Recollections of a Virginian in the Mexican, Indian, and Civil Wars/6

One day while at West Point we were surprised by a visit from young Major Stonewall Jackson, who had been serving since the war with an artillery company on duty in New York harbor. At that time he was convinced that one of his legs was bigger than the other, and that one of his arms was likewise unduly heavy. He had acquired the habit of raising the heavy arm straight up so that, as he said, the blood would run back into his body and lighten it. I believe he never after relinquished this peculiar practice, even upon the battle-field. He told us he had procured a year’s furlough to try a professorship which had been offered him at the Virginia Military Institute. He remained there until the outbreak of the war between the States brought him before the world as the great Christian soldier of his time.

His was the most remarkable character I have ever known. Cold and impassive of aspect, he was tenderly affectionate and full of fire. Filled with conscientious scruples, he was at times cruelly unjust. His arrests of Hill, Winder, and General Richard Garnett, three of the noblest officers in our service, were inexcusable, especially that of Garnett, whom he arrested for not charging Shields’ victorious army with the bayonet when his ammunition failed! Jackson permitted him to remain in this painful position for many months, and when Garnett finally succeeded in obtaining a trial before a court-martial, he was acquitted upon Jackson’s own testimony! The court yielded to Garnett’s insistence that his treatment had been so unjustifiable as to make it only right that he should place on record the testimony for the defense. Poor Garnett! He fell in the front of his brigade at Gettysburg, loved and mourned by all who knew him.

The arrest of General Charles Winder was another act of unreasoning harshness, which General Dick Taylor, who had great influence with Jackson, induced him to revoke. Twice he arrested that noble soldier, A. P. Hill, whose name was the last upon his own lips and those of Lee. General Lee was deeply pained by this inharmony between two of his ablest officers, and summoned them before him with a view of causing a reconciliation. After hearing their several statements, Lee, walking gravely to and fro, said, "He who has been the most aggrieved can be the most magnanimous and make the first overtures of peace." This wise verdict forever settled their differences. Jackson unhappily died at Chancellorsville in the zenith of his great fame, and in the grandest victory of Lee's army. Hill, more fortunate, fell by the last hostile shot at Petersburg, and both were spared the misery of the surrender and its cruel consequences. Hill’s was a very gentle, affectionate nature, full of courage and of high ambition. The noble monument, recently unveiled in Richmond, designed by the Virginia artist, Shepherd, is the perfect presentment of this distinguished soldier.

Just before going to the Mexican War, I went with my mother and sister to the Warrenton Springs, then a favorite resort of the tide-water Virginians. The day after our arrival there, as I was descending the steps, I met a party of young ladies coming up. As they reached the top, one of them missed the step and fell. I assisted her to rise, and we were introduced; she was Miss Nannie Mason, and from that day we became very warm friends. The exigencies of the service demanded my departure from the springs after some weeks of delightful association, and we only met briefly and casually until time and opportunity favored me, and we discovered we had lost much happiness.

Soon after the execution of King Charles, many of his adherents came to this Virginia, among them two brothers, John and George Mason. The great George Mason, the author of the Bill of Rights, was descended from one of these brothers, and Judge John Y. Mason, once our Minister to France, was descended from the other. My wife's father, Mr. Wiley Roy Mason, was kin to the judge, and they were close friends, and in their day no higher or more congenial gentlemen than these two were to be found in all our land. Mr. Roy Mason had gone into King George County with his young wife, to seek his fortune. He was without property or money in 1830, and had built up the largest law practice in all that region, and acquired real estate which yielded him annually more than his practice. Such was the confidence in his integrity and ability, that it was said of him that he had done away with litigation in the court of King George County, because when people had a disagreement about rights of property, they went to Roy Mason’s office and left the case for him to decide, with entire confidence in the uprightness of the decision, and escaped big fees and court charges.

Mr. Mason kept open house at "Cleveland," his country home, and my marriage with his eldest daughter was made the occasion of a generous hospitality which was long remembered in the county. There were eight bridesmaids and groomsmen, and I asked McClellan and Franklin to be of the number, but distant service prevented them from coming, and Burnside and Reno, of the Ordnance, took their places. Neighbor Jones and Seth Barton came to represent the army, and many score of gentlemen, schoolmates, and friends, - Turner Ashby and his noble brother Dick, and many another destined soon to fall in defense of our homes. My wife had three sisters and three first cousins, who followed her example, and married army officers. They were all remarkably handsome and attractive girls, and General Sherman finally predicted, "Those Mason girls will break up the army."

Burnside was the life of many a jovial incident of that long-remembered wedding. The festivities lasted a week, and he had never before enjoyed an occasion so entirely to his taste. He remembered in the day of his power the kindness he had received at "Cleveland," and when Mr. Stanton sent an order for the arrest of Mr. Mason, Judge Lomax, Colonel Washington, Dr. Stuart, Mr. Thomas Barton, and other old and prominent gentlement of the Northern Neck, Burnside forbade to execute it, and he gave Mrs. Mason a safeguard for her home and property, which were never molested until after his removal from the command of the army and district. Then a regiment under the command of Sir Percy Wyndham, an Englishman, "looted" "Cleveland," carried off a great store of choice old wines and brandy, the finest in the county, many household and personal effects and private letters, and my family Bible. When Mr. Mason returned from Fredericksburg that day, he found his house had been thus invaded, and went in person to see the colonel, who caused the return of the Bible. But of his wines, etc., he never saw more, except about a quart of his Tinto Madeira, which one of his old servants brought him when he came home wet and chilled that night. It had been poured into her cabin pail by a good-natured soldier, who had no turn for such thin tipple after the choice old brandy.

About 1856, Burnside was stationed at Tucalote, a Mexican village some twenty miles west of Fort Union. The Apache Indians were not friendly, and on the occasion of some grievance came into the village with insolent and threatening deportment, fully armed, and ready for a fight. At this time Burnside’s battery had not rifles or revolvers, - only the artillery saber, and there were but forty men, all told, for duty. These he marched to where the Indians were daring an attack. After some inconclusive discussion, the Indians ended all further talk by a discharge of arrows. Burnside charged them at once, broke and scattered them, and chased them for some miles over the open prairie towards cover. His horses enabled his party to overtake the flying Indians, but the blows of the dull sabers glanced from their shining skulls almost harmlessly. He then gave point with fine effect, so that some twenty of the hostiles were killed before they reached the shelter of the timber. Soon after this he resigned and joined McClellan in his railroad business, until the war between the States brought them both again into service.

After the war, Burnside remembered the good people he had met and known in Virginia, and, learning that a young lady, who was one of the bridesmaids at my wedding, had been turned out of her office as a clerk in one of the departments, he left the White Sulphur Springs and posted to Washington, and had her reinstated. He was an excellent officer, but he knew his measure and felt his unfitness to supersede McClellan, whom he had long and justly looked upon as his superior. He protested against the change of commanders, made as it was after McClellan’s most signal service.

At the end of my furlough, I joined my Company H of the Rifles at Fort Inge, on the Leona River, a beautiful little stream which gushes out of a deep, bright pool, well stocked with fine, black bass. There were no settlements between us and the Rio Grande, ninety miles away, and only occasional bands of marauding Indians passed along there. These were mostly Lipans, who made frequent incursions into the country about San Antonio and the lower Rio Grande. For several years the Rifles were occupied in scouting for these depredators, and occasionally a band was caught and scattered. When hard pressed, they would separate and make their way singly across the Rio Grande into Mexico, where they were safe from our pursuit. These Indians had their resting-places at Fort Worth, upon the upper Brazos, near where the Second Dragoons were stationed, and they always kept the peace with them. Evidently they regarded us as a separate tribe, for whenever they were about the make a raid down our way, they would tell the dragoons that they had "war with the Rifles" and gravely bid them "Good by."

In those days the quarters for officers and troops, upon the frontier, were only such as the soldiers could construct of the materials at hand. At Fort Inge they were made of poles set in trenches close together, the many open chinks being daubed with mud. The roofs were thatched, and the floors were of coarse boards sawed by hand. All was as unsightly as it was comfortless. Fortunately, the climate was so mild that we had no occasion for fires except for cooking. Game of every sort abounded all about us. Deer, wild turkeys, ducks, partridges, were to be had for the seeking. San Antonio, ninety-eight miles to the eastward, was our nearest town; from thence our mail came by courier once a week.

Colonel George Crittenden, then commanding Fort Inge, one day killed ten deer in nine shots. He used a little, small-bore rifle, muzzle-loader, of course. He was a wonderful fisherman, and spent day after day floating along the Leona, catching black bass. One day he took a bass which weighed eight pounds. He said he had often seen one which weighed ten pounds, but never could catch him. When at guard-mounting the orderly would daily report to him, his formula was, "Do you know how to catch minnows?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Then take my bucket, go to the creek, and catch some." When he had accomplished this duty,the colonel would say,"You may go to your quarters."

"He had early gone to Texas, and was one of the Mier prisoners who had to draw for the black bean when that ill-conducted invasion came to grief. One out of every ten Americans captured was shot. The colonel told me that one day while in prison in Matamoras, he examined the well of the prison, and discovered a fish in it. I said, "I’ll bet you caught him." He laughed, and replied, "Indeed, I did. I got a pin, made a hook, found a piece of twine, and fished for that fellow till I caught him." He told me he had on one occasion fished in the Tennessee River two days without getting a bite, and enjoyed it as much as any fishing he had ever had.

"Colonel Crittenden was one of the most honorable and truthful gentlemen I have ever known, and was a son of the distinguished John J. Crittenden, long United States senator from Kentucky, whose influence was most potent in preventing the secession of his State. His father’s course greatly distressed Colonel Crittenden. He told me in Santa Fé, at the outbreak of the war, "I am sure I shall find my father altogether with the South when I get home." The unfortunate affair at Fishing Creek, where the Confederate force under his command was badly worsted, ended his career in the field.  He live many years after the war, and enjoyed the good-will and respect of all who knew him.

"The only other officer at Fort Inge was the Assistant Surgeon, Dr. Getty. The Indians were quiet and we led a very uneventful life, our chief interest being the care of the horses sick with the glanders.  At least one-third of the troop had glanders or farcy.  Some died, some we shot, but most of them entirely recovered.  many escaped the loathsome disease, which was quite remarkable, for we had no separate stabling or pasturage for them.

"In the course of that year, young Jerome Bonaparte joined us, and I was enabled to go to New Orleans to meet my wife and bring her to Fort Inge. It was a comfortless abiding- place for one reared as she had been, but then, as ever, her home was with her husband. It was some years before she ever met any of the wives of the officers of the Rifles.  Now whole regiments are together in completely comfortable and handsome residences, but it was very different then.  I found my wife at the home of Dr. Wedderburn, a well-known physician of the city.  The yellow fever was raging, and quinine and opium were his especial prescription for it. I think he gave as much as thirty grains of quinine and four grains of opium in bad cases of yellow fever, with unfailing success, he said.

"The fever increased in violence, and we soon made haste to leave, taking passage on the steamer Fashion, Captain Baker commanding. She was a very frail vessel, such as no quartermaster would dare to send troops or stores in now, but her captain was well acquainted with her ways and the ways of these seas, and had kept her going for many a year, until, not long after our voyage, even his skill could not prevail against the power of one of our Gulf storms, and the Fashion was wrecked.  Captain Baker’s sons were gallant officers of the Navy, and for many years one of them has been the able editor of the Times- Democrat.

"There were several officers and families going out on this trip, and we made the journey from San Antonio in ambulances, keeping together for sociability and safety. I well remember Colonel Morris, an old infantry officer, who was going with his family to the Post at Eagle Pass, then Fort Duncan.  The first night out we stopped in Castroville, at the hotel kept by Madame Tardee, a typical French hostess.  Our party was large enough to occupy the whole of the second floor, the ceilings and partitions of which were all of thin cotton cloth.  We only realized the force of this economical arrangement after some unguarded conversation had set the entire party to suppressed giggling and whispering.  There were young men and maidens along, and we had altogether a very pleasant journey.  I remember Colonel Morris and his family as being especially kind to us.  He was an old veteran, who had seen much service, and gave my wife much good advice as to her frontier life, which at Fort Inge was rough enough.

"The only event of interest to me while commanding H Company at Fort Inge was a riotous outbreak on the part of some of the men. The company, from long idleness and isolation, had become quite careless of duty, and many of them would drink at the sutler’s more than was good for them. They were encouraged to indiscipline by the laundresses of the company, of whom there were four of the lowest specimens of their class east of the Rio Grande; and their houses were often scenes of the most outrageous disorder.  One night about eleven o’clock the first sergeant, a huge ne’er-do-well, came to my quarters in great excitement and reported that a number of the worst men in the troop had taken possession of one of the laundresses’ houses, were drunk and violent, and threatened to kill any man who attempted to enter.

"I snatched up my sabre and revolver and hastened with the trembling sergeant to the scene of the outbreak, where I found the rioters had beaten off the guard and had scattered to their quarters, except one violent fellow named O'Donnel, one of the worst men in the troop, who had gone in the other direction. Taking a corporal with me, I went in pursuit of him.  The moon was full, and the sky was clear, and we soon found our man crouched in a potato patch several hundred yards below the stable.  As I hailed him and ordered him to come in, he arose and started to run.  I fired and he dropped at the shot, and when I reached his side he was as ghastly a picture of a dead man as I have ever seen. He lay upon his back with fixed and staring eyes, gasping in a dreadful way.  My feelings were fearfully wrought up, and I would have given my right hand to recall the last half minute.  I turned him over, and examined him to find his wound, when, to my great joy, he said, "You haven’t hit me bad, Lieutenant," and showed me the slight mark of my bullet. As he started to rise, he caught his foot in the potato vine and fell prone, with his stomach fair upon the sharp stump of a sapling, which knocked the life out of him for the time. I had him carried to the hospital, and never again had any trouble with that company. Next day all of the laundresses were put into a wagon and hauled away, bag and baggage, and deposited at a settlement far beyond the limits of the government reservation.

"In the course of a few months, I was promoted to be the first lieutenant of B Company, then stationed at Fort Ewell, the most unhealthy and comfortless of all our frontier posts. I took my wife down to San Antonio, then the most populous and attractive town in the State, and leaving her there in the care of that able and excellent man, Dr. Heerf, who still stands at the head of his profession, I set out in sad spirits for my place of banishment.  The route lay for more than one hundred miles over a very desolate region, then scarcely inhabited, and frequently traversed by bands of hostile Indians.  I had no escort but one smart young Rifleman, who took care of my horses.  The quartermaster gave me a wagon, the teamster of which was the most extraordinary coward I have ever met with.  he died many deaths between San Antonio and the Nueces.

"Two or three traders from Camargo on the Rio Grande came to me on setting out and proposed that for mutual defense and sociability we should travel together. We should then have a party of five well-armed men, not counting the teamster, and in those days five well- armed Americans were a match for five times as many Indians, who hod no weapons but bows and spears.  it often happened out there that one or two white men kept bands of Indians at bay till succor came, or the Indians abandoned the attack.  They would lose many warriors for a good herd of horses, but not one for only a few.  I had with me then a very fine bay mare and also a very fleet black Spanish horse.  I rode that mare once ninety-eight miles in twenty-four hours, galloping all the way.  We rode into San Antonio fresh as daisies, the mare and I.

"At the Rio Frio [Cold River] I fell ill, and my fellow-travelers left me there, for they cared not to tarry in that dangerous locality. As I grew worse, I sent my Rifleman on to Fort Ewell, thirty miles, for the doctor and remedies, while I lay all night at the ford of the Rio Frio with no help or companion but that white-livered teamster, whose fright was so ludicrous as to amuse me in spite of my sufferings.  During the night a lion came prowling into our little camp, and the teamster retired to my tent, where I induced him to fire my gun, which sounded as loud as a cannon.  At last I grew so much worse that I decided not to wait for the doctor, but set out at daylight for Fort Ewell.  The road was bad, but I traveled in the wagon, being unable to sit my horse.  The teamster cracked his whip and struck a trot, looking all the while around the horizon for Indians, and never slacked his gait until we met my Rifleman hastening back to me with a buggy. There was no ambulance at the Post, and the surgeon could not leave, so he sent his buggy for me with medicines and a kind letter of advice. The buggy was a delightful change from the hard-going wagon, the remedies acted promptly, and the arrival of a reinforcement in the person of the Rifleman revived the teamster’s spirits wonderfully, and we soon trotted over the distance to Fort Ewell. In all my experience, I have never seen so desolate and uncomfortable a place, and my heart was light, when, in a few days, the doctor sent me back to San Antonio with a sick certificate, whence General Persifer Smith sent me home on sick leave.