man. He often listened patiently to our complaints and forgave us for many minor transgressions when we were brought before him.

Sergeant Moore was an Irishman and married. He kept house with his wife and several children in some rooms on the lower floor of our quarters. He also had served a long time in the army. He was a tall thin man with iron gray hair, quick tempered and not so well liked by the boys as Sergeant Hanke. Both of these men remained in the service for more than sixty years and were finally retired and pensioned by the government. Sergeant Moore lived to be ninety-seven years old and Hanke nearly as long.

Corporal Butler, the assistant instructor, was a young man of medium size, with a fiery temper and a profusion of very red hair and mustache, the greasing, waxing and combing of which consumed much of his spare time. The other corporal, who was assistant fife instructor, and whose name, unless memory fails me, was Pfaefle, was a tall and very good looking young German of a more pleasant disposition. He spent much time in "primping" himself and the boys called him "the dude." I never learned what became of him in after years, but I did learn that Corporal Butler remained in the service all his life and died only recently at a military post at Sackett's Harbor, N. Y., at an advanced age. Sergeant Evans and Corporal Washburn, our school teachers, were both very fair men with no peculiarities. Later on I believe they became citizen clerks in the War Department at Washington.

With a couple of the older boys promoted to lance corporals, who had charge of some rooms, this completed the list of non-commissioned officers who had the immediate charge of the boys and were responsible to the post adjutant, who cared very little how things went.

It took but a short time for me to realize that the quantity of food we received was very scanty for growing boys. While we were not actually starved, we did not get enough to eat and often felt hungry. We had a limited amount of credit at the sutler's store, which was deducted from our pay. Much of this we consumed in buying crackers and cheese or an occasional piece of pie or cake to eke out our scanty food, the sameness of which often palled on us. In the summer months we were given a few vegetables once or twice a week from the post garden after the officers and their families had first received all they wanted. The poor recruits never got any, although they contributed their pro-rata share to the post fund, while the officers were not obliged to contribute anything.

Had we received the entire ration allowed us, it would have been sufficient and we could not have complained as to quantity. The soldier's daily ration at this time consisted of sixteen ounces of salt or fresh beef or twelve ounces of pork or bacon, eighteen ounces of soft bread or flour, or one pound of hard bread and the "small rations," as they were called, such as coffee, sugar, beans, peas, rice, salt, vinegar, desiccated vegetables, soap and candles, which were sufficient, when used collectively, for an entire company. The flour ration of eighteen ounces, when baked into bread, will produce about one-third more in weight of bread. Hence there was a saving of about one-third on flour which was sold to increase the post fund. But we boys never received eighteen ounces of bread per day, and all of our other rations were also reduced.

A post fund, according to army regulations, was created by a tax of ten cents per month to be paid by the sutler for every officer or soldier stationed there, also from the savings on the flour ration between eighteen ounces of flour and eighteen ounces of bread at the post bakery. No saving is supposed to be made on any other portion of the soldier's ration. The management of the fund was generally in the hands of three officers, one of whom acted as treasurer; they were called Post Council of Administration and had power to fix a tariff of prices for the sutler, laundresses, tailor, shoemaker, etc., and the expenditure of the fund for other purposes approved by the commanding officer.

At Governor's Island one of the largest expenses was the band whose members were paid extra (according to their ability) over and above their grade of soldier's pay. Their instruments, which the Government did not furnish, had to be purchased, as well as music and a showy uniform. Other expenses were the post bakery, the post garden and school for the boys. From all this the officers received the greater benefit and yet they were not required by army regulations to contribute to the fund.

When spring came, in pleasant weather I often sat on the west shore of the island, which faced Battery Park in New York, and watched the ferry boats and excursion steamers pass close by, crowded with people who were bent on enjoying themselves. This made me feel melancholy and homesick. Sometimes, when alone, tears would come to my eyes in spite of my efforts to restrain them. When the summer came, I felt less lonely and forsaken. We played ball and other games during our leisure hours and went in swimming very often on the south shore of the island where there was a good gravelly beach, interspersed with mossy rocks.

Early in June we received two months' pay. A private soldier's pay at this time was but seven dollars per month, but was raised by act of Congress to eleven dollars about six months after I entered the service. The officers' pay was raised also all along the line. The musician's pay was always one dollar more per month than that of a private, and I was, therefore, entitled to sixteen dollars for my two months' service; but after the sutler's, tailor's, and laundresses' bills were deducted, I had but a few dollars left.

Immediately after being paid the soldiers and some of the boys started gambling with cards and dice in secluded places all over the island, under trees, behind buildings and even in the graveyard. I was pressingly invited to join in some of the games but I refused as I had no inclination for playing. Gambling was forbidden and the gamblers punished if caught. I wished to get a pass to visit New York and did not care to take any chances. I applied for a pass and got permission to be absent from nine o'clock on a Saturday morning to Retreat at sundown on Sunday.

I put on my best uniform, polished my shoes and buttons, exhibited my pass to the guard on the dock and was rowed over to the Battery in New York, whence I had departed two and a half months before. I walked rapidly through Battery Park and up Broadway towards my home. I was anxious to see my mother from whom I had only heard by letter since my departure. I had not gone far when I was jeered at by boys and larger hoodlums and saluted with such questions as "Soger will ye work?" and their replies of "No! First I'd sell me shirt." I flushed with anger but could do nothing except to hasten my steps and get away from my tormentors, only to encounter others on my way home. Even respectable people looked me over as though I was a freak or a curiosity of some kind.

A soldier at that period was but little respected by civilians in the east. Only the people on the Western frontiers appreciated him and understood how much he did toward making the new country a safe place for them to acquire homes and develop the land. It required the lesson of the Civil War to teach the east the value of soldiers and sailors. The soldier particularly was looked upon as an individual too lazy to work for a living. He had not been much in evidence since the Mexican War. The entire U.S. Army contained less than twelve thousand men scattered over a large territory.

When my pass expired I caught the boat for Governor's Island, and reported for duty on time. I did not receive another leave of absence for about three months. The cholera broke out in New York and Brooklyn and soon made its appearance on Governor's Island, where it had been a frequent visitor as well as the yellow fever. Passes were suspended except in urgent cases, and communication with the city restricted as much as possible. A few of the boys were attacked but recovered. Some of the Permanent Party died of it, but the recruits suffered most. A considerable number of them died and were buried in the island graveyard. The funeral march was often heard and the report from the corporal's firing squad of eight, who fired three rounds over the grave, was the last farewell to the poor soldier, as no religious services were held.

I had formed a few friendships among the soldiers of the Permanent Party, particularly with a man named Lovell, a very tall, fine-looking soldier who later on became the drum-major of my regiment. Another of my friends was a man named Fisher, an estimable soldier. One evening Fisher sent for me from the hospital where he was sick with the cholera. I found the building crowded with cholera patients and others. Fisher was suffering intensely but was conscious. He expressed a wish, in the presence of the nurses, that in case of his death his trunk, keepsakes and money were to be given to me. I left him after a while and next morning learned that he had died during the night.

I got permission to attend his funeral, and the next day I went to the hospital to claim my inheritance, but the hospital steward, named Campbell, chased me away and for a long time I blamed him unjustly for depriving me of the little legacy, for his own benefit, as I supposed. He was an ill tempered man not liked by the boys. But later on I learned that he was within his rights in not allowing me to take anything. There is a great deal of military red tape in disposing of a soldier's effects and I dropped the matter. Steward Campbell was shortly after relieved by David Robinson, a kindly man, who at the present time is still on the island, retired and living in a cottage there.

The island, even when free from epidemics, was not a healthy place. There were no sewers, the water was supplied from cisterns and a few wells. There was no gas and on dark nights lanterns were carried. First sergeants of companies called the roll at tattoo by their aid. As the island had no sea wall and was directly in line of the tide currents of the East River, which it divided into two parts, much of the floating filth from the city was deposited on its shore. Dead cats, dogs and other small animals were washed on to the beach daily. Sometimes a horse and, on a few occasions, a human body. Fruit of all kinds, but all more or less decayed, great quantities of wood, all sorts of boxes and cases, in fact anything that could float, seemed to be cast upon the island's shore. A squad of prisoners under guard were busy all day long in "beach combing," gathering up this filth and burning it.

One day, when passing along the south shore, I noticed a curious looking object partly covered by rubbish. It was high and dry up on the beach, where it must have lain for some days exposed to the hot sun. It was very brown and very small, and I thought it was a dead monkey or perhaps a mummy of some kind. I called the attention of the prisoners' guard, who were close by, to the object. They uncovered it and declared it to be a new born infant. One of the prisoners carried it on a shovel to the graveyard, only a few steps away, where he dug a shallow hole in a corner of the fence and buried it.

Some parts of the shore were sandy, and at low tide I often saw some of the hungry recruits gathering soft clams and eating them after boiling them in a rusty can, picked up along the shore. They also ate much of the fruit cast up by the tide. All this no doubt contributed to the greater mortality among them during the prevalence of the cholera. Very few boys, I think, ever touched any of the fruit. We were strictly cautioned against it.

Changes made by boys being sent away to join regiments made it possible for me to move to a room on the second floor which was more cheerful and to have a more congenial bunkie, whose name was William J. Milligan. He was a New York boy, whose mother kept a millinery store on upper Broadway. We became fast friends and remained so as long as he lived. We were separated when he was sent to join the Sixth U.S. Infantry, as a fifer, and I did not meet him again until we both served in the same brigade in the Army of the Potomac, during the Civil War.

One day orders were given to prepare for a grand inspection of all the soldiers on the island by General Winfield Scott, who was the Commander-in-Chief of the army. We were busy for some days cleaning up for the great inspection. Finally the day arrived, so did the general in his cocked hat, a gorgeous uniform and splendid sword. He was very tall, large and dignified. Despite his age he was erect and soldierly. He was accompanied by some of the officers of his staff, also in full uniform. As he debarked, a salute of thirteen guns thundered from Castle Williams. All the soldiers on the island, not on other duty, were drawn up on the parade ground and the band played "Hail to the Chief." For occasions of this sort we were required to appear fully equipped and with knapsacks packed.

There was always a rivalry among us as to who could pack his kit the neatest and show the fewest creases in the overcoat when rolled up and strapped on top of the knapsack. In this particular we never seemed to be able to equal the Permanent Party, whose overcoats were faultlessly rolled. The usual formula of a general inspection was carried through, as prescribed in the regulations, ending up with opening ranks, unslinging and opening knapsacks and displaying our kits. The General and his aides-de-camp, accompanied by the commanding officer and the adjutant, first inspected the band, then passed through the boys' opened ranks without any comments and on through the ranks of the Permanent Party, each of whom stood like a statue at the position "order arms." An officer of the General's staff, remarking the immaculate rolling of many of the overcoats, tapped one of them with the scabbard of his sword. It emitted a hollow sound. He asked the soldier what it was, and the man explained that it was a dummy made out of a piece of stove pipe covered with blue cloth. The old General noticed the incident but merely smiled as did some of the other officers. However, it proved to be the end of the dummy overcoats on parade.

One summer's day several French ships of war arrived in the harbor, opposite Governor's Island. They fired a national salute which it was necessary to reply to, gun for gun, according to custom. Unfortunately at that particular time there were no artillery soldiers on the island, but a sergeant of the Permanent Party was found who understood how to load and discharge guns. He was furnished with a detail of infantry men to assist him. Salutes were always fired from the first or ground tier of guns at Castle Williams, about a dozen in number. When not in use the embrasures for these guns were closed with wooden shutters which could be removed and taken inside while firing.

The Sergeant ordered the shutters to be detached from their fastenings and laid down flat in the openings. He then commenced firing, and at every discharge we saw the shutters being blown to splinters into the harbor, fortunately without damage to any one. When all the guns in the tier had been discharged the Sergeant and his inexperienced crew had to go back to reload and fire them over again. This caused a long gap in the completion of the salute, which should have been fired continuously, and no doubt astonished our French visitors.

A day or two later on a Saturday afternoon the French admiral, with some of his officers, accompanied by the post adjutant, came on an informal visit to the island. I was on the scrubbing squad that day when they passed through the sallyport of the South Battery, unannounced. I was the first boy whom they encountered, hatless, barefooted, in shirt sleeves, with my trousers rolled up to the knees and a broom in my hands. I was startled, but stood to attention and came to a salute, which was returned by the admiral. My few companions did the same. Most of the boys were out fishing, swimming and playing games. The distinguished party remained but a few minutes and did not enter the quarters. I think they were not favorably impressed by our sloppy appearance.

Sometimes recruits deserted the island by arranging to have a row boat appear on the shores at night or by swimming across the Buttermilk Channel to Brooklyn in the night time when the tide was right. If recaptured they were tried by a general court martial and sentenced to severe punishments. There were few desertions among the boys; but two of them who failed to return from leave of absence were caught after a time. They were tried and sentenced to receive twenty-five strokes with a rattan well applied to their "bare buttocks," so the sentence read, and to be confined in the guard-house at hard labor for two months, also forfeit their pay for the same period.

We were turned out and formed in ranks on a spot near the graveyard to witness the punishment of the poor fellows. They were marched to the place under guard. The Adjutant read the sentence of the court martial. Then one of the boys was laid face down on a long bench and held by a member of the guard at his head and another at his feet. His clothes were removed sufficiently to expose his buttocks, and at the adjutant's command, a corporal commenced to apply the rattan, which left a red mark at every stroke and made the boy squirm and groan and finally cry out with pain before the adjutant cried "Halt" at the twenty-fifth blow. While the blows were not inflicted with anything like full force, yet they were cruel enough if only by their number.

The unfortunate second victim was obliged to witness his comrade's punishment and then endure the same himself. Both of the boys were about seventeen years of age and served out their enlistment. One of them I met during the Civil War as a lieutenant of a volunteer regiment. The trembling and sobbing boys were reconducted to the guard-house, and we marched back to quarters after this distressing scene.

The summer passed away, the cholera, both in the city and on the island, was almost extinct. Leave of absence was again granted and I went to the city a few times during the fall and early winter. One morning I felt ill and reported at "doctor's call." I was taken before the surgeon, who examined me and ordered me to bed in the hospital, thinking, no doubt, that I was about to have an attack of fever. I did not expect this and hoped that I would simply be marked "sick in quarters" and excused from duty. I was put to bed in a ward that contained about eight beds occupied by soldiers with all sorts of ailments, some of them very disagreeable. Some of the boys who had been in the hospital had told me that tea and toast was served there to the sick. I hankered for some of it, as I had not tasted any for a long time. I got it twice a day and a little thin gruel, but nothing else. On the third day, I begged to be let go. I was disgusted with the hospital and its inmates. As no serious complications had developed, I was sent back to quarters and excused from duty for a few days.

As the winter approached we were obliged to give up many of our little outdoor diversions and confine ourselves more to our crowded quarters. As there was no place indoors for exercise or amusement, our condition became more melancholy and dejected. Our clothing we found insufficient to keep us warm. Many of us bought woolen knit jackets, which we wore instead of a vest and which gave us some protection against the fierce cold winds that blew across the island and chilled us to the marrow when we were on parade. When we began to have severe frosts, the bandsmen did not appear at guard mounting on the plea that their instruments would freeze. The fifes and drums furnished the only music. Often our fingers were so numb with the cold that we could hardly play a note. The drummers could manage to beat a march with gloves on their hands and suffered less.

One cold night late in November there was an alarm of fire which proved to be in the sutler's row near the hospital. It broke out in several places at once. There was some excitement in getting out the soldiers' wives and children who lived there, but none were injured. There were no fire extinguishing appliances on the island, save fire buckets. The soldiers formed lines to the nearest pump and cistern and passed the buckets along. But they could make no impression on the fire, and the row was a mass of ruins in little more than an hour. Long before a ferry boat brought some firemen and a hand engine from the city there was nothing left to save.

Two of the older boys were accused of setting the houses on fire. They were arrested and confined in the guard-house on charges of arson and were still awaiting trial when I was ordered away shortly after.

The winter had set in early. It was very cold at times and there was snow on the ground. We felt generally depressed and miserable, when quite unexpectedly, one day in the early part of December, 1854, two other boys and myself received orders to prepare to depart to Carlisle Barracks, at Carlisle, Pa., there to be assigned to the Second U.S. Infantry. I do not know why I was selected to go. Quite a number of the boys had been on the island longer than I, and some were more proficient. But I felt glad. Surely any kind of a change would be for the better. The next day I and my companions, Peter Moritz and Edward Young, both a year or two older than I, received a pass to go to New York and say farewell to our parents or relatives, whom we were not likely to see again for years.

A trusty corporal was placed in charge of us. He had orders not to allow us to separate nor to lose sight of us and to return with us to the island before evening. In this way we were obliged to witness each other's leave taking in the presence of our conductor. There were tears and lamenting, and the corporal, who was kindly, but did not like his task, was importuned when about to leave one house for another to "let the poor boy stay just five minutes longer." When he acceded it generally extended to fifteen minutes or more. As none of us had any intention to desert this painful way of parting might have been spared us. There was no special need to hurry us away, and sufficient time could have been given to notify our relatives to come to the island and bid us farewell there. I always looked upon this as unnecessarily harsh treatment.

We all had some lunch in an eating house, made a few small purchases and in due time returned to the island, angry at the way we had been humiliated by the orders of either the commanding officer or the adjutant. Next morning we packed our kits and started for the boat landing shortly after noon, accompanied by some of the boys and another corporal who was to take us to Carlisle. We boarded the barge in which I had come to the island on the day of my enlistment nearly nine months before. Sergeant Brown, who soon after became a member of my company at Carlisle, was still cockswain. We pushed off amid the cheers of our comrades and passed over the East River to New York.

No one seemed to have any clear idea as to where Carlisle was or how long a time it would take to get there, so they loaded us with three days' rations of boiled salt beef and bread, which filled our haversacks to bursting. This, together with a canteen filled with cold coffee, made no inconsiderable load. We wore our overcoats, and our knapsacks were packed with a five-pound blanket, an extra jacket and trousers, underwear and stockings, an extra pair of shoes, clothes and shoe brushes and knick-knacks. A tin wash basin was strapped onto the back of the knapsack. All this made a load enough for a man to carry. We passed through Battery Park and staggered along West Street in the direction of the Jersey City Ferry, making occasional halts for a rest, when crowds would collect about us and ask us many questions. No doubt we three small boys looked ridiculous to them, overloaded as we were. I overheard a longshoreman remark that he'd "be damned before he'd make a pack horse of himself for Uncle Sam."

We reached the ferry, crossed the North River to Jersey City and were put on a car that had wooden seats without any cushions. It was the first time that I had ever been away from New York on a railroad train and I was much interested in watching the scenery all the way to Philadelphia, where we arrived about dusk and changed trains for Harrisburg. I opened my haversack, ate my frugal supper and went to sleep, tired out with the day's excitement. About midnight the corporal woke us up at Harrisburg to change cars for Carlisle, but we found that there would be no train to Carlisle until eight o'clock next morning. The station master kindly allowed us to stay in the waiting room of the depot for the remainder of the night. There was a good fire in the stove and some benches to lie on, so we passed the night quite comfortably. We all had a little money and got some hot coffee and rolls at the depot next morning before we left on the eight o'clock train for Carlisle. We arrived there in less than two hours, with our three days' rations almost intact. There was snow on the ground, through which we trudged laboriously towards the garrison about a mile away.

I was glad to leave Governor's Island. Its narrow limits impressed me as a place of confinement. The quarters were overcrowded, the food was bad and insufficient, the discipline very strict, and there was little time or opportunity for recreation. It was monotonous and depressing, and although later during my service I suffered much hardship and encountered many dangers, I never wished myself back on the island again. Among the many boys whom I knew on the island I saw but few again, outside of those in my own regiment. They were scattered all over the country, serving at distant posts and often changing. Probably but few are living now, and I know the whereabouts of only one, who served in the Seventh U.S. Infantry for many years and now resides in New York, where I see him occasionally and talk over old times.

PART II.
At Carlisle Barracks, Pa., in 1855.

After a tramp through the snow with our heavy loads from the Carlisle depot, we reached the barracks tired out. The corporal reported our arrival at the adjutant's office, and we were assigned to companies. Moritz went as drummer to Company I, Young as fifer to Company A, and myself as fifer to Company D of the Second United States Infantry.

The regimental headquarters were there together with the field and staff, and the band, companies A, G and I had been recruited to their full strength, but Company D, to which I was assigned, had no real existence as yet. There were only two officers, a few sergeants and corporals, together with three or four privates, some of whom had served in the Mexican War, which was all that was left of Company D on its return from the Pacific coast, where the regiment had served for a number of years. All of these men were attached to other companies until such time as recruits would be received to fill up the ranks. I was ordered to duty temporarily with Company I.

The Second Regiment of the United States Infantry was one of the oldest in the service. It was organized by act of Congress on March 3, 1791, and was engaged with the Indians on Miami River, November 4, 1791. It had fought in other Indian Wars, principally against the Seminoles in Florida. It took part in the War of 1812, and participated in the engagements of the Mexican War from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico. After the Mexican War, and at about the time of the discovery of gold in California, it was sent there, where its men built Benicia Barracks near San Francisco, Fort Yuma and other posts.

About 1850 it became known that the Government was enlisting many recruits at Governor's Island for service in California. The gold fever was at its height and hundreds of soldiers were deserting to the mines. Men who had served their terms scorned re-enlistment when they saw so many digging wealth from the hills or dipping it up from the mountain streams. For the same reason it was impossible to get recruits in gold-mad California.

But no such difficulty was experienced in the East. There were plenty of recruits, but the sudden increase in enlistments brought into the army some of the worst men that ever joined it. They put on the uniform solely for the purpose of getting free transportation to California at the Government's expense. I had the story from some of the survivors of the eventful trip made by these recruits from New York to San Francisco.

A steamship was chartered, loaded with army supplies and some hundreds of the recruits. They were under the command of Brevet Major George W. Patten, of the Second United States Infantry, with whom I served later on the frontiers. Major Patten had served in the Mexican War, where he had lost two fingers of his right hand, and was brevetted for gallantry. By the rank and file he was called "Three-fingered Jack," and was known as an easy going soul who hated any sort of trouble, of which he and the young and inexperienced lieutenants with him got plenty before they reached their destination.

Almost the first day at sea the bad element among the recruits began fighting with the sailors. They stole all the provisions they could lay their hands on. Fortunately they had no arms; these were packed in armchests, and stowed in the hold of the ship. Only some of the sergeants carried sidearms.

The first stop of the steamship was at Kingston, Jamaica, for coal. There the recruits overran the guards, got possession of a coal pile and had a pitched battle with a strong force of negro police, who were trying to keep them on the dock. They soon routed the police, swarmed all over the town and committed many depredations. It required several companies of white British troops to round them up, drive them back to the ship and keep them there while she was coaling.

All the way to San Francisco the unruly element made trouble. They laughed at the mild way in which the good old major disciplined some of them. I was told that when one of the ring-leaders was brought before him he asked his name and promised to make him a sergeant in his own regiment when they arrived in California, if he would only behave himself. After their arrival in San Francisco, most of these ruffians deserted as soon as opportunity offered. Many of them made their way to the gold diggings, and very few of them were ever recaptured.

In 1854 the Second United States Infantry had become greatly reduced in numbers from various casualties, and what remained of the regiment was ordered East. Some companies were consolidated, and the skeleton organizations of others filled up with recruits. A few were entirely re-enlisted. Companies A, D, G and I were at Carlisle, Pa., and the remaining six companies were at Forts Snelling, Ridgely and Ripely on the upper Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers, protecting the settlers from the Indians.

I found Carlisle barracks a very agreeable change from Governors Island. It had been built to serve as a dragoon barracks, and had quarters and stables enough for a regiment, but during my time, was used only for the Infantry. On July 1, 1864, a part of the Confederate Army, on their march to Gettysburg, fired some shells into the town of Carlisle and set fire to the barracks, but they succeeded in destroying only a part of the buildings. On a recent visit there I found some of the former officers' and soldiers' quarters still standing, also the commanding officer's house, the adjutant's office and guard-house, all of which, together with a number of new buildings, are now used as a Government Indian school and have been for many years.

The soldiers' quarters were three-story buildings with a wide veranda at every floor, facing the parade ground. There company roll calls were held in bad weather. The rooms were large enough not to be crowded; but the bunks were the old-fashioned two-tier kind. Two men slept in each of the lower and upper bunks, and it was uncomfortable. The rooms were heated by stoves in which we burned wood. They were comfortably warm during the winter, which I found less severe in Southern Pennsylvania than in New York.

Our rations were much improved. We were able to add many extras from the company funds. We were in the midst of a fine farming region and could purchase all kinds of vegetables, and other products very cheap from the farmers who came to the barracks for that purpose. When spring came we took long walks. We were allowed to go anywhere within a mile limit without a pass, but generally went much further. Few depredations were committed, and many of the farmers were delightfully hospitable, often giving us milk, and other things, on our tramps about the country.

Carlisle, the county seat of Cumberland County, Pa., was then a town of about seven thousand inhabitants, having churches, schools, hotels, banks, stores, some saloons and many good private houses. There also was Dickinson College, a Methodist institution of renown, which is still flourishing. The town was easy of access for the soldiers, who often went there without the formality of a pass. It was but a mile away from the barracks, and considerably less for those who used a favorite route, crossing a small creek on a log, and cutting across the intervening fields.

Unfortunately for some of the soldiers, there was a distillery on the outskirts of the town quite near where the log crossed the stream, where newly made whiskey was sold for a shilling (twelve and a half cents) per quart, or eighteen cents for a canteen full. Shillings were still in circulation, and there was no high tax on spirits. This cheap and easy way to procure liquor was the means of sending many a soldier to the guard-house.

Occasionally, during the winter, there was a theatrical performance in the town, which a limited number of soldiers received leave of absence to attend. Another favorite amusement was a dance at a tavern or road-house outside of the town where we had a chance to meet some of the farmers' daughters. I borrowed a gun sometimes, and got a few rabbits. I also had some sleigh rides. Indeed, our liberty contrasted so favorably with the narrow confines of Governor's Island that the mild winter passed very quickly.

In about a month after my arrival at Carlisle, the complement of recruits required for Company D was sent on from Governor's Island, and the company took up quarters by themselves in a new two-story building, with a mess-room in the basement, on the easterly side of the barracks. The recruits were all young men, twenty to twenty-five years old, hailing from various parts of the country. A considerable portion were foreign-born, mostly Irish, although there were some Germans and a few other nationalities. Their previous occupations ranged all the way from a school teacher to farm laborer. Some were fairly well educated and others ignorant to the point of illiteracy. There were many mechanics of all sorts among them who had worked as journeymen at their trades. Also there were some runaway apprentices. We found those of a mechanical experience very useful later on at the frontiers.

As usual, they had enlisted for various reasons. Some had the "Wanderlust"; others had a taste for adventure and hoped to satisfy it in a soldier's life. Some had joined from sheer necessity, or inability to find any other occupation to support themselves. This last was a very common cause. There were also a few "ne'er-do-wells" who were of no use anywhere, and a detriment to the army. It took months to drill and discipline these men, and to make serviceable soldiers of them. But after a time their awkwardness disappeared. They carried themselves erect, and there was a marked improvement, except in a few who seemed too stupid to be taught and strained the drill sergeant's patience to the breaking point. Every company seemed to have a few members so awkward as to disarrange any well drilled company. Whenever possible these were detailed to some special duty, which kept them out of the ranks.

The men were left to choose their bunkies, and pair off as they pleased. I bunked with one of the sergeants of the company who had served in Mexico and in California. He was a middle aged man of exemplary character, who took a sort of fatherly interest in me. He taught me many things useful in a soldier's life.

I met with one great disappointment on joining Company D. I had hoped to have as a companion a drummer-boy of about my own age, with whom I could chum. This desire was strengthened by the knowledge that the fifer was considered to rank the drummer and in the absence of special instructions could order the drummer to play such tunes or marches as he chose. But I found myself associated with a man who was a dozen years my senior. He was serving his second enlistment, and had been transferred from some other regiment and sent to Carlisle. He was a married man without any children, and lived in another part of the garrison away from the company. His wife, a rather attractive and genteel young woman, was one of the four laundresses which the army regulations allowed to each company, and provided free with a soldier's daily ration, quarters, transportation, and medical attendance.

My drummer was a tall, haggard man with a sallow face. I was still a few inches short of having attained the height of five feet, and when my tall drummer and I marched at the head of the company we were called the "long and the short of it," which greatly annoyed me as I was very sensitive to ridicule. Another annoyance was the fact that he was not a very good drummer, and would not take the trouble to learn any new and fancy pieces, as we boys did. Whenever I had to play with him alone I was obliged to content myself with the old repertoire. Aside from these differences, we managed to get along well enough, as he was a sober and solemn man who kept very much to himself. But I always missed the companionship of a more youthful spirit.

The commander of my company at this time was Captain and Brevet Major Samuel P. Heintzelman, a native of Pennsylvania who during the Civil War commanded an army corps in the army of the Potomac, and became a major general. His grey hair and beard gave him a fatherly appearance, and he was well liked by the men. He was fond of bean soup, the kind that only soldiers can make. He frequently sent his servant to the company kitchen for a quart of bean soup. Captain Heintzelman remained with us but a few months when he was promoted to Major of the First Regiment of Infantry. We regretted to lose him. The first lieutenant was Thomas W. Sweeney, a native of Ireland, who had lost an arm in the Mexican War. He retired from the service in 1870, with the rank of Brigadier General. He was a good soldier. The second lieutenant was John D. O'Connell, of Pennsylvania, a tall, fine-looking man, somewhat given to swearing when he got angry, but a fair and just man. I do not know what became of him after the war. We had three efficient officers who took good care of the company. Captain Heintzelman and Lieutenant O'Connell, were both West Point graduates. The commander of the post was John J. Abercrombie, lieutenant colonel of our regiment. He was also a West Pointer and had joined the army in 1822. He was a good tactician and a very proud and dignified officer.

In March, 1855, great changes took place. The U.S. Army, which then consisted of only eight regiments of infantry, two of dragoons, one of mounted rifles, four of artillery, of which but two companies in each regiment were batteries, and a few engineer and ordnance soldiers, was authorized by act of Congress on March 3, 1855, to be increased by the formation of two additional regiments of infantry, the Ninth and Tenth, and two of cavalry, the First and Second. The old names of "Dragoons" and "Mounted Rifles" were dropped, and those regiments were thereafter known as the Third, Fourth and Fifth Cavalry. General Scott's infantry tactics were abandoned for Colonel Hardee's.

The old smooth bore musket, which carried a ball and three buckshots at short range, was replaced by a long range rifle with a barrel of a dull finish and a sword bayonet. The old fashioned cross belts were done away with, and the cartridge boxes made smaller. The heavy shakos and clumsy fatigue caps were replaced by a lighter and neater uniform hat, and a Képi, after the French army style. The cut of the dress coat was altered and made to look smarter, and polished brass epaulets were worn. All this made a decided improvement in the appearance of the soldiers on parade.

The change in tactics made extra drilling necessary. The old had to be unlearned and the new acquired. After we had become proficient in the new drill, Colonel Abercrombie sometimes marched the four companies, with the band and field music ahead, through the town to the Dickinson College grounds which were on the side nearly opposite to the barracks. There he put us through a battalion drill. These drills and marches through the town took place on fine spring days, much to the delight of Carlisle's citizens, who turned out in great numbers to see the spectacle and to hear the band play.

I had a very easy time at Carlisle barracks. I attended the roll calls at reveille, retreat, tattoo and guard mounting; drilled and practiced for an hour each day except Saturdays, and served as orderly at the adjutant's office about once a week. I had a great deal of spare time which I spent in roving around the country. I also went to town quite often. There was no school so I bought some books and did some studying evenings with the assistance of some of the men in my company. I began to like "soldiering." I wore a fine, showy uniform dress coat of dark blue cloth with the standing collar, cuffs and breast faced with light blue cloth, which made it very conspicuous and distinguished the musicians from the non-commissioned officers and privates. The trousers were of light blue cloth, and the Képi (cap) of dark blue ornamented with a small brass bugle and the regimental number above a straight visor. I had a pair of brass epaulets, or "scales," as we called them, which, together with my coat buttons and cap ornaments, I kept highly polished. I also had a bright sword, for each musician, and the first or orderly sergeant of each infantry company carried a straight sword. The sword belt was made of black leather and had a brass clasp ornamented with an eagle and a wreath of white metal. My sword was rather long for me at this time, and it used to get between my legs at first when marching, and trip me up. It took some time to become accustomed to it.

My pay was twelve dollars per month, with everything found and I looked pityingly upon citizen boys of my age who had to slave for a couple of dollars per week.

I was approaching my fourteenth year, and outside of my military obligations felt that I was my own master. This, I suppose, made me think I was a man in spite of my youth. I fear that at this period I felt "a little cockey" or vain, and showed it. This feeling, however, I got rid of after I experienced real service in the frontiers. I bought some white shirts, "boiled shirts," as we soldiers called them, also neckties and "bear's grease" for my hair. With all this I arrayed myself gorgeously when I went to town. Sometimes I wore a red sash instead of my belt and sword which I was not allowed to carry into town. I began to correspond with some of the town girls, who admired the soldiers, and I made calls on some of them.

We music boys patronized a small ice cream and candy store kept by a widow and her daughter. There was a back room where we often met and were served with soft drinks and cake. Between pay days, when we had run out of money, the widow gave us credit.

The freedom I enjoyed here was a great contrast to my unhappy experience on Governor's Island, where I had but little liberty, was half starved and was badly treated in many ways. I look back with pleasure to my six months' stay at Carlisle, whose citizens were always friendly to the soldiers. There was but little of the rough element in that staid old Pennsylvania town, and I cannot recall that any serious difficulty or encounter ever took place between the citizens and soldiers during our stay there.

While at Carlisle barracks, I was obliged to take part in a disgraceful scene—the drumming out of two soldiers. They had been tried for desertion by a general court martial, found guilty and sentenced to be indelibly marked on the left hip with the letter D, four inches in height, to have their heads shaved, to be dishonorably discharged and drummed out of service. This sentence was executed one cold winter morning, directly after reveille. The companies who had just answered roll call were kept formed while all of the fifers and drummers marched to the guard-house. There we formed ranks, the two prisoners in front, bare headed, closely followed by four privates and a corporal, their guns at a position of "Charge bayonets." The field music was behind, playing what is called "The Rogue's March." In this way the prisoners, whose closely shaved heads presented an absurd appearance, were marched around the four sides of the parade ground, past the companies standing in ranks, back to the guard-house and through the gate adjoining. There we halted, their caps and small bundles containing their little belongings were handed to them, also a dishonorable discharge, then we watched them for a while as they hastened down the road towards the town. They did not enter it, however, but cut across the fields and soon disappeared from sight.

This spectacular exhibition of a brutal punishment seemed to me like a relic of barbarity. It was conceived in the virulent minds of some of the officers who tried the prisoners. The sentence was duly approved by a higher authority, although it was not in accordance with the punishments as prescribed in the army regulations. Young as I was, I felt ashamed and indignant at being compelled to be an actor in this disgraceful scene.

A company of soldiers, after they have served together for some months, become like a large family. My own company was a fair sample. We soon knew each other's good points, failings and weaknesses. It took but a short time for the company to separate itself into two parties; the larger of which contained the men who kept themselves clean, and took some pride in soldiering. The other contingent, happily small in numbers, were often slovenly, disorderly, and sometimes vicious. They were given to quarreling, and occasional fighting. Though they banded together, they were not able to create much trouble while in the quarters, as they were so largely out-numbered. It became necessary sometimes to teach one of them a severe lesson, and I remember one case wherein a man of filthy habits was taken to the creek by his comrades, stripped and washed with soap and sand until his skin was raw.

As we had no way to lock up anything we owned we were particularly severe on petty thieves, taking the law into our own hands, by giving the guilty one a sound beating. This had a good effect. Of those we punished none ever complained of their treatment to the officers, knowing that they would receive small consolation from them. After a few rigorous punishments it was seldom that a soldier missed anything.

Tricks were played upon us boys once in a while. We played our calls at the flag staff in front of the commanding officer's house, where, when commencing to play, some fifer would nearly burst himself trying to blow his instrument. Upon investigation he would find it stuffed with paper or rags. Sometimes a drummer would find the drumhead greased or the snares loosened. The bandsmen also had their troubles. Their brass instruments were filled with water or stuffed with rags; these experiences soon taught us to examine our instruments before going to the parade ground.

Early in March, 1855, Major Edmund B. Alexander of the Eighth Infantry, arrived after having been promoted to colonel of the Tenth Infantry, one of the new regiments. As he ranked Lieutenant Colonel Abercrombie he took command of the post. The headquarters of the Tenth Infantry were established at Carlisle barracks. Officers and recruits for the new regiment began to arrive, and the post took on a more lively appearance as company after company of the new regiment was formed. We began to be somewhat crowded. The parade ground within the barracks proved to be too small for drilling all the companies at the same time, and some of them were obliged to exercise in adjoining fields.

The addition of four new regiments to the United States Army, and the necessary increase of more than one hundred and fifty officers brought joy to the hearts of many of the old officers, who had long waited for promotion. Advancement in time of peace is naturally very slow. Many grey haired first lieutenants became captains, some elderly captains became majors, and a few majors were promoted to colonels. The second lieutenants were supplied from West Point as far as possible. There was a very scanty promotion from the ranks, but quite a number of appointments from civil life—many of these through political influence more than for any merit the candidates possessed.

Before the raising of the four new regiments the number of officers in the army who had been appointed from civil life was very small. Most of them dated from the war with Mexico. These men had seen service and were experienced. We did not take kindly to the newly appointed lieutenants from civil life. Few of them knew anything of military work, and for some we had contempt. But we respected the young officers from the military academy, who understood their business.

The various promotions caused many transfers of officers to serve in higher grades in other regiments. My company lost Captain and Brevet Major Samuel P. Heintzelman, who left us, much to our regret, to become a Major of the First United States Infantry; William M. Gardner, a native of the State of Georgia, and a West Point man, became our next captain, having been promoted and transferred from another regiment. He was an ardent Southerner who most cordially hated the "Abolitionist"—a haughty, high-spirited, irritable man, more feared than liked by the soldiers. He was middle-aged and unmarried, slight and of medium size with a swarthy complexion. His delicate physique caused him to suffer much from the severe hardships endured while on the frontiers, but he bore them courageously and without a murmur.

He remained captain of Company D until his native state seceded from the Union, when he resigned his commission, and joined the Confederacy. There, I have been told, he became a brigadier general and lost a leg during the war. I remember Captain Gardner with the kindest of feelings, and I am grateful to him for special acts of kindness and indulgence. He never was harsh or hasty to me, and often he gave me good advice, which to my regret I did not always follow.

We had a mild winter at Carlisle, as I have said, and spring opened early. In May it was warm enough to bathe in the deep holes of the small creek, near the garrison, and we often enjoyed swimming in a river some miles away. There was a large cave in that vicinity into which we often went for the pleasure of shouting and hearing the echoes. The country was beautiful. There were large farms, with prosperous-looking houses. I never tired of wandering about on the good roads that stretched in all directions.

I found much amusement in watching the drilling of the raw recruits of the Tenth Infantry, for we of the Second considered ourselves trained soldiers now and laughed at their awkwardness as others had probably laughed at us.

A certain Irish sergeant had a most peculiar way of his own of elucidating the tactics to the recruits, and often lost his temper when things were done wrong. One day, after he had patiently explained and demonstrated to his squad that, when given the command, "Forward march," each man must step off with his left foot, about half of the squad advanced the right foot.

"Didn't I tell y'es the roight fut's not the roight fut?" he shouted. "The lift fut's the roight fut."

Sometimes it happened that some inattention of the instructor himself would cause amusement when drilling some of the larger squads in marching. At the command "By the right flank, right face, forward march," one-half of the squad misunderstanding the command, would face to the left, and march on until brought up against a fence or other obstruction. At the same time the other half marched with the instructor at their flank in the opposite direction, until he commanded, "Halt, front face," and discovered the missing half on the other side of the parade ground "marking time," and waiting for a command.

An old soldier of my company named Coffey was married and had several children. One of them was called "Kitty." She was a little freckled-faced four-year-old who had the most astonishing red hair that I ever saw. Kitty had a roving disposition, and wandered all over the garrison, and into the soldiers' quarters. Everyone played with her, and she was a general favorite. She loved the soldiers, and the only way we could make her go home was to say to her, "Kitty your hair's on fire, run home and tell your mother." Kitty would then scamper off crying.

She dearly loved to hear the band play, and often got in the way on the parade ground. One day at guard mounting, Lieutenant O'Connoll, of my company, who had a keen sense of humor, was acting as adjutant. He was about to march the guard in review, when he discovered Kitty directly in front of the band, gazing at them with admiration. He changed the customary words of command to "Column forward, guide right—Kitty Coffey get out of the way—March!" all in the same tone of voice.

I have seen Lieutenant O'Connoll, a big raw-boned, black-whiskered Pennsylvanian, whom we learned to like in spite of his very forcible language, fly into such a passion at drill that he would plunge his sword into the ground half way up to the hilt and hold up his hands in despair, vigorously berating the company for some false movement. Sometimes, however, he would laud them when they did their work well.

About the first of June, 1855, orders arrived for the immediate departure of the four companies of the Second Infantry stationed at Carlisle to Fort Pierre on the Missouri River in Nebraska Territory. We were to form a part of the Sioux Expedition, under Brigadier General William S. Harney, for the purpose of chastising one of the tribes of the Sioux nation, who nearly a year before had massacred Lieutenant John L. Grattan, and his escort of twenty-one soldiers, who had been sent out from Fort Laramie to hold a parley with them. As the Government had but a handful of soldiers at Laramie, vengeance had to be delayed until a sufficient number of troops from our small army could be gathered for the purpose.

General Harney had been made leader of the expedition because he was an old experienced Indian fighter, known and feared by many of the Indians. We made our preparations quickly, paid some farewell visits in the town and in a day or two were ready to start as soon as transportation could be provided.

I had some regrets at leaving Carlisle Barracks, where I had experienced none of the ennui of a soldier's life, but had thoroughly enjoyed myself. I think, however, that my regrets were more than counter-balanced by the prospect of new scenes far away from civilization in a country inhabited only by savages, and which at that time had been but imperfectly explored.

PART III.
Journey from Carlisle to Fort Pierre, Nebraska Territory in 1855.

Companies A, D, G and I left Carlisle Barracks about the first week in June, 1855. We formed on the parade ground for the last time on a Saturday afternoon in full marching order, our haversacks filled with three days' rations of hard bread and boiled salt pork. At the command of Col. Abercrombie we started off in a quick step, the band playing alternately, "The Girl I Left Behind Me" and "The Bold Soldier Boy," both old-fashioned tunes that it was customary to play on such occasions. We marched past the guard-house where the officer of the day and guard of the Tenth Infantry saluted us with a "Present arms."

We passed down the road to a point on the railroad track leading into the town where a special train awaited us on a siding. The train was made up of a few baggage cars, a passenger car with upholstered seats for the officers, and "emigrant cars" with bare wooden seats, for the enlisted men and the wives and children of the married soldiers. None of the officers' wives and children went with us; two years or more elapsed before they saw them again.

Lieut. Sweeney of my company was left behind, detailed for some special duty. Capt. Gardner and Lieut. O'Connell, both bachelors, were with the company. The last farewells were said, and amid tears and cheers from some of the soldiers of the Tenth Infantry and the citizens from the town, we started on our long journey.

I had a seat at a car window and was greatly interested in the constantly changing scenery. We had to go back to Harrisburg to get to the main line to Pittsburgh. Traveling by railroad was slow at that time, particularly so in our case as we had to keep out of the way of passenger trains. We put in a bad night on the hard seats and in the morning were at Altoona, where hot coffee was brought into the cars and served to us from milk cans. Arrangements had been made to give us coffee two or three times per day while en route.

We made slow progress over the Allegheny Mountains, sometimes having an extra locomotive to push us along, and it was late Sunday afternoon when we reached Pittsburgh. We had to change trains here, and as we marched through the streets to another depot, a crowd of people followed us. There were four companies with a band and colors, probably more regular soldiers than they had ever seen at one time before. We were delayed a long time at the depot; but finally we started, and after another miserable night on the hard seats, we left the cars in the morning, crossed a river on a ferryboat and were in Toledo, Ohio. Stacking arms in one of the streets, we sat on the curb stones and ate our meager breakfast of hard bread and pork, together with hot coffee served in our quart tin cups.

A crowd of citizens watched us with interest. They asked many questions and made remarks, some not very complimentary to our appearance. We had been two nights on the dusty cars with no opportunity to wash ourselves or to clean our clothing. I remember overhearing a stylish young lady say to her dudish escort, "Oh! John, see how dirty they are and look at the big shoes they wear."

We waited for some hours and then left for Chicago on another train. Next morning, stiff and sore from our cramped seats, we were outside of Chicago on the Illinois prairies, going south towards Alton on the Mississippi. During this third night on the cars, as many as could find room lay down on their blankets in the passage-way, securing a few hours of fitful sleep at the risk of being stepped on.

Towns and villages were far apart in Illinois at that time. We traveled many miles without seeing a tree or a bush. It was my first view of a prairie. Towards evening we arrived at Alton and detrained on the outskirts of the town. There we took shelter in some empty barns and other vacant buildings, on the floors of which we were glad to get a night's rest. Next morning we were greeted by a furious rain which continued for two days and nights. During all that time we were kept in the barns. Sentinels were posted to allow no one to go into the town; nevertheless, some of the men succeeded in obtaining whiskey.

On the morning of the third day the sun was shining bright and warm. We received orders to "fall in" and marched down to the wharf where four steamboats were awaiting us. One company went on board each boat, the headquarters, field and staff and the band going on the largest boat with one of the companies. The boats cast off at intervals of about a half an hour each and got under way. They carried no other passengers. My company embarked on the "Australia," which was the third boat in the line. The steamboats were of the usual style of light-draft river craft, built to carry freight and passengers. They were all equipped with high pressure engines which noisily ejected a great puff of steam through exhaust pipes on the top deck at every thrust of the piston. They were sidewheelers and each had two tall smoke-stacks.

On each side of the foredeck rested the butt end of a great spar, hanging forward at an angle and secured at the top with tackle. These long spars were used in working the boats off sand bars, I found out later.

Freight was carried on these boats in a very shallow hold and on deck behind the boilers, which were located well forward. Above the boiler deck was the cabin or passenger deck, containing the staterooms, and over that, the "Texas" or hurricane deck, on which was the pilot house in front, and back of that the officers' cabins. The crew was provided for on the boiler deck. The construction was very frail above the boiler deck. The boats shook and shivered when under way, and as everything was constructed of light joists and thin boards, the danger of fire was always present.

Our boats had been very heavily loaded at St. Louis, Mo., with a cargo of military and sutler's stores and material for portable wooden houses. The company was quartered in the forward staterooms on the cabin deck, two to each room. We found the rooms stripped of every article of bedding and furniture. Even the slats in the bunks had been taken out, and we had to lie on our blankets on the floor. For our morning ablutions we went to the lower deck and threw overboard a bucket at the end of a rope. In these pails of muddy Missouri River water we washed ourselves. The company cooks prepared our meals in a kitchen on the lower deck and we ate them wherever we could find room to squat down on the deck among the deckhands, who were all whites. While on board we got no fresh bread and only salt meats. The boat's crew, or "roust-a-bouts," had better food than we, plenty of it and a variety. They often guyed us about it, but we had the laugh on them when the boat landed at a wood pile and the burly mate chased them along with a club or rope's end while they loaded cord wood.

We drank from barrels in which the muddy river water had stood until the mud had settled. It became fairly clear, when undisturbed for about twelve hours, and was not unpalatable.

We had a citizen doctor on board, hired by the Government for the trip. There was no work for him just then, but when we got to Fort Leavenworth he was kept busy.

On leaving Alton we went down the Mississippi to its junction with the Missouri, the "Big Muddy," where we could see the distinctly marked line of the two rivers for miles before the waters seemed to blend. The water of the Mississippi was comparatively clear and seemed loath to mingle with that of its murky companion. The Missouri was high at this time, during the usual June rise. The current was strong, and our heavily laden boats made but slow progress. This, however, did away with the necessity for sounding and enabled us to run at night, at least as far as Fort Leavenworth or further.

Except for three daily roll calls I had nothing to do. The weather was fine. I watched the engines occasionally but spent most of the day sitting in the front of the cabin deck looking out upon the mighty river whose windings disclosed constant changes of scenery. I was enchanted with it, and it never became monotonous to me. Sometimes a steamer carrying many passengers passed us, for no railroads then connected any of the river towns, except one inland from St. Louis as far as Jefferson City, the capitol of Missouri. A few of the passenger boats were equipped with a calliope, or steam organ, and would play old plantation melodies on approaching or departing from a town. To hear "Suwanee River," "The Old Folks at Home" or "Susannah" reverberating from the hills on a calm summer's evening was charming.

There were not many towns on the Missouri in 1855; the principal ones that I remember were St. Charles, Hermann, Jefferson City, Booneville, Glasgow, Kansas City, Leavenworth and St. Joseph, which was then about the end of civilization and the white settlements. Smaller places, not yet even named, were starting up, and some of them are prosperous towns now. I had a good school atlas with me so that I could locate the direction of the river and its principal tributaries. It proved to be an interesting and useful companion, giving me general information about the country and the distances between various points.

All of the steamboats used cord wood for fuel. This was supplied from wood yards along the river as far north as the white settlements extended. They were generally located in the wilderness far away from any town, but were well known to the pilots, who, when running short of wood, would sound a warning whistle on nearing a wood yard, which would bring out of the woods to the river bank a bushy-whiskered, matted-haired individual in a red shirt, with one suspender holding up his corduroy pants, the bottoms of which were thrust into cowhide boots.

The pilot would run the boat close in to shore and slacken speed while the captain opened a parley with the man in the red shirt about the price of the wood per cord and haggle about it until a bargain was made. If the price was low a large quantity would be shipped, or on the contrary, only enough to reach the next yard. Occasionally it happened that the captain would not take any fuel at the price offered and would start away to take his chances at the next wood pile, if he was sure he had enough fuel to get there.

When it was decided to take in wood, the boat tied up to the trees. Two gang planks run out, and the captain, the chief engineer and the purser of the boat went on shore and inspected and measured the wood. If satisfactory, they gave the word to the mate, who had his crew ready, and with a shout started them off on a run. Each man rushed to the pile, grabbed as many sticks as he could carry and ran into the boat on one gangway and out on the other. The mate, in the meantime, shouted and swore at them on the run, sometimes giving a slow man an unfriendly rap over the shoulders, to hurry him along. This was kept up without a moment's rest until all the wood wanted was on board. The poor devils of deck hands and firemen were exhausted and dripping with perspiration when their hard task was over. When this scene was enacted at night time under the fitful blaze of pitch-pine burnt on shore in iron baskets, it had a weird, unearthly aspect.

We made fair progress, without delay or accident, until we were within a few miles of the village of Booneville, Mo. It was noon, the weather was beautiful and the boat was making her best speed. I was sitting on a barrel on the lower deck forward, and had just finished my dinner and was talking to some comrades, when suddenly a crashing shock threw me down to the deck some distance away. I could hear the timbers and upper wood work of the boat crunching and straining. I looked up and saw the two tall smoke stacks wobbling dangerously and straining at their guys. The two great spars at the bow of the boat were swinging to and fro, and threatened to fall to the deck.

Finding that I was not injured, I rushed to the upper deck and looked down upon the scene of confusion below. There were cries of "Snag! Snag!" that dreaded obstruction to river navigation that had wrecked so many steamboats. In a moment the forward lower deck was crowded with hurrying boat hands and shouting officers. A hatchway was uncovered and half a dozen men jumped down into the hold. Mattresses and blankets were dropped to them with which they tried to stop the leak. But the inrush of the water was so strong that their efforts were futile and in less than five minutes they scrambled hastily on deck.

In the meantime, the pilot tried to back away from the snag, but the boat seemed to be caught in a trap. Fortunately, some one now gave orders to draw the fires and to blow off steam to avoid an explosion of the boilers. The roar of escaping steam and steady shriek of the big whistle added to the excitement and confusion. The soldiers' wives and children ran about the cabin deck, screaming with terror. We soldiers were made to understand, despite the noise, that we were to take the life preservers from our staterooms and assemble on the hurricane deck. This was promptly done. There I noticed that we were seventy-five to a hundred yards from the east bank of the river, with no habitation nor any other boat in sight.

There were some life boats on this deck which our officers had ordered us to help the crew to launch when word came that this would not be necessary, as soundings had shown that there was no danger of the boat being entirely submerged. This quieted the frightened ones, and when the steam had about escaped from the boiler and the noise lessened, we were ordered to descend to the cabin deck again to pack our knapsacks, take our arms and reassemble on the upper deck. There we saw five or six miles down the river the steamboat, Grey Cloud with Company A on board hastening to our assistance.

During all this time the boat had been sinking steadily, but not so rapidly as I expected. We could plainly hear the air pressure in the hold force off some of the hatchway covers and noticed a hissing sound when the water reached the still hot boilers. But there was no danger of explosion; the steam had been let off just in time. Occasionally the boat gave a sudden lurch and listed alarmingly to one side and when the water had entirely submerged the boiler deck and the boat began to sink more rapidly, we laid down our knapsacks and arms and began to put on the life preservers, as we feared the water would lift off the cabin deck and float us out into the river to drown, in spite of the assurance that the river at this point was too shallow for that to happen.

We watched the final struggles of the boat filled with the fear that she might break in two. Then with a huge straining and a terrifying tremor she settled on the bed of the river. Her bow was much higher than the stern, she had a strong list away from shore and the water was about three feet below the cabin deck.

I have no clear idea as to the time that elapsed between the striking of the snag and the grounding of the battered hull on the river bottom. But I know that the Grey Cloud, which we were anxiously watching, drew up alongside of our wreck about an hour after we had sighted her, and took us on board. No one was lost or injured. We saved the company books and papers and our own private property, except our dress coats and uniform hats, which had been packed away where we could not get at them. For these we were reimbursed later on.

The sun was still high when we cast off aboard the Grey Cloud and started up the river again. We took a couple of the Australia's officers with us and landed them at Booneville, a few miles away, to seek help. The captain and crew remained on board and were launching one of the life boats as we left. The last we saw of the wounded steamboat before a bend in the river hid her forever from our view, was her upper deck, with her paddle boxes and smoke stacks sticking out of the water. We learned later that she soon went to pieces and was a total wreck.

Snags, such as that which caused us so much trouble, are trees which have been washed away by freshets. They float down the river and the largest of them frequently become fixed with the heavy butt and great roots fast in the river's bed where they are held until one of the constant shiftings of the channel releases them. The branches of these trees in time drop off, leaving only the solid trunk, invisible at high water. It was such a one that sunk the Australia. We saw thousands of snags on the upper Missouri when the water was low. The pilots when descending the river pay but little attention to the smaller ones. They are pointed downstream and the boats often run directly over them without any injury as they readily bend under the impact.

The addition of my company crowded the Grey Cloud. We had to put up on the floor of the saloon for a few days until we reached Fort Leavenworth, where we disembarked and were to remain until another steamboat could be loaded and fitted out at St. Louis to take us up the river to Fort Pierre. The remainder of our little fleet had already passed on. The soldiers' wives and children of my company were left on board with Company A, fortunately for them. Their husbands, however, were ordered to disembark and serve with the company.

It was in the early forenoon that we marched up the steep hill from which Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, overlooked the river. We were assigned to quarters in an old two-story building close to some vacant cavalry stables on the western side of the fort, near some brush and woods. Fort Leavenworth was an old frontier post and its buildings were dilapidated. Its garrison at that time consisted of two companies of cavalry and a large number of unmounted recruits for one of the new cavalry regiments that was being formed there. The place was crowded and the cholera was raging. The hospital had long been overcrowded and one of the largest barrack buildings was also used as a hospital where the sick filled both of its large floors.

We had not been there many days before the dread disease made its appearance in my company and soon we had a dozen men sick of it. They were placed on straw beds on the floor of one of the old stables near our quarters, which had been hastily cleaned up for the purpose, although it was so infested with rats that they ran over the helpless sick even in the day time. There were no conveniences of any kind. The weather was intensely hot. The only drinking water to be had was brought from the Missouri River in barrels, into which each one dipped his tin cup. There was no ice, not even for the sick, and medical attendance was altogether inadequate.

After a day or two of illness one of our men died and was soon followed by another. During our short stay the company lost four members, as well as Brevet Second Lieutenant Samuel T. Sheppard, who died June 27, 1855. He was assigned to duty with us after our arrival. Lieutenant Sheppard was a fine young officer and had only lately been graduated from West Point. As there were no musicians at Fort Leavenworth except my drummer and myself and a few buglers of the cavalry companies, we two were ordered to attend all the funerals to play the "Dead March," and as my company was the only infantry present, they furnished the escort for the recruits who died in the hospitals. During our stay of about three weeks I cannot recall more than two or three days without a funeral, held usually in the morning, but often followed by another in the afternoon or evening. I frequently saw two or three coffins carried at one time in the two horse, covered delivery wagon which did duty as a hearse.

These funerals were simple affairs. A funeral escort of a corporal, eight privates and my drummer and myself appeared at one of the hospitals and waited until the coffin or coffins were loaded on the wagon. Sometimes we were kept waiting rather long, while the corpses were being placed in the coffins, and nailed up in the presence of the sick and dying. There was no dead houses or separate place for the bodies; they were left lying where they died on their straw beds on the floor, simply covered with a blanket until the time for the next funeral.

When the coffins were brought out the escort presented arms, and when they were loaded on the wagon, the corporal commanded, "Shoulder arms, right face, reverse arms, forward march." Then we marched off in slow time, playing the solemn "Dead March," which could be plainly heard by the unfortunate patients in the hospital. We continued the slow march and music, until a short distance outside of the fort, when we ceased playing, and marched at the "Route Step," until we entered the cemetery, which was more than a mile away. There we resumed the slow step and doleful music, until we arrived at the grave. The coffin was lowered without any further ceremony, except the firing of three rounds of blank cartridges by the escort, across the grave. We then marched back to the garrison, while the grave diggers filled in the earth on top of the coffin.

One morning, while waiting at the temporary hospital on our usual sad duty, I was seized by a strong desire to see with my own eyes the awful conditions in the building, of which I had heard much. I entered the hallway and passed through a wide open door into a large barrack room. On the two long sides of the room, lying on the floor upon bedsacks stuffed with straw, were about three dozen men in all stages of the terrible disease. Some were unconscious of their surroundings; their features had turned to a bluish black color. Flies in great numbers swarmed around them, and settled on their open lips and staring eyes. Others, in the earlier stages, feebly tried to free themselves from these pests. The doors and windows were all open, but the heat and stench were terrible. There was no furniture in the room, except a table for medicines, and a few chairs for the soldier-nurses.

Two rude oblong boxes rested on the floor near the door. They were of pine, and not even stained any color. Into these two almost nude bodies of men who had died during the night were being placed or packed—literally packed, for one of the bodies was that of a very large man for whom the coffin was too short. When his head and feet were in, his chest bulged up, which made it necessary for one of the attendants to sit on the cover while it was being nailed down. All this was done in plain view of the patients. What a sight for those who were conscious! What must have been the thoughts and feeling of the unfortunate sufferers?

I turned with horror and indignation from the room, sickened and shuddering at the sight I had seen. What should be said of the commander of the post, an officer of high rank? And what of the chief medical officer? They permitted this brutal and inhuman treatment of the sick to continue, while there was plenty of space and tents to shelter the stricken, to separate the convalescent from the sick and to remove the dead from their proximity?

I am aware that medical science, at that time, knew but little concerning either the prevention or cure of cholera, but at Fort Leavenworth absolutely nothing was done to prevent the disease from becoming epidemic. No orders, caution or instructions were ever given to us in regard to it, and it was left to each man to guard himself as his intelligence might dictate.

The afflicted of my company fared a little better than the poor recruits. They were not crowded, and our little fat citizen doctor did his duty conscientiously. After about two weeks no more new cases developed in my company, and those still under his care were convalescent.

There was a man in the company at this time, who claimed to know of an infallible preventative of cholera. Before enlisting he had worked in some of the Mississippi river towns, as far south as New Orleans, where cholera and yellow fever were prevalent. He claimed to have acquired his knowledge from an old negro doctor. He said all he needed was a gallon of whiskey, and he could furnish the rest of the required ingredients. He talked so much and so earnestly about this, that he finally persuaded another and myself to put up the money for the liquor, as he had none himself. He went down to Leavenworth City, a few miles away, and bought a gallon demijohn of corn whiskey, which he secretly carried into the woods back of our quarters. Then he dug up some roots. These, with some bark, he cut up and put into the whiskey. After digging a hole among the bushes deep enough to hold the demijohn, he concealed it with brush-wood.

Every morning between reveille and breakfast, we sneaked away to the woods by divers routes. Careful to be unobserved we pulled out the demijohn and each took a drink of the mixture. It was vile and strong stuff. One of the ingredients, I think, was sassafras, but I do not know what else it contained, for we were never told. We did this regularly every morning during our stay. I do not know whether the stuff had any real merit, but none of our syndicate had any symptom of the disease, and we succeeded in keeping our cache a secret.

After we had been at Fort Leavenworth about three weeks, we received the heartening news one morning that the steamboat Genoa had arrived from St. Louis, and was ready to take us aboard. We embarked in the afternoon, and at once started up the river. It was on the third day of July, a date impressed on my memory by the joy of getting away from a pestilential place, and the fact that we hoisted the United States flag and fired a salute at noon next day, with the little one-pounder cannon on board of the boat.

The Genoa was almost a duplicate of the Australia, on which we had been sunk near Booneville. Our accommodations were about the same, except that the slats had been generously left in the berths, so that we did not have to lie on the floor. I had my first view of Indians a short distance above Leavenworth. They belonged to the Kickapoo tribe and did not impress me much. There were half a dozen of them loafing around a wood pile where we had stopped. They looked sad and lazy and begged for tobacco. They lived near the white settlements, and appeared to have degenerated by contact with the whites.

The June rise of the river was over, and the water was much lower; we could no longer run in the night, but tied up at the river bank as soon as darkness fell. In a few days we passed St. Joseph, Mo., which, save for a few small settlements a little further on, marked the end of civilization. Council Bluff, Omaha, Nebraska City, Sioux City, and others, had no existence as yet. St. Joseph was one of the starting points for emigrants, who went to Utah and overland to California. It was also the place of departure on the Missouri from the United States Mail Route and the Pony Express.

We had not yet seen the last of the cholera. A sergeant of my company was stricken, on the second day out from Leavenworth, and was immediately isolated on the lower deck of the boat. Fortunately, it proved to be a mild case, and under the doctor's care he recovered in a short time. This case was the last we had.

At this time I shared my cabin with Corporal Clifford of my company, who was my bunkie. We had been on the river but a few days, when one night while I was preparing to lie down in my bunk, after tattoo roll call, he told me he was going down to the lower deck and would be back directly. When he failed to return within a reasonable time, I reported his absence to the first sergeant. A thorough search of the boat and the shore revealed no trace of him. It was concluded that he had fallen overboard and drowned, though no outcry had been heard. Some months later we read in a newspaper of the finding of a soldier's body in the river, away down near Kansas City. The description seemed to fit Corporal Clifford. Everyone liked him and his loss was deeply felt.

The captain of the Genoa was named Throckmorton, an experienced Western riverman. He had his son with him, a lad about my age, with whom I spent a good deal of time. The boy had a shot gun, and once or twice he took me with him shooting birds and small game on shore, while the boat laid up for wood.

There were no wood yards beyond St. Joseph, and we encountered no more steamboats, except those which had taken Companies A, G and I to Fort Pierre, and were now returning laden with furs. When wood ran short, the boat made a landing at a suitable place, and all the firemen and deck hands went on shore to cut down trees and chop them up to cordwood size. A quantity of logs were also taken on board to be sawed and split on deck, while the boat was under way. This saved time, for the "wooding up" of the boat consumed many hours, and had to be repeated every few days. The wood was of poor quality, mostly cotton wood, and of course, very green for firing. Some of the soldiers voluntarily assisted at the wood chopping, tempted no doubt by the small pay per hour, and a drink of whiskey, which was also served to all the boat hands.

Navigation became more difficult as we slowly advanced up the tortuous stream which often seemed to double on itself. At times we were heading south instead of north, and appeared to be going down the river instead of up.

It was the mid-summer period of low water in the Missouri, and no improvement could be expected before the fall rains. There was no well defined channel, for the erratic river was constantly changing its course. Islands that had existed the previous year were washed away by the spring floods, or so changed in contour as to be unrecognizable. New islands were formed, and soon covered with a growth of willows and brush. Land was washed away from shores and added in other places. No reliable chart of the upper river existed. The pilot was guided only by his own judgment of the current, the appearance of the water, the visible sand bars, and the numerous snags that showed their branches above the water's level.

Appearances were sometimes deceptive and caused the pilot to run the boat up on the wrong side of a long island, only to find that the channel was too narrow to get through or too much obstructed by snags. He would then have to back out and run back for miles in order to try the other side of the island. Many times each day we heard the pilot's single toll of the bell on the forward deck. This was the signal to take soundings on the starboard side, and was usually followed by his ring to the engine room to slacken speed. A man would commence to "heave-the-lead" attached to a line, that had marks in various colors at intervals, to indicate the depth of water. He would cry out measurements, such as "No bottom, mark-twain, half-twain, quarterless-twain, six feet, five feet," then perhaps suddenly "Nine feet," or "Three feet," when we could feel the boat slide onto a sand bar, if the pilot had not reversed the engines in time. Soundings were sometimes taken in a row boat at some distance away.

We frequently ran onto sand bars lightly, and managed to get off by reversing the paddle-wheels, but often it took many hours or several days to float the boat again. When it was found that the steamer was hard and fast, the great spars carried forward were brought into use. The butt end of one of the spars was lowered over the side into the water well forward. It sunk firmly into the sandy bottom by its own weight. A double set of strong pulley blocks, attached to the top of the spar, were connected by a cable which wound around the drum of a powerful capstan on the forward deck. The capstan bars were manned by as many of the deck hands as could find room. Then they began turning, very slowly after the strain was on, going around in a circle and keeping up a kind of a chant, such as sailors often sing on ships when raising the anchor by hand. It was exhausting labor, but the soldiers often volunteered to help.

By this operation a part of the boat was practically lifted, and by placing the spar at the proper inclination, it was also sheered away from the bar at the same time. Progress seemed to be made by inches. Many times the spar had to be lifted and reset in a new position, and often a portion of the deck freight had to be shifted before the boat could be freed. During all this time the sand in the river kept on drifting against the boat and added to the difficulty. If the boat ran into a bar near the shore, where a cable could be fastened to trees, we could get off again with much less trouble, and without the use of the spars.

We proceeded in this laborious way, until we were fifty miles or more north of where Sioux City is now located. There a series of very bad turns in the river made Captain Throckmorton decide that the Genoa was too heavily laden to pass, and that at least one-half of her freight must be put on shore. A place deemed suitable was selected on the east bank of the river, and the unloading was commenced. The freight consisting of all manner of commissary, quartermaster and sutler's stores. It was put ashore on skids by the deck hands and piled up under tarpaulins.

The company went on shore, including the citizen doctor, and put up so-called "A" tents, which we found among the quartermaster's stores. Thus we established a camp, where extra ammunition and other necessaries were provided. A guard of a half a dozen men under a corporal remained on board, and the Genoa resumed her journey towards Fort Pierre, a few hundred miles away. But, when something more than half way there, and just below the upper "Big Bend," the captain unloaded another part of his freight and left it on shore without any guards.

Along the entire distance from St. Joseph to "Camp Gardner," our destination, which the soldiers named after our captain, we saw no indications of white settlements, except at the mouth of the Big Sioux River, a few miles north of the site where Sioux City was founded the following year. There, as we passed, we noticed some white men erecting a saw-mill. They ran down to the river bank and motioned to us to stop, but we kept on our course. We saw no Indians, for, according to their custom, they had departed in the spring to hunt buffalo and other game on the plains and would not return to the river until late in the fall.

We saw a few herds of buffalo grazing on the prairies some miles away from the river. But when they became aware of the steamer, they rushed away, and soon disappeared from sight.

We were greatly annoyed by mosquitoes at night. So persistent were these pests on a few occasions that men from the company were detailed to remain on shore all night and tend small fires whose smoke enveloped the boat.

One night there was an alarm of Indians. The sentinel on shore reported to the corporal of the guard that he had seen moving lights some distance away, that appeared to be signals. The company was quietly called under arms, and the lights on the boat extinguished. We remained on the alert until daylight, but nothing happened. It seemed to have been a false alarm.

While at Leavenworth, a married soldier had joined our company, and he and his wife went up the river with us. She was the only woman on board. A girl baby was born to her before we reached Camp Gardner, and it was named Genoa Harrison, after the steamer.

We had not been more than a week on the river, when I became very ill and had to take to my berth. I had not felt well for some days, and now had a throbbing headache and a high fever, being part of the time delirious. I was furnished with a mattress to lie on, and a man was detailed to wait on me. The doctor was very attentive, and managed to pull me through. When I got so that I began to eat a little, the doctor got Captain Throckmorton's permission to have my meals served from the cabin table. They were brought to me by the captain's colored boy, who served me cheerfully. He was a happy, grinning young darky, about my own age, and so black that the soldiers said charcoal would make a white mark on him. I had no money to reward him, but when we got to the end of our journey, I gave him one of my jackets and a soldier's cap, which made him very proud and happy. As for the doctor, I remember him most gratefully; but I never saw him nor heard of him again, after he left us. I was able to be up about a week before we got to Camp Gardner, and was convalescent, but still weak. I suppose now that I had typhoid fever, although the doctor did not tell me so at the time.

It was about a month after we had left Leavenworth that we encamped, and in all that time we had accomplished less than five hundred miles. The camp was on a knoll close to a ravine, in which were some trees and bushes. The country round about was hilly, and without any woods. I think the captain chose the position as one of good defense against Indians, in case our rich booty of freight should tempt them to attack us. We never saw an Indian while there, but sentinels were posted in the day time, where they could overlook much of the country, and were withdrawn nearer to the camp at night.

It was August and the weather was intensely hot. To escape the sun we spent much time in the shady ravine. We also went swimming often, and fished for cat-fish in the Missouri. Rattlesnakes, which were numerous, were a cause for anxiety, but we escaped being stung by them and killed many.

It was at Camp Gardner that we first made use of some of the mechanical talent of my company. A couple of masons built a bake-oven, near the river bank, out of stones found there. It had a stone bed and was regularly arched on a wooden center made of barrel staves, and was provided with a smoke flue. The builders had no lime or cement, so they covered it all over, about a foot thick, with earth and sods. It worked well, and in a few days a practical baker of the company made such good use of it that we all had bread which tasted delicious after eating "hardtack" for a month. We had plenty of flour, but I do not know how he made yeast. Perhaps that was found in the shape of powders among the sutler's stores.

Tobacco had become very scarce among the men. Some of them smoked tea, coffee or dried leaves, until the captain, who, I think wanted some himself, authorized the first sergeant to search the sutler's stores in the freight pile. Boxes of plug tobacco were found, and a plentiful supply was distributed, for which the sutler was reimbursed. Later on we learned to make use of the Indian's substitute for tobacco, when in want of it.

We had been without any fresh meat or vegetables, since we left Leavenworth, but at Camp Gardner we caught plenty of large catfish, of which our cooks made a very palatable chowder. It was an agreeable change of diet. In some of the ravines we found quantities of wild plums, smaller than the domestic fruit, and yellow, but fairly sweet and deliciously flavored. There were also plenty of wild grapes, but not yet ripe enough to eat. We had an easy time in camp, performing no duties except guard. A stone cutter among the soldiers wiled away part of his spare time carving deeply into the soft rock face of a cliff on the river's edge: "Camp Gardner, August, 1855. Here was caught a fifty-pound catfish by John O'Meara, Company D, Second U.S. Infantry." The man who caught this great fish was henceforth called "Catfish O'Meara."

After nearly three weeks, the Genoa returned from Fort Pierre. The freight was reloaded and Camp Gardner abandoned. The company's baker baked an extra supply of "soft bread," which we took with us when we resumed our slow, monotonous journey up the river.

Evenings, when the mosquitoes were not too numerous, we gathered at the bow of the boat and sang songs to the music of a mouth harmonica, which one of the soldiers played, or told stories and tried to be cheerful. But we were again overtaken by a calamity, about the third day after leaving camp.

The boat was tied up to get fuel one afternoon, and some of the soldiers took a swim in the river.

A sergeant named Schott, a strong, athletic young man and a good swimmer, took a dive from the shore into the river, at a point about two hundred feet ahead of the boat, and in plain view of many on deck. We saw one of his hands appear above the water twice, near the place he went in. But, as the minutes passed, his head did not appear, and we gave the alarm. By the time the place was reached, there was no longer any hope of rescue. Some hours were spent in grappling for the body unsuccessfully. The small cannon was brought on shore, and fired over the place where he was last seen, a half-dozen times; but it failed to raise the body, which was never recovered. This event cast a shadow of gloom over us. It was the second case of death by drowning since we had been on the Genoa.

The river was now at its lowest. The summer had been unusually dry, and when we got to the mouth of the L'Eau qui Court River, now called the Niabrara River, it was found to have formed a sand bar across the Missouri. This new barrier made a lot of trouble, although we had only half a load of freight. So, when Captain Throckmorton reached the place just below the Big Bend, on the way up, where he had left a part of his freight, consisting of a lot of barrels of salt pork, he decided that he could not make his way through the Bend. The freight was once more divided, and we went into camp on the east side of the river, while the boat steamed on to Fort Pierre again.

This camp was named "Camp O'Connell", after our lieutenant. It was in the woods, where we were sheltered from the hot sun, but we found the ground rather damp. We cleared away the underbrush and covered the floors of our tents with brushwood and leaves. When this did not keep out the moisture, we built bunks about a foot high. We did not build a bake oven this time, as we expected the boat to return in a week. We were now only about one hundred miles from the end of our journey. By this time we had become more indifferent about Indians, as we had encountered none at Camp Gardner, and wandered further from camp, in small squads, always taking our rifles and ammunition. A few men got permission to go hunting. One of them shot a small deer, but they had little success with rifles on small game and prairie hens.

One day some of the men discovered a large cornfield in the bottom land near the river. The stalks were tall enough to hide a man on horseback, but there were many weeds. The ears of corn seemed as large as a man's forearm, and were just about ripe enough to eat on the cob. Next day I was one of a party that brought a kettle from camp, and we boiled corn on the river bank. For a few days we had a daily feast of this delicious corn. Many of the ears were red or blue or mixed in color. We did not let the officers know about our find, fearing they would forbid us to take any of it. We learned later that this corn belonged to some of the Yankton tribe, whose squaws had planted it in the spring before the Indians started on their summer buffalo hunt. No care was taken of it, but it grew to immense size in the rich soil, despite the weeds. On their return, late in the fall, the Yanktons gathered it.

In about a week the Genoa returned, and once more we reembarked. In taking down our tents, it was found that some snakes had lodged in the brush and leaves under some of the low bunks, and it made some of the occupants turn pale on learning that they had peacefully slept so close to the dangerous reptiles. As the boat now carried only about one quarter of the amount of freight she had started with, we made better progress, and were only delayed by frequent soundings. I think we reached Fort Pierre on the morning of the fourth day from Camp O'Connell, about the middle of September, 1855, just fifty-one years since the Lewis and Clark expedition had passed that way on its long journey across the continent.

As I look back over this long, weary and unfortunate journey, I realize that it took about three and a half months to go from Carlisle, Pa., to Fort Pierre, Nebraska Territory. Of this time, we were more than seven weeks on the Missouri River, and it had cost the company seven lives—one officer and four privates, by cholera, and two non-commissioned officers, by drowning—a rather mournful remembrance for this early period of my service.

PART IV.
Fort Pierre and the Sioux Indians, 1855-1856.

Fort Pierre, situated on the west bank of the Missouri River, about fifteen hundred miles above St. Louis, Mo., was an old trading post belonging to the American Fur Co., which also had another post or two higher up the river and one on the Yellowstone River. Fort Pierre was the headquarters. It was a stockade structure, built of split logs firmly set in the ground and twenty feet or more in height. There were sheltered and protected turrets at the corners on top, which afforded a look-out over a large area of flat country. The fort set back a short distance from the bank and had a large gate on the river side. There were also one or two smaller gates. The stockade enclosed a square space, containing several well built log houses for the traders, trappers, hunters and others. There were also storehouses and a central vacant space of considerable size within the barrier. The fort was built in 1832 by Pierre Chouteau, Jr., and recently sold to the Government.

The stockade was built on high bottom land, well placed for defense against the Indians. The prospect was uninterrupted for miles up or down the river, and to the west the land was level and bare for some miles to the foot-hills. To the east was the Missouri with a large island opposite the fort and hilly land on the other side of the river. To the north, on the bank of the river, less than half a mile away, there was an Indian settlement of about twenty-five lodges. It was there that the Indians who came to trade usually camped. The surroundings were bleak and dreary to the extreme. One saw nothing but prairie or a few stunted bushes in some shallow ravines near the river. Wood for fuel had to be hauled a long distance.

We found here the three companies that had preceded us, also companies "B" and "C" of my regiment who had marched across the country from Fort Ridgely, Minnesota Territory. They were the first soldiers that had ever been stationed in that part of the country. They brought a herd of beef cattle and mules in charge of herders, who had managed to get them there during the summer season with small loss.

During the six weeks or more that these five companies had preceded us, they had been very busy setting up the portable houses that had been brought up on the steamers. These houses were placed a short distance behind the stockade, around three sides of a large parallelogram, forming the parade ground—officers' houses on one side, company quarters opposite and other houses on one end. The necessary store houses were erected on the river front. The company houses were intended to hold half a company each without crowding. We moved into two of them on our arrival and had a little less than thirty men in each house. They were single-story affairs with but one room and of the flimsiest wood construction. The sills and floor beams were entirely too light for the live weight to be carried, the upright studding was about three by two inches, grooved on two sides to receive panels made of three-quarter inch boards, which was all the protection there was against the intense winter cold of that latitude. There was no interior finish of any kind. The roof was of thin boards covered with tarred paper and had a low pitch from a ridge to the sides. The houses were set on wooden posts about two feet above the ground.

Each house was furnished with two sheet iron stoves for burning wood, and had stove pipes passing through the roof. The officers' houses were the same, except that they were smaller and were divided into two rooms by a thin board partition. These houses were very easily set up. There was but little work on them except driving nails. They had been previously painted a dark red color, both inside and out. Whoever designed these cardboard houses—for they proved to be but little better—had but a small conception of the requirements of that climate. The winters were long, with deep snow and frequent blizzards. The architect of these shelters was indirectly the cause of much suffering. We built log huts for company kitchens, but we had no mess-rooms.

On the day before the steamboat Genoa left on her return trip to St. Louis, partly loaded with furs, a paymaster, who returned on her paid us for four months. We did not see a paymaster again until the following May or June. A sutler had established a store, with a miscellaneous stock of goods such as soldiers needed, also goods for trading with the Indians. But the prices were so high that we could not afford to buy much. This was due to the high cost of steamboat transportation, which amounted to about fifty dollars per ton from St. Louis.

About two weeks after our arrival at Fort Pierre, a courier from Brigadier General William S. Harney, commander of the Sioux expedition, arrived from Ash Hollow with an order for four companies of the Second Infantry to be sent to him as re-enforcements.

It appeared that General Harney had fought a battle with the Brulé and Ogalalla tribes of the Sioux, on September 3rd, 1855, at Ash Hollow on the Blue Water creek. This is a tributary of the Platte River, about two hundred and fifty miles south-west of Fort Pierre.

These were the Indians who had massacred Lieutenant Grattan and twenty-one soldiers more than a year before, and for whose punishment the Government had organized the Sioux expedition.

General Harney had started out from Fort Laramie with six small companies of infantry and two of cavalry. After a march of nearly one hundred and fifty miles, he skillfully approached the Indians' camp, without the presence of his troops being suspected.

The Indians had been buffalo hunting during the summer, acquiring many skins, and much dried buffalo meat. About seventy lodges had encamped on the Blue Water in a sheltered valley, where they probably expected to pass the coming winter.

The troops surprised the camp at day break, and attacked it simultaneously from two sides. The Indians, unable to make any organized resistance, fled in the direction where their ponies were herded, but were pursued by the cavalry. Many were killed, among them a number of squaws, for in the confusion it was difficult to distinguish them from the warriors.

The chief, Little Thunderer, made his escape. The soldiers lost few in this action, but the punishment to the Indians was very severe; and it had its effect, for as long as we remained among the Sioux, only small skirmishes took place.

The loss of all their lodges, provisions, arms, furs and other property, which the general caused to be burned, was a severe blow to them. They were also deprived of many of their ponies. After the battle, the troops were encamped in a stronger position nearby. There they awaited re-enforcements from Fort Pierre, where they intended to winter, as the general deemed it imprudent to march his small force to the fort, across the enemy's country, fearing that other tribes to the north and east might form a coalition with the vanquished Indians.

My company was one of the four ordered to join General Harney, at Ash Hollow; but I and a few more of the young boys were not taken along. We were left at Fort Pierre with the two companies retained there. The march proved to be very severe. Part of the route was across the "Mauvaises Terres" (Bad Lands), where there was no vegetation. It was a desert, where wood and water had to be carried in the waggons from one camp to another.

Many curious specimens of fossil remains, picked up in the Bad Lands, were brought by the soldiers to Fort Pierre. There were petrified fish, lizards, frogs, etc. But nearly all were imperfect, and more or less broken.

After a short rest, the united troops under General Harney, twelve companies in all—quite a little army for those days—took up their march for Fort Pierre, and arrived there early in November, without any molestation from the Indians.

I have often regretted since that I was not allowed to go on this march. I wanted to see that part of the country, through which but few white men had ever traveled before.

General Harney's additional troops went into camp near our quarters. The weather was getting cold; winter was approaching; firewood was scarce, and had to be hauled a long distance. There was but a small supply of forage for the cavalry horses, and scarcely any grass in the vicinity of the fort. That had been eaten up by the mules and Indian ponies. Water also had to be carted quite a distance from the river. In view of these conditions, and as there were not enough portable houses to shelter them, it was decided to put the six companies of the Sixth Infantry, and the two companies of cavalry into cantonment. They were accordingly sent about six miles up the river, where they built log houses in the woods on the east bank of the Missouri and remained there until the following spring.

General Harney took quarters in one of the buildings in the stockade. Whenever it was my turn as orderly at the adjutant's office, one of my duties was to bring the general, in a sealed envelope, the "countersign," or watchword for the night. When I approached him, saluted, and said: "General, the countersign," he would reply in his gruff, stentorian voice, "Lay it on the table." I was always glad to hustle out of his presence.

The general was very tall and powerfully built. He wore a long white beard, and his white hair was also long. In spite of his age, he was erect—a remarkably commanding figure. Many of the Indians knew and feared him. Among them he was known as the "Great White Chief."

General Harney had been in the Seminole, and other Indian wars. He was colonel of the Second Dragoons, in the war with Mexico, and was promoted to Brevet Brigadier General.

During the absence of my company on the march to Ash Hollow and return, I had but little to do and spent much of my time in wandering about the environs of Fort Pierre. With others I crossed the river in a canoe, and on the opposite side we found great quantities of wild grapes, which were fairly good to eat, though somewhat tart. We squeezed the juice out of them, and with the addition of sugar and water, made a very palatable drink.

There were some prairie-dog villages on the plain west of the fort, and it was interesting to watch these alert and nimble animals, no larger than a squirrel, running about and having sentinels posted on some higher point near their underground dwellings. These sentries sat upon their haunches, and watched carefully in all directions. Whenever we got within a certain distance of them, they gave a shrill, sharp bark, which started all the others running for the various holes. No matter how quiet we kept, or how long we remained, they did not come out again until we were a long distance away.

I became acquainted with some of the employees of the American Fur Company, who were mostly French-Canadians, with a few half-breed Indians among them. Some of them were married to squaws and lived at the Indian camp close by. From these men, who were mostly hunters, trappers or guides, I heard many interesting stories of their hazardous lives and their experiences among the Indians, whose language most of them spoke. They were often useful as interpreters.

To me, the most interesting people at Fort Pierre were the Indians, among whom I passed the greater part of my leisure time. This intimate association with the savages continued all through my service on the frontiers, a period of about five years in Nebraska and Minnesota Territories.

I have read the beautiful stories of Fennimore Cooper and other writers of Indian romances. I have also read some of the stories of explorers and the able and interesting works of men who lived among the North American Indians and studied them. But I do not intend to quote from any of them. I shall simply relate here what I learned about the Indians from persons living in close contact with them during my time and the impressions they made on my youthful mind, as I can remember them now, after a period of fifty years since I left the Indian country to take part in the Civil War, in 1861.

Nebraska Territory in 1855, extended from Minnesota Territory, on the east, to the Rocky mountains, on the west; and from Kansas Territory, on the south, to the British possessions, on the north. It has since been partitioned into North and South Dakota, Nebraska, Wyoming and Montana. The greater part of this immense territory was claimed and inhabited by the Sioux Indians, a name given to them by the French-Canadians, who also gave French names to some of the tribes composing the Sioux, such as the Gross Ventres, Brules, etc. These Frenchmen also named the rivers, streams and mountains, many of which have since been re-named.

The Indians called themselves Dakotas, and did not recognize the name of Sioux. They were divided into a number of tribes, each ruled by a chief. The following are the names of some of the tribes, with the most of whom we came in contact: Poncas, Yanktons, Yanktonnas, Uncapapas, Blackfeet, Rikarees, Minnikanye, Ogallalas, Brules. Certain tribes were sub-divided into bands, such as the "Two-Kettle-Band," and "Smutty-Bear-Band," both of whom were Yanktons.

Lieutenant Gouverneur K. Warren, of the Topographical Engineers, U.S.A., who made surveys in the Dakota country in 1855, 1856 and 1857, and to whom we furnished an escort, estimated the Dakota Indians at about three thousand lodges, which would represent a population of twenty-four thousand, of which five thousand were warriors.

During a decade, their numbers had decreased from wars with the Chippawa Indians and other tribes in the north, while in the south, near the white settlements, the mortality from the small-pox had been very great among Poncas and Yanktons. I noticed that many of them were pock-marked, and some had become blind in one eye from the disease, which their medicine-men could neither cure nor prevent from becoming epidemic.

It was obvious that the more northern tribes of the Dakotas, who had seen but a few whites, were superior to those of the south, near the settlements, whose contact with the whites had degraded them. The Indians who inhabited the more northern and western parts of Nebraska were fine specimens of their race, for they still lived in their aboriginal way. Game was yet abundant. They were proud and warlike and possessed many ponies. Their tepees were larger, finer and more decorated. They were rich in furs of all kinds, which they bartered with the traders for guns, powder, lead, beads, calico, knives, tomahawks, etc. Many of them had guns, but most of these were old flint-locks. Bows and arrows were by no means abandoned and they continued to manufacture and use them. They also had many dogs, which closely resembled wolves, except in color. These dogs, some of them very large, they used in many ways, often as beasts of burden—and as a choice article of food on festive occasions.

The distinctive features of the Dakotas were their broad faces with high cheek bones; their high, broad, receding foreheads and coarse, coal-black hair, slightly wavy like a horse's mane. The men, or bucks, as we called them, wore no beards. The very little hair that grew on their faces, they carefully removed. I often saw them engaged in plucking out hairs from their faces with tweezers and the aid of a small mirror. Some of them even plucked the hair from their eyebrows. The men were generally tall, or looked so because of their erect bearing. Sinewy and slender as a rule, quick and active, they seemed better looking than the women. They wore buckskin leggings and buckskin shirts in winter, fringed and ornamented, moccasins, elaborately beaded, and colored blankets or soft buffalo robes. They wore no head covering, simply a few eagle feathers. Hats or war bonnets were only worn on special occasions. They were fond of wearing large brass rings in their ears, the weight of which pulled the lobes so far down as to be grotesque. Many wore armlets and wristlets of heavy brass wire, wound around many times, and a necklace of bears' claws.

The complexion of the Dakotas ranged all the way from a pale saffron to a deep copper color. When they were decked out in their full paraphernalia, with their faces and upper parts of their bodies painted in various colors, knives and tomahawks thrust into their belts, and bows and quivers slung over their shoulders, they presented a formidable and picturesque appearance.

I saw but a small proportion of very old bucks or squaws among them. Possibly they had a way of getting rid of them when they became old and helpless. Neither were children very numerous, although they practised polygamy. I suppose many of these died in infancy.

Of the many Indian chiefs whom I saw at Fort Pierre, I can only recall the names of two, Struck-by-the-Ree and Smutty-Bear, who were there frequently and in whose tepees I smoked the pipe. Both were well along in years.

Of the squaws but few could be called handsome and it would be flattery to say that many were even good looking. While they were generally lithe and graceful in their youth, laborious work and severe hardships aged them early. They inclined to stoutness more than the males, and many of the elder ones had backs that were bent from carrying heavy burdens.

The squaws planted corn, dug up edible roots, gathered and dried fruit, skinned the game which the men killed, cut up and dried the buffalo meat, tanned the skins, made moccasins and garments, did the cooking, fetched water and carried fire wood or buffalo chips for long distances on their backs. They put up and took down the teepees, loaded the ponies, and did all kinds of other work, frequently with a papoose or two fastened to their backs.

The males did little more than hunt and fish, make bows and arrows, and carve pipes and stems. The young Indians herded and took care of the ponies and some few horses which had probably been stolen from the settlers. Sometimes they helped the squaws in setting up the large, heavy teepees. This is about all I ever saw them do, save for playing polo with a ball and crooked stick, while mounted on their fleet and active ponies, very much the same as the game is played among the whites to-day.

The squaws' clothing closely resembled that of the bucks. They wore buckskin moccasins, leggings and a skirt, but they were very fond of gay colored calico garments, which they wore in the summer time. The material for these they obtain from traders or soldiers. We often bought calico of the sutler and traded it with the squaws for moccasins or furs. We could always make a better bargain if the calico had glaring colors and fantastic figures. The squaws also wore a blanket or robe, and when they covered up their heads with that, leaving only their broad faces exposed, they looked so much like the young bucks that it was difficult to distinguish the sexes by sight. This was the cause of some ridiculous mistakes by the soldiers.

Observance of ceremonies and duties toward the dead was also the performance of squaws. When an Indian died the squaws sewed up the body in several wraps of buffalo hide together with his personal belongings—his gun, his bow and arrows, his knife, tomahawk, pipe and, in fact, all his minor property. Some ears of corn and other food were always placed inside the shroud to provision him for the journey to the spirit land.

The Dakotas did not bury their dead. They either secured them in the branches of trees or on a rude, strong scaffold made of forked sticks and poles, set atop some hill, where it was plainly visible for miles around. Among the Ponca tribe, however, I saw bodies placed on the ground on top of a knoll with a pediment-shaped structure of split logs over them. They were encased in stones and sods to secure them, but many had fallen into decay and were partly open to the ravages of wolves and other animals.

Sometimes on marches through the country we had a few Indian guides who took some of their squaws with them. Whenever the squaws sighted an Indian burial place they rode towards it, dismounted, and set up a mournful howl. Then they deposited some ears of corn or some pemican at the foot of the tree or scaffold.

On a hill within sight of Fort Pierre, there was a large, high scaffold, on which some dozens of Indians' bodies were lashed with strips of buffalo skins. I visited the place one day with some companions. We found that a recent storm had demolished a part of the old structure, and nearly a dozen of the bodies had fallen to the ground. In many cases the dry, brittle wrappings of skins had been broken open by the fall, exposing the contents to plain view.

It seemed to me most singular that the bodies had not putrified, but appeared to have simply shriveled up in that pure, dry atmosphere. It was as if they had been mummified by nature. There appeared to be no flesh, but a parchment like skin clung to the bones, and the raven black hair adhered to the skull.

The bodies were all fully dressed and had on all their ornaments. I noticed one among them that wore a British officer's red uniform coat with epaulets and gilded buttons. I regret to say that some of the soldiers committed the sacrilege of appropriating some of the articles inclosed with the bodies, such as knives, tomahawks, flints and steel, and made practical use of them.

A group of squaws sometimes visited the fort with cunning looking little papooses' heads peeping out over their shoulders followed by small children who were afraid of the soldiers. They meandered around until they found the huts where the soldiers' wives and families lived. There they would squat on the ground and spend hours watching the white women at their domestic work. By way of diversion they occasionally placed one of their children between their knees, and set to work picking small insects out of the child's hair. They had a very original and effective way of disposing of the captive. They held him between the thumb and finger, placed him between the front teeth and bit him to death.

The squaws wore their black, coarse hair in two long braids. The parting in the center was generally made conspicuous with vermillion paint. The color of their cheeks was heightened by the same material, with perhaps a yellow ring around the eyes. If in mourning, a simple, irregular patch of white paint on the forehead seemed to be all that was needed. They greased their hair liberally with buffalo fat which, when rancid, emitted an unpleasant odor.

It was interesting to watch the arrival of a band of Indians at a military post. This happened often at Fort Pierre except in winter. Sometimes they came with a grievance against white settlers or hunters, or with a complaint against a neighboring tribe who were violating a treaty. But often they visited us simply out of curiosity. They came in large and small parties, sometimes several hundred or more, including squaws and children.

I often watched the long line coming down the hills or across the prairie, the men riding in advance two by two on their unshod ponies. After them came squaws riding straddle and leading pack horses. Next came a line of ponies in single file, with a number of long lodge poles lashed to their sides. One end of the poles dragged on the ground behind, making what is called an Indian trail. On these poles, behind the pony, there was fastened a network on which were piled the teepees, furs, cooking utensils, and other articles used by the Indians. The ponies were led by boys or girls mounted or on foot. Frontiersmen called these conveyances "travoys." Bringing up the rear were a number of large dogs dragging smaller travoys in which children rode. Old squaws or invalids rode as best they could on top of the baggage on the larger travoys.

When a suitable camping place near the post was reached, there was a halt and a closing up of the long column. The bucks had a short parley with the squaws. Then they dismounted and sat down on the grass in groups and commenced smoking their pipes, while the squaws unpacked the ponies, and began to put up the teepees in line and at regular intervals. Some of the larger teepees, with their long poles, were heavy to raise and required the assistance of the younger bucks. When the ponies were all unpacked and unsaddled, they were driven off to water and graze on the prairie. The tired dogs lay down, and went to sleep. The squaws continued at their tasks. Some in search of fire-wood, others went off with kettles for water or were busy within the teepees. When the teepees were ready, the Indians entered them and after a time emerged, if the sun was not too low, dressed—or rather undressed—in full war paint. They were naked from the waist up. Some wore feathered bonnets; others had eagle feathers in their hair. But the faces of all were grotesquely painted in colors that suited their fancy. Some were hideous.

They also painted part of their bodies, particularly the ribs. When this was done alternately in white and black it made them look like living skeletons. They were unarmed, except for a knife or tomahawk carried in their waist belts. A few squaws, their faces also painted, and each with a small drum like a tambourine, joined them.

By this time an interpreter had appeared. They donned their robes or blankets, and without any regular formation, started for the parade ground. In front of the commanding officer's house they came to a halt. The commandant with other officers was ready to receive them. A lot of the soldiers not on duty and citizen employees soon formed a group of spectators. The Indians threw off their robes and blankets and formed a circle. The squaws stationed outside of the circle commenced a monosyllabic chant in a low voice at first, but gradually rising. This was responded to by the bucks in a like manner, while the squaws beat a tom-tom on their drums. Then they began to dance around the circle, slowly at first, with heads and bodies thrust forward, backs curved, feet moving stiffly up and down, elbows against the sides, forearms extended straight forward and fists doubled. In this way the dance went on for five or ten minutes, increasing in speed until it ended in a furious beating of the drums and an ear piercing yell or war-whoop.

After this interesting ceremony had been repeated once or twice, the Indians advanced in a body towards the officers, headed by their chief, who commenced a "talk," which was interpreted to the commanding officer, and was frequently assented to by a grunt from the other Indians. When the chief had concluded, his place would be taken by another, a real orator perhaps, whose language was fluent and gestures dramatic.

The complaints of the Indians were often about settlers encroaching on their lands, or about a party of white hunters who had caused the buffaloes to migrate to other parts. If they had no particular grievance, they would tell that they were good Indians and loved the whites, especially the soldiers. Then they would ask for food. When the Indians had finished the commanding officer's reply was interpreted to them, and received with grunts of satisfaction or dissent. Sometimes another talk was held on the following day, but they all ended by an order on the commissary for several days' rations for every member of the party. Sometimes the Indians prolonged their stay and induced the commanding officer to grant them a second issue of rations. By the time they reached the commissary store house, a number of the squaws were on hand ready to receive the rations which consisted of bacon, flour or hard bread (biscuits) in barrels, rice, beans, ground coffee and sugar. No salt, pepper, vinegar, candles or soap was issued to them. They had no use or desire for these—particularly the soap.

To watch the distribution of the rations, which were given to them in bulk and in the original packages so far as possible, was very amusing. At first everything received was carried to a clear place some distance from the store house. The barrels were carried as well as the boxes, for the Indians did not understand about rolling them until some of the soldiers showed them how to do it. The squaws, who represented families, spread blankets or robes on the grass into which to receive their share. Some of the Indians opened the barrels and boxes awkwardly with tomahawks and knives and commenced the division under the supervision of the chief, with a lot of jabbering from the squaws. They seemed to get along fairly well with articles that could be counted, such as sides of bacon or biscuits; but coffee, sugar, rice, etc., they divided in small cupfulls for each individual, until the supply was exhausted. The squaws then shouldered the bundles and followed the bucks back to their camp with happy expressions.

I have also seen one of our beef cattle issued to a large party. The Indians would drive the frightened animal near to their camp and kill him by shooting. Then the squaws skinned him and cut him up, utilizing many parts of the carcass that a white man would throw away.

On the night when rations had been issued there was a feast in camp. They gorged themselves, beat their drums, and sang long after we soldiers had to retire after tattoo.

I distinctly remember my first visit to the Indian camp at Fort Pierre, accompanied by some other soldiers. There were about two dozen lodges. Half of them were visitors. The others remained there permanently, and lived on what they got from the soldiers and fur company employees. The latter were a rather lazy lot and did but little hunting, so long as they could get enough to eat around the fort. The first salute we received was from a pack of wolfish-looking dogs of all sizes which barked furiously but did not attempt to bite and were easily shooed away.

We walked all through the camp and noted that there were large, fine-looking teepees, decorated with Indian paintings of animals, etc., on the exterior. These had an air of opulence about them that seemed to indicate the owner to be the possessor of many squaws and ponies. There were also many more teepees that were less pretentious and a few small, old and tattered ones that showed the poverty of the owner. It was much like other villages the world over. The palace and the hovel were in close proximity. Back of the teepees squaws were cooking something in kettles hung on a pole, supported over the fire by two forked sticks. They always cooked outside until the weather got cold. Some children played and ran around just as white children do.

The teepees were of tanned buffalo hides, closely sewed together with a strong thread made from the sinews of the same animal. They were conical in shape and were upheld by a number of long, slender but very strong poles, placed in a circle on the bottom at regular intervals and meeting on top where they were interlocked. There was an opening above for the smoke to escape. The entrance was through a slit on the side, high enough for a man to pass through nearly upright and spread apart on the bottom to make the passage easier. Over this opening a piece of tanned hide was usually hung to keep out the weather. These teepees could be kept warm and comfortable in the coldest of weather, and were far more durable than the best canvas tents.

We entered one of the best lodges without the formality of knocking against the side of the opening and saying "How-ko-ta," as we had not yet learned Indian etiquette. The interior appeared dark at first after the bright sunlight; but we distinguished the inmates to consist of several Indians, some squaws and a few children. They all squatted onto robes spread around the sides of the lodge, which formed their bedding. We were apparently received in a friendly manner, and by words and signs were invited to sit down among them. We squatted like our hosts with our legs crossed. The Indians did not appear to have been doing anything but conversing. Some of the squaws, however, were sewing beads on moccasins.

The smaller children shrunk back and stared at us. Presently one of the bucks produced a long wooden stemmed pipe of polished red stone, which he filled with kinnikinic, the Indians' substitute for tobacco, from a buckskin pouch and lit the pipe with a piece of punk ignited from a flint and steel. He took five or six whiffs of the pipe very deliberately, and swallowed all the smoke. Then he handed the pipe to a soldier on his left. As he did this he began to exhale all the smoke he had in him slowly through his nostrils. The soldier imitated the Indian in taking a half a dozen whiffs, but he did not swallow the smoke. In this way the "Pipe of Peace" passed around the circle from Indian to soldier, and soldier to Indian, myself included. We understood enough not to offend against the Indian custom of passing the pipe from mouth to mouth by wiping the mouth piece. After the smoke there was an attempt at talk of which neither party understood anything. The young squaws watched us closely and giggled occasionally. I tried to make one of them understand that I wanted a pair of moccasins. She brought out a bundle of them, and showed me some handsome ones. But we failed to make a bargain. I had to make a few visits with an experienced person before I learned to trade with them.

The kinnikinic that the Indians smoked was the bark of a red willow that grew along the streams. They first removed the outside red bark, then carefully scraped off the greenish second bark with a knife without cutting into the wood. These shavings were dried in the sun or before a fire. When crisp they were rubbed into small particles between the hands. The Indians were fond of mixing a little tobacco, cut up small, with the bark, but I never saw them smoke pure tobacco, as they could not inhale its smoke. The bark of the red willow, when mixed with tobacco, made an agreeable, fragrant smoke. The soldiers often used it.