Part 7

Sure enough, in due time Bisbee received a personal letter from the Adjutant General of the Army, complimenting him on the most perfect monthly returns ever submitted by any regular regiment.

The Confederates had a fort at Decatur, and we had some gunboats on the river. General Steedman sent me at night to get such information as the naval commander could give about Decatur and the Confederate supplies supposed to be there. Employing a boatman to carry me to the gunboat Burnsides, commanded by Lieutenant Moneau Forrest, I reported myself staff officer from General Steedman, and asked the commander whether he could assist us in crossing the river with the Federal transports to take Decatur and its supplies. Learning he could protect Steedman's crossing and could assemble enough transports to carry the ten thousand men across in a short time, and would assault Decatur with his gunboats, I reported to Steedman. He and his staff officers crossed with his army in the early part of the day, leaving me on the gunboat. He assaulted Decatur from the rear, while the gunboats assaulted from the river.

This was my only naval engagement. Several men were lost, and the missiles from the Confederate guns tore up the planks of the deck. Decatur surrendered, and we had the supplies which Hood was unable to take.

We pursued Hood's straggling army, the rear guard of which was commanded by General Roddy, and on the 21st day of December, 1864, after a lively chase in a drenching rain, arrived at "Swope's House," a plantation six miles from Courtland.

The general camped midway between the road and the house. We were wet, and the General sent me to ask if the occupants of Swope's residence, a large, typical Southern home, would permit us to enter.

When I knocked at the door a lady appeared, but she slammed the door in my face! Reporting to the General, he excitedly called his staff to follow, and rapped violently at the door. The same lady appearing, he said to her, very sternly, "Madam, is there a man in this house?" She replied quietly, "Yes."

"Tell him General Steedman wants to see him." In a few minutes a gray-haired man, about seventy, asked us what was desired.

The General replied, "I sent one of my staff officers here to request a simple courtesy, usually accorded foe as well as friend--simply to warm by your fire. This officer was insulted by one of the ladies in your house. You can prepare the fire yourself or I will have it prepared for us."

Mr. Swope replied he would have it prepared as quickly as possible.

We visited some of the camps, and on our return found a cheerful fire in the parlor. The room was bare of everything but chairs, everything in the way of ornaments that could be stolen having been removed. But the fire was comfortable, and we stayed until the orderly announced our camp supper was ready.

A young man on our staff, Davis by name, was something of a ladies' man. While we enjoyed the fire, he encountered a young lady in the hall. Strange to say, the lady greeted him cordially--an unaccountable thing to those men who approach the feminine sex with difficulty. They laughed and joked, another lady appeared, and there was quite a gay scene.

One of the ladies was Captain Swope's daughter, and the other a cousin from Nashville. We had been there for some time, and as she had heard nothing since the battle she was anxious for news from Nashville.

Returning to the house after supper, all the ornaments had been returned to the parlor, curtains were hung, rugs and carpets down, the center table had regained its cover, and was piled with books. Davis introduced the ladies to the whole party.

Picking up an autograph album, I saw the signatures of Jeff Davis, Beauregard, Bragg, and many prominent officers of the Confederacy. Between the leaves was an order reading as follows:

"_Headquarters, District of the Etowah, In the Field, Swope's House, Northern Alabama, December 21, 1864. Special Order No.----._

"Immediately upon receipt of this order, Doctor----, in charge of Post Hospital at Courtland, will deliver to Captain Swope the basket of champagne seized in the express office by him on yesterday. By order of General P. D. Roddy.

..................... "_Adjutant General._"

The Generals of both armies commanded districts of the same name, "Etowah." I turned the sheet over and wrote as follows:

"_Headquarters, District of the Etowah, In the Field, Swope's House, Northern Alabama, December 22, 1864. Special Order No.----._

"Immediately upon receipt of this order, Captain Swope, Quartermaster in the Confederate Army, will turn over to Major General Steedman and staff the basket of champagne recovered from Doctor----, in charge of the Post Hospital at Courtland, and mentioned on the opposite side of this paper.

"By order of Major General Steedman. ANSON MILLS, "_Captain, 18th Infantry, Inspector General_, _District of the Etowah_."

Both the ladies eyed me intently. I laid the book on the table, and one of the ladies picked it up and read the paper. She passed it to her cousin, who also read it, and, after a short conference, they went upstairs. Soon Mr. Swope entered, asking, "Can I speak with Captain Mills?"

I announced myself and he said, "My dear sir: your order is good. I would obey it with pleasure were it possible, but, unfortunately, I was unable to recover the champagne. It was used in the hospital before this order was presented to the doctor. I regret exceedingly that I am unable to do so, for I realize the propriety, in case it were possible."

By this time we were well established in good relations with the family. Our evening passed as pleasantly there as anywhere during the war, and we flattered ourselves the family was as reluctant to part with us as we with them.

On the 23d of December we established headquarters at Courtland, abandoning a vigorous pursuit of Hood. The next day in Steedman's office, Oakly Bynam came in and greeted him as a fellow Mason, and asked for help. He had bought several thousand bales of cotton, which the Federal troops were destroying. He wanted a permit to ship it to Louisville by the government vessels then in the river. Steedman angrily told him that neither former friendship nor Masonic brotherhood should influence him to aid one willing to play "Good Lord, good devil" to either the Confederates or the Federals who might be in control.

That night Mr. Bynam told me he had several thousand bales of cotton worth a dollar and a half a pound in Louisville; and that, if the soldiers burned it, it would ruin him; but that if I had sufficient influence with General Thomas to allow it to be shipped north, he would make a fortune and would divide it equally with me! Of course, I declined, and most of the cotton was burned by Steedman's army.

AFTER THE WAR

In February, 1865, the War Department detailed three officers from each of the new regiments for recruiting service, selecting those who had served longest during the war. I headed the list of my regiment, and was sent successively to Toledo, Zanesville and St. Louis, where I again met the former adjutant, Freeman. (He died recently, a brigadier general.) He was also on recruiting duty, and we were both ordered to Jefferson Barracks to reorganize our companies from the men we had enlisted. Almost all of these were volunteers discharged in St. Louis.

I was ordered with my own and Company A, commanded by Lieutenant Carpenter, to Fort Aubrey, Kansas, _via_ Leavenworth, to relieve two companies of one-year Ohio volunteers, whose time had expired, and who were near mutiny. I left St. Louis December 5, 1865. The weather was so cold, and the supply train furnished me at Fort Leavenworth so inadequate, that I seized and exchanged wagons and teams with a quartermaster's train returning from Santa Fe. One of my men froze to death on the journey, and several were severely frost-bitten.

I found the Walnut Fork of the Arkansas River impassable from floods, and traveled without a trail from Fort Larned for three days, until I could cross, thence moving south toward Fort Aubrey, as I supposed.

During the march a hostile band of Cheyenne Indians (called "dog soldiers") under young Bent, a half-breed, attempted to surprise us. Frustrated, they followed us into the Arkansas River, four miles above Fort Dodge. The Indians asked for parley, during which I discovered a captive American girl, who attempted to talk to me, but was silenced by the chief. I was later instrumental, through the Indian agent, Major Wyncoop, in securing the ransom of this girl, Mary Fletcher.

Leaving A Company at Fort Dodge, I took my own to Aubrey, where I relieved the Ohio volunteers. I remained until April, relieving the monotony by killing some of the buffalo which covered the whole country, riding a spirited horse which could overtake any buffalo.

My company clerk was Henry Garrells, an excellent penman and accountant, but so near-sighted I had to get special permission to enlist him. He was not only the most unprepossessing man I ever saw, but one of the most troublesome drunkards in the army. He got drunk periodically, generally selecting a time when urgency in the preparation of company papers was most desired. When under the influence of liquor, he was absolutely uncontrollable, requiring two or three men to keep him from violence. When sober, he was one of the mildest mannered men I ever saw.

Our post near the river was composed of rude huts and dug-outs. It was far from any settlement, and we had no liquor, so Garrells got along very well until, one Sunday morning, he obtained two bottles of bay rum from the post trader, with which he got gloriously drunk, smashing things right and left in the quarters. The sergeant detailed several men to restrain him (there being no guard house), reported the damage and asked what to do with him. I told him to get a cavalry lariat, about one hundred feet long, and with two strong men carry Garrells to the river bank. They were to divest him of clothing and throw him into the stream until the chill (it was January) should sober him.

I followed Garrells and his party on the opposite side of the stream. Arrived at the bank, about ten feet high, Garrells exclaimed, "Sergeant, here's a river! 'Twill require some engineering skill to pass this river!"

"Never mind," said the sergeant, "we'll cross it, Garrells." The men took off his hat and coat, and one of them reached into his pocket for his money, when Garrells became alarmed and began to shout, "Murder! Robbers! Help!"

By this time they had the rope around his body, and one man seizing his head, another his heels, they tossed him far out into the stream.

When Garrells rose he spouted like a whale, and swam for the opposite shore. Every few yards of progress he was checked by the rope, which threw his head under water. When he came near the bank on which I stood, he exclaimed, "Major, damn you, do you think I'm a goldfish or a dolphin?"

I signaled to the sergeant to pull him back, and by the time he returned he was thoroughly sobered.

I had heard very little from my brother. The stage line was irregular on account of hostile Indians. One evening when it drove up, it brought my brother, W. W., and Judge Watts, neither of whom I had seen for four years. They could only remain the night with me, but shortly after I procured leave and joined them in Washington.

Judge Watts and my brother had an interview with President Johnson in regard to Federal appointments in New Mexico and Texas. The President had a Texas vacancy on the board of visitors to West Point, and proposed to appoint W. W. Both Judge Watts and my brother preferred I be given the place, as I was a military man; and I was appointed.

Adjutant General Townsend protested to the President that my appointment was illegal because the regulations of the academy provided that no one who had failed at West Point should be made a member of the board for ten years after such failure.

Learning this failure was nine years past, the President sent for Colonel Townsend and asked if there was any other objection to me except my failure at the academy, and what my standing was. Townsend had no other objection, and said my standing was good, when the President said, "Well, if the faculty discharged a man who nine years after has become a captain in good standing in the regular army, I think it best that Captain Mills should be sent there to see what's the matter with the academy!"

General Grant was anxious to have the superintendency of the military academy (by law confined to officers of the engineer corps) opened to the line of the army, and Senator Nesmith, a member of the board, promised to try to secure a recommendation from the board to this effect. I felt the engineer corps conducted the academy too much as a purely scientific institution. While they made every effort to produce high-grade engineers, less attention was given the absolute requirements of officers of the line, so I was glad to promise General Grant my assistance. At his suggestion, I made the acquaintance of Senator Nesmith, who set about the accomplishment of his task immediately upon the organization of the board of sixteen members. An animated and somewhat bitter discussion continued during our whole session, finally resulting in a vote of eight to eight, so the resolution was lost. General Grant later submitted the matter to Congress, which changed the law so that any line officer could be made superintendent.

While the board was at the academy, General Scott died there, and the board as a body were his pall-bearers.

At the expiration of my leave, I was ordered to the command of Fort Bridger, Utah, where my company had arrived in my absence.

The volunteers, under General P. Edward Connor, were being relieved. The posts and the territory were both in a chaotic condition, the soldiers harassing the Mormons and encouraging the Gentiles in unlawful persecutions.

Among the volunteers at Fort Bridger was Patrick Tully, who had come over from Ireland with General Connor. These friends served their first enlistment together. Connor took up the study of law, became prominent, and, when the war broke out, was colonel of a volunteer regiment from California, afterwards brigadier general of volunteers, and assigned to the command of the District of Salt Lake.

Tully left the regular service and joined a volunteer regiment. He was one of those soldiers who, either by misfortune or bad conduct, was constantly in the guard house. At inspections, the general generally found Tully confined, and Tully never failed to plead the ground of their former friendship for release, Connor as constantly granting it.

Somewhat ostentatious, General Connor, when leaving one post for another, invariably telegraphed, "I leave for your post today. Have quarters prepared for me on my arrival," being always careful to sign himself "P. Edward Connor," leaving out the Pat or Patrick, by which both he and Tully were known.

All the volunteers at Bridger were ordered to Salt Lake to be mustered out--Tully among the rest.

When Tully was ordered to make preparations for the march, he sent a request from the guard house asking to send a telegram. Arrived at the telegraph office, he dictated the following:

"_To General P. Edward Connor, Commanding District of Salt Lake_: "Sir: I leave here for your post today. Have quarters prepared for me on my arrival. P. EDWARD TULLY."

It is needless to say that Connor honored the requisition and had secure (if not ample) quarters, prepared for "P. Edward Tully."

I was prejudiced against the Mormons, but found they were the best people in the country, and the only ones who would fill contracts fairly. The Gentiles practiced every device to beat the government, but the word of a Mormon was his bond. With Major Lewis commanding Fort Douglas at Salt Lake, I called upon Brigham Young. He looked like General Grant, and was an earnest and, I believe, a sincere and conscientious man. He said he was glad to meet a regular officer, because the regular army always treated them well, but that the volunteers under Connor had been demoralizing to those of the Mormon faith. Discussing my prejudice against his people, about which he asked and I answered frankly, he said, "You have doubtless heard we are disloyal to the Union." Pointing to the flag flying over his Tabernacle, he said it had waved every day since the war began. Upon his invitation I attended his church and heard him preach the next Sunday. I visited the Tabernacle in company with his son-in-law and saw open on the pulpit the inspired volumes from which they preached--the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Book of Mormon. He presented a copy of the latter to me, inscribed with his name, which I still have. My experiences changed my mind regarding the Mormon people. I believe their church the equal of any in the inculcation of those qualities which make the Mormons law-abiding, industrious, economical and faithful to all their agreements.

Christmas Eve, Judge Carter, the sutler, gave a dancing party. While the officers and ladies were dancing, I received a dispatch announcing the massacre of Fetterman and his command, part of my regiment, at Fort Philip Kearny. We were all of the same regiment. I stopped the band and read the despatch, which cast the garrison into gloom, and presaged a general war with the Sioux.

Jim Bridger, a well-known frontiersman, who had been with the Indians since he was fourteen years old, was the post guide. He was reticent and hard to know, but a genius in many ways.

One day the Overland stage from Omaha arrived, and an English-looking gentleman stepped out and inquired in the "sutler's store" for both the post trader and for me. He delivered letters of introduction from General Sheridan, stating that he was a captain in the British Army on a journey around the world for the purpose of writing a book, and that he wished to see Jim Bridger. (Cut, 154.)

We took him to call on Bridger, who lived alone in one of the officers' quarters. We found the old man looking grave and solemn. Our English friend plied him with questions, stating he had been told by General Sheridan that he, of all others on the Western plains, could give him the most thrilling reminiscences regarding the exciting scenes of the settlement of the frontier.

Bridger made no advances, appearing like a child, reluctant to "show off." The captain continued his conversation in his most winning way and earnestly requested the old scout to tell them something interesting. Finally, Bridger told the following story:

"Well, I think the most thrilling adventure I ever had on the frontier was in the winter of 1855, when Jack Robinson and I went trapping, about two hundred miles down the Green River in the Ute country. We knew the Utes were unfriendly, but we did not think they were war-like, so we got two horses and a pack outfit, and in December went into camp on the Green River. We had spent two months trapping, and were about ready to return, when early one morning we saw a large party of warriors coming up the stream. We had only time to saddle our horses, gather our rifles and ammunition and mount. We estimated their party at about one hundred, and started up the river at full speed, abandoning everything we had in camp.

"As we became hard pressed, one of us would dismount and fire, then mount and pass the other, and he would dismount and fire, and so continuing, checking our pursuers until we gained some ground. Their horses were not only fresh, but they had lead horses with them, which gave them great advantage over us, who had but one horse each.

"We continued this method of defense all day, and by night had killed thirty of the Indians. But our horses were so tired we feared the enemy would take us.

"At the foot of a mountain, where there was dense timber, we took shelter about dusk, knowing the Indians would not follow in the dark. We spent the night in great fear as to what would become of us the next day. Knowing that at dawn they would be after us, we started to lead our horses out of the valley, but had no sooner started than we heard the Indians behind us.

"We continued our defense until about two o'clock, when we had killed thirty more of the Indians. This left only about forty to continue the pursuit, but they did not seem at all discouraged. If anything, they were more active than ever.

"By this time, our broken horses began to give way at the knees. Observing a narrow canyon, we concluded to follow it as it gave us a better chance of defense than the open. This canyon was narrow, with a swift stream running down it, and we made our way as fast as we could for two or three miles, when, looking around, we saw immediately in our rear the whole force of Indians.

"Matters were desperate. The canyon walls were perpendicular, three hundred feet high, and growing narrower every mile. Suddenly, around a bend in the canyon, we saw a waterfall, two hundred feet high, completely blocking our exit."

Here Mr. Bridger paused. The captain, all aglow with interest, cried anxiously, "Go on, Mr. Bridger; go on! How _did_ you get out?"

"Oh, bless your soul, Captain," answered Bridger, "we never did get out. The Indians killed us right there."

This closed the interview. Though I have never heard of his book, I dare say the captain did not include this story in it.

While I was at Fort Bridger, the regular army was increased from thirty to sixty thousand men, making each of the three battalions of the nine new regiments a full regiment. The vacancies thus created were filled by meritorious volunteers, so that many regular officers were set back many years in prospective promotions. The first battalion of my regiment remained the 18th, the second battalion the 27th, and the third battalion the 36th, which resulted in many changes of stations and locations, but I retained my company, H, of the 18th.

In my administration and discipline of the garrison at Fort Bridger I adopted as far as I could the moral suasion ideas of Charlie Naylor. Instead of punishing the men by confining them in the guard house for trial, I had the post carpenter construct a very unprepossessing wooden horse and a wooden sword about six feet long, with its business end painted a bloody red. Any man reported for any disorderly conduct had to ride this horse for a certain period, dismounting occasionally to curry and water it with currycomb and water bucket. This method of punishment proved most efficient, as the men soon came to dread "riding the horse" a great deal more than they did spending a month in the guard house.