Part 9

The Secretary of War ordered that any officers of the newly organized regiments of infantry and artillery who so desired could apply for transfer to the cavalry, to fill the vacancies caused by the stoppage of promotions. I was so restive and likely to be contentious that duty in the infantry, where I would have little to do, I feared might lead me into controversies. I thought the better opening for success would be in the cavalry, but as I knew the cavalry would be among the hostile Indians and farthest away from civilization, I left it to Nannie to decide whether our mutual success would be enhanced by the transfer and whether she was willing to make it. She decided that my prospects would be bettered by participation in the hazardous and more serious duties of the cavalry, so I applied for transfer.

After recovering from a severe case of typhoid that summer, Nannie, by her lively character and natural accomplishments, assumed a prominent place in the regiment, and was one of the chief organizers of the many dances, balls, and other social gatherings which we had during our stay at this post.

A large regimental ball was scheduled for December 29th, and Nannie invited her sisters, Lulie and Katie, to visit her in time for this event. In those days it was unusual for young ladies to travel long distances alone, and their parents were uneasy about the journey. They should have arrived at Christmas, but floods intervened, and they reached Atlanta on the 28th at four o'clock in the morning.

I wrote my parents-in-law immediately, handing the letter to Captain Ogden, who promised to mail it. Some days after, I received a telegram inquiring what had become of the two girls. On questioning Captain Ogden, I found he still had the letter in his pocket!

Lulie and Katie were beautiful, and in the prime of their girlhood, and were much sought after at dances and other social gatherings.

Among their admirers was Captain Kline of the regiment, an efficient but reserved young officer, who took a fancy to Lulie, and early asked if I would permit his attentions to my sister-in-law, to which, of course, I found no objection. On account of his reserve, he had more difficulty in speaking than I had in similar circumstances, and another embarrassment intervened when he was ordered with his company to Barnett, South Carolina, a full day's journey away. However, a court martial was being organized, and knowing how agreeable duty at Atlanta would be for him, friends procured his assignment to the court.

Still he was not entirely happy. We had only four rooms and a kitchen, and were therefore pretty crowded; and the hall was our dining room. Nannie, Katie, Lulie and I occupied the sitting room in the evenings, so his chances alone with Lulie were few.

The court, of which I was president, often had officers absent for a few days at a time. Regulations prescribed that a returning absentee retire until the case being tried was finished; the formula of the presiding officer being, "Those members of the court who have not participated in previous proceedings will please retire." One evening, when Captain Kline appeared rather early, and we were engaged in conversation in which Lulie and the Captain did not appear to be interested, I called out, "The members of this court who have not participated in previous proceedings will please now retire," whereupon Nannie, Katie and I sprang to our feet and retired to our room upstairs.

In one of her letters to her mother, Nannie wrote, "Doesn't the mother of Pauline say, in the 'Lady of Lyons,' something about 'losing a daughter, but gaining a prince.' Well, if being a mighty good, honest fellow is any claim to royalty, you will gain a prince surely when Major Kline becomes a son-in-law."

No two girls ever had a gayer time for the four months they were with us. They had a large mirror with a dressing table under it, and when they left we discovered they had worn out the carpet for a space of five feet in diameter in front of it, primping before the glass.

They left us reluctantly the first of May, much to the disappointment of the numerous unmarried youngsters. Lulie shortly after married Captain Kline. Katie married Mr. George H. Stewart, of Zanesville, where they still live.

Next autumn, with two months' leave, we went to visit my wife's parents, whom she had not seen for two years. Nannie was delighted when a passenger, surmising from our conduct that we were bride and groom, asked if we were on our honeymoon.

Mr. and Mrs. Cassel were happy to have us with them again. In these two months I made a most intimate acquaintance with my father-in-law. He took me everywhere, to his office in the daytime and to his clubs at night. An expert driver and an admirer of horses and horse racing, he often drove me behind fast trotting animals, sometimes to the races. Neither he nor Mrs. Cassel, like my own parents, attended church. All four greatly respected all religious denominations, but saw none they honestly believed was the only true church.

Mrs. Cassel was very affectionate, and her children were very near to her, so she was much distressed at Nannie's long absence. Mr. Cassel asked me if it would not be better for me to resign, offering to start me in his occupation, the milling business. He proposed to give me sufficient means and go with me to Kansas to establish the enterprise. I had seen enough of the world to understand the uncertainty and vicissitudes of business life compared to a commission in the regular army. So I thanked him, but said that, notwithstanding I knew it would be a great gratification to Mrs. Cassel, I was certain of my present calling for life, and although my compensation was slight, Nannie was satisfied, and loved the profession as much as I did. In this point of view he finally concurred, and Mrs. Cassel also became reconciled.

Returning to my regiment at Atlanta, I found my company with E Company had been ordered to Laurens Court House, South Carolina, because South Carolina was then in the throes of reconstruction, with carpetbaggers and Ku Klux Klan in full swing.

We had rail transportation to Newberry, but from Newberry the railroad had been denuded of rolling stock, so that our journey to Laurens was made on a handcar, propelled by two soldiers.

The two companies were quartered in abandoned Confederate residences. Nannie and I stayed at Mr. George F. Mosely's hotel. He was a kind and generous host, who took particular care to meet our wants. During the few weeks Nannie remained we made many acquaintances, being invited out to dine by the best people in the town.

One dinner was given by Col. Wm. D. Simpson (later Governor and still later Chief Justice of his State), previously in affluent circumstances, but now poor. In the dining room he remarked that as his servants had all left him he had devised a round center table which turned on its support to take their place. All the courses were arranged so, as a guest wanted anything, he could turn this table until the contents arrived opposite his plate!

We had been guests at the hotel for several weeks when a young man in the uniform of a captain of cavalry arrived at the hotel to see me privately. In my room he told me he was not an army officer, but a United States marshal, direct from the Secretary of War, with warrants for the arrest of about sixty prominent persons of Laurens County. He did not wish to arrest all for whom he had warrants, but only those most guilty of participation in the riots and murders. Under instructions from the Secretary he read me the names on the warrants and asked suggestions as to whom he should eliminate. Among these names was that of my host. As I had heard nothing to lead me to think him guilty, I suggested that his name be stricken from the list, which was done.

I immediately sent Nannie to Newberry on the handcar. At one place on the way the Ku Klux obstructed the rails with ties presumably to rescue prisoners that we might attempt to spirit away. At another place, where the highway was near the rails, she met General Carlin at the head of the 16th Infantry marching toward Laurens with the band playing martial airs. More than a thousand hilarious and frenzied negroes of all kinds, from the aged to babes in arms, followed the band. Nannie stopped the car to enjoy the amusing spectacle, and finally burst out in a laugh, when her servant, Maria, who had gone with her, exclaimed, in disgust, "Mrs. Mills, niggers ain't got no sense nohow!"

That night I arranged a room in the abandoned railroad depot for the prisoners, disposing my men behind cotton bales piled upon the platform to resist any efforts at rescue by the Ku Klux organizations. The marshal informed me that Lieutenant Colonel Carlin would arrive at about twelve o'clock with sixteen companies of infantry, and convey the prisoners to Columbia.

Two small detachments, under the command of Lieutenants Adams and Bates, made the arrests, while Lieutenant Hinton, officer of the day, took charge of the prisoners as they arrived. The marshal went first with one, then with another, detachment. Colonel Jones, the sheriff, was one of the first arrested, and by ten o'clock we had some fifteen of the sixty mentioned. My host, Mr. Mosely, appeared and said excitedly, "Why, Colonel, what does all this mean? Is it true that you have arrested Colonel Jones?"

"Yes," I said, "he is in the building."

"Well, Colonel, I want to see him."

Fearing some complication, I said, "Mr. Mosely, if you will take my advice you will go back to your hotel and remain quiet."

"But, Colonel, Jones is my brother-in-law. We are in business together. Are you going to take him away? I must see him if you take him away--no one will be here to attend to his business. I must see him. Does his family know he has been arrested?"

I replied, "I don't know," and advised him to go quietly to the hotel and remain there until the excitement subsided.

He became offended and said, "Colonel Mills, after all the kindness I have shown you and Mrs. Mills, I think it is as little as you can do in return to allow me the poor privilege of seeing my friend in his distress."

"Very well," said I, "you can see him," and calling the officer of the day, Lieutenant Hinton, I gave the necessary instructions. Upon Mosely's entrance, Colonel Jones called his name and proclaimed his pleasure in seeing him. The marshal pulled out his list and said, "Excuse me, is your name George F. Mosely?" Informed that it was, the marshal served the warrant and made him a prisoner. When I entered he burst into tears, declaring he was the biggest fool in South Carolina; that I had given him the best advice he had ever had, and he had not known enough to take it. He begged me to tell his family his condition, which I did.

Later, a Mr. A. Kruse, a United States commissioner, served a writ of _habeas corpus_ upon me, demanding the body of prisoner S. D. Garlington. I had no experience with writs of _habeas corpus_, and was at a loss what answer to make. To delay him until Carlin's arrival, I questioned his authority as such commissioner. Courteously he informed me that he had a commission at home with President Johnson's signature. He left, and soon returned with the document. I invited him to my room, from which I had a view of the Newberry highway, over which Carlin's command would approach, and kept him there until I saw Carlin's command. Then I told him it was an army regulation that an officer, not in a permanent station, only commanded within a radius of one mile, and that I had a senior in the person of Lieutenant Colonel Carlin of the 16th Infantry, then approaching, the proper person on whom to serve the writ. Kruse accepted the situation, and I introduced him to Colonel Carlin, who, however, directed me to endorse upon the writ "refused, by order of the Secretary of War."

A Mr. Hugh Farley (brother of Farley of the U. S. Ordnance Corps), reputed to be at the head of the Ku Klux which gathered in numbers, approached Colonel Carlin frequently with requests to see different prisoners. As he gave no good reason, his requests were refused. He followed Carlin's command to camp that night, strenuously insisting upon another request; whereupon the marshal arrested him, his name on one of the warrants having been omitted at my suggestion.

Sixteen were carried to Columbia, South Carolina, and imprisoned in the State penitentiary, but I understood none of them were convicted.

Order being restored in Laurens, I was directed to take station with my two companies at Columbia. There being no public quarters, the quartermaster's agent took us to an old-fashioned southern building. It was comfortable and commodious, with outside quarters for the colored servants. This house had belonged to the late Dr. Gibbs, father of a classmate of mine, Wade Hampton Gibbs, who went South, joined the Confederates, and became a Colonel on the staff of General Lee.

Major Van Voast, 18th Infantry, with his wife, arrived two days later, assumed command of the post, and took quarters with us in the Gibbs House.

Carpetbagging was in its prime about this period. The governor, Chamberlain, had been appointed by the Federal authorities. Both senate and house elected under Federal laws were almost entirely colored. The president of the senate and the speaker of the house (Moses) extended the privileges of the floors of those chambers to Major Van Voast, myself, and our wives, and, partly to acquaint ourselves with governmental affairs and partly through curiosity, we often attended, the Major and I dressed in uniform.

The trouble at Laurens originated by the Ku Klux arming themselves and arresting and murdering the county officers. Carpetbaggers and negro supporters proposed a large army to protect them against the Ku Klux. While we were at a session of the house, a bill to create a State force of some thirty negro regiments and money to buy thirty thousand Remington arms was introduced. Seeing the folly of placing so much power in the hands of the colored people, some white man introduced an amendment that the colonels of these regiments should be selected from the regular army. A colored member denounced the amendment, protesting that the two army officers were present to promote this bill, and should be ejected from the floor. This placed us in a very embarrassing position. To leave the hall in indignation would betray weakness, so we sat it out for an hour, hearing many bitter and insulting references.

Knowing I wished to transfer to the cavalry, Colonel Carlin, who was going to Washington, offered me seven days' leave and to introduce me to the Secretary of War. But, Captain Mack had already arranged my transfer, and on January 1, 1871, I was transferred to the 3d Cavalry and ordered to the headquarters of the regiment at Fort Halleck, Nevada, and to proceed thence _via_ San Francisco and San Pedro to Fort Whipple, Arizona.

NANNIE'S IMPRESSIONS OF THE WEST

In a letter to her parents from Washington, January 17th, Nannie describes our good-bye to our company, as follows:

I can not tell you how sorry I was to leave Columbia. I really had become very much attached to the place, and I believe like it better than any city I was ever in. I suppose one never knows how much one is thought of 'til they take their departure. The day before we left, Anson received a note requesting his presence at his company quarters. He went over, and saw a table nicely covered with a red cloth, and on it _something_ which was covered up. The first sergeant then made him a little speech in behalf of the company and then, with a majestic wave of his hand, uncovered the article and presented him with a splendid pair of epaulets and a case containing two very handsome pistols, the whole costing nearly eighty dollars. On a paper inside was written "The compliments of Company H, 18th Infantry, to their beloved Captain, Anson Mills, 3d Cavalry." I went with Anson when he bade his old company good-bye, and it really was very sad. I cried, and Anson almost did. He went along shaking hands with each one. It is something to be _very_ proud of when sixty men without one exception like their commander, and one of them told Anson that there was not a man in the company but regretted his going away. I do not believe there are many company commanders who have won the affections of their men so completely.

We could take but little baggage, so in Washington I asked a delay of thirty days to leave our belongings with Nannie's parents in Zanesville. General Sherman had, a few days before, ordered that there should be no more delays. When I applied, he said, "Well, Captain Mills, I can not revoke my order; but in your case I don't object to your taking a 'French,' and I don't think your colonel will make any trouble with you if you arrive thirty days late. Should he do so, refer him to me and I'll see that you get into no trouble in the matter."

The headquarters and band at Halleck were ordered to Fort Whipple _via_ San Francisco, where I purchased an ambulance for the land journey.

We sailed February 2d on the Government transport Orizaba. We had never been to sea, and as it was a beautiful day and the waters of the bay were smooth as glass, we congratulated ourselves that we could hardly have a bad time. But when we struck the bar outside, the ship seemed to rise at least fifty feet, and otherwise moved and rolled in every possible manner. Nannie proved to be a poor sailor, which affliction she retained through life. I fared better, but was not immune and never have been.

Among the many military passengers was Captain I. M. Hoag, who occupied a stateroom next ours. As we passed down the smooth bay he claimed never to be seasick. I soon recovered sufficiently to take lunch, after which I took a chair by our stateroom to be near Nannie. The stewardess, passing, asked if she could not bring Nannie some "nice jelly cake," when Hoag's coarse voice broke out, "Jelly cake! jelly cake! Oh, my God, why does that woman want to come around talking about jelly cake! Give me my bucket. Give me my bucket!"

We arrived at San Pedro (Drum Barracks) near Wilmington, March 4th.

Nannie described the eventful march from San Pedro to Whipple Barracks in letters to her parents, better than I could describe it now, as follows:

March 5th. MY DEAR MOTHER:

As you may imagine, we are very busy making arrangements for our wagon trip. Anson is having our vehicle fixed up 'til a queen might be proud to ride in it. He is having it covered with white canvas, and he bought an elegant green blanket to line the top to keep off the heat and protect the eyes. It has curtains all 'round to roll up to let the air in, and at night we can take out the seats, make up a bed in the bottom, and there is a large front curtain which shuts everything in and keeps out the damp. He is going to have pockets inside to put little articles in, and altogether it is as convenient and elegant a thing as one could imagine, and I am very proud of it, especially as he got it on purpose for me. We expect to have a very nice time on the route. There are quite a number of officers going, but no other ladies. I am very glad we are going with this party, as we would not have had as good a chance probably for a long time, and very likely would have had to go by stage, which would have been very unpleasant.

Anson is ordered on a court martial at Date Creek, which is on our road, so we will have to stop there. We received a letter from Lieut. Ebstein (you remember his picture in the group), who is at Date Greek, asking us to stop there.

I do not expect to get really settled this year, for there does seem to be some truth in the old saying about the first of January determining the rest of the year.

If possible I will write to you while we are on the march, but if I do not you need not be surprised, although I think I shall, but you know it is very hard to write after riding so far and getting so tired, but I shall try to write to you if it is only a few lines, so as to keep you from being anxious.

This place (Drum Barracks) is on the coast and twenty-five miles from Los Angeles, which latter place is said to be the paradise of the whole United States. A woman came here today from there, and she was carrying in her hand a branch broken from an orange tree, just _full_ of large oranges, just as we at home might have a branch full of apples.

March 9th. We actually did leave this morning, and made twenty-five miles, which is a pretty long trip for a first day's march. The day was lovely, and the road a nice, level one, nothing particularly interesting, however, 'til we neared Los Angeles, which has been called the garden of the United States, and then we came to the orange groves with the ripe fruit hanging on the boughs, peach trees in bloom, lemon trees, and we saw in one place some men harvesting barley. Rank green weeds grew all along the roadside, in some cases as high as your head, while pretty little red and yellow wild flowers covered the meadows, and the meadow larks sang so gaily that it inspired Anson to repeat a piece of poetry on the lark, not that I mean to say that my hubby dear mounted the little songster to spout forth the flow of poetic words, but the subject of the piece was "The Lark." My first day's experience in this line has been very pleasant. We are camped in a beautiful spot before getting to which we had to cross one of my much dreaded streams, which was nothing at all and wouldn't scare a chippy. Los Angeles is quite a town, and if any angels take a notion to visit this mundane sphere and namesake, I advise them to put up at the Pico House, where we went in to dinner. The house is a clean, nice place, Brussels carpet, lace curtains, mirrors, piano, etc., in the parlor, and a very nice dinner--fresh peas, cauliflower, etc.; but that which struck my fancy most was an open court in the center of the building in which a fountain was playing, and in a gallery running all 'round the second story, looking down on this fountain, were fastened numerous plants in pots and bird cages. As we left the house three Mexicans were playing on a harp, violin and flageolet, which completed a very romantic picture.

We invested eighteen dollars in apples, lemons and oranges, and Anson also found some fresh _tomatoes_, all, of course, grown in the open air, for it never frosts here. It looks strange to see the tropical fruit growing while snow-capped mountains look down on them.

Our tent is pitched, our bed made down, and everything is very easy; our only regret is that dear Lizzie did not come with us. Anson repeatedly expresses his regret that she did not.

Our carriage is perfectly splendid; in fact I _don't_ see how people can possibly _exist_ without a carriage.

I was made very happy last night by receiving a letter from home, the first one since we left. It was addressed to Drum Barracks. We have not as yet received those directed to Halleck, but they will be forwarded to us. We also got two newspapers, and one the day before, which were devoured.