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NUMBER 48 OCCASIONAL PAPERS ENGINEER SCHOOL UNITED STATES ARMY

Narrative of the March of Co. A, Engineers from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to Fort Bridger, Utah, and Return

_MAY 6 TO OCTOBER 3, 1858_

A Contribution to the History of the United States Corps of Engineers

_By_

WILLIAM P. SEVILLE _Artificer in the Company during the March Captain, First Delaware Volunteer Infantry in the Civil War_

Revised under the Direction of the Commandant Engineer School, United States Army

_By_

First Lieut. JOHN W. N. SCHULZ _Corps of Engineers_

WASHINGTON BARRACKS, D.C. PRESS OF THE ENGINEER SCHOOL 1912

Introductory Note

_By_ GILBERT THOMPSON

In the spring of 1858, when the Government met with opposition from the Mormon community, in relation to the appointment of Mr. Cummings as Governor of the Territory, and Brigham Young's corps of Danites was being recruited and drilled for active service, it was decided that a military force should be sent to the seat of the trouble to maintain the National authority. The expedition numbered several thousand men--cavalry, artillery, and infantry.

As the grass along what was known as the "Emigrant Route" had been almost entirely consumed by the numerous mule and ox-trains which had passed over the Plains during the preceding year, it was found necessary to make a new road, from the Platte River to the Green, over which the Army could march.

To perform this duty with sufficient speed to avoid delaying the advancing columns, sixty-four selected men, under First Lieut. James C. Duane and Second Lieut. Edward P. Alexander, were taken from Company A, United States Engineers, then stationed at the Military Academy at West Point, N.Y. Leaving a detachment at West Point, the Company started on this service March 31st, 1858, going by rail and steamboat as far as Fort Leavenworth, Kans. Here it remained in barracks until fully equipped to encounter the vicissitudes of the Western Plains. The march to Utah, proper, was begun the 6th of May, 1858.

Narrative of the March

_May 6_ (Thursday). With bright anticipations of beholding many a novel and interesting scene, and with high expectations of enjoying the new and eventful life which was about to open before us, we left Fort Leavenworth behind on the 6th day of May, 1858. Before us lay a long march--twelve hundred miles, we were told--across a wild, and, except for the first two hundred miles, a desert and uninhabited country.

Eight wagons, each drawn by six sturdy mules, drove up in front of our quarters, and, after receiving their baggage, started for the first camping ground at Salt Creek, a distance of about four miles. The wagons were accompanied by a detachment to serve as escort and to pitch the tents.

The remainder of the Company followed an hour or two later, in heavy marching order. Except for the observance of discipline, and the order of our marching, no one would have supposed us to be an organized portion of the United States Army. We each wore a white felt hat and a gray or blue woolen blouse, or hunting shirt. There were belt, bayonet, haversack, canteen, pistol, a large clasp knife--all surmounted by knapsack and rifle. To we Eastern soldiers this tout ensemble seemed ludicrous enough.

We pitched our first camp, manifesting considerable delicacy about taking our meals _al fresco_, and being very particular to select the driest and softest spots on which to make our beds.

_May 7_ (Friday). Reveille was at an early hour. We stowed our cumbrous knapsacks with the rest of the baggage in the wagons, and then set out on our march with lighter bodies and gayer hearts. The day's journey was only sixteen miles, but the roads were in poor condition from the breaking up of winter, and to us, unaccustomed to continuous marching, it seemed an endless distance. Several times during the day we were obliged to turn ourselves into mules, and assist in pulling the wagons out of mud holes. The night's camp was at Oak Grove.

_May 8_ (Saturday). The next day we went as far as Ravine Spring, six miles. We made but a short march, owing to the miserable condition of the roads.

_May 9_ (Sunday). On the 9th, although Sunday, we made a long march, as we expected to overtake our provision train, which was some distance in advance of us. We failed in the undertaking, however, although marching twenty-one miles.

Where we were encamped, that night, on the Second Branch of Grasshopper Creek, we could distinctly hear the hungry howl of the prairie wolf, a new and amusing music to us.

_May 10_ (Monday). The first day of the new week, Monday, the 10th, we trudged our weary way over twelve and three-quarter miles of muddy, dreary, rolling prairie, and encamped on Walnut Creek. Here we discovered the commissary train (of which we have been in search), consisting of about a hundred and forty wagons.

_May 11_ (Tuesday). Tuesday, the 11th, we remained at Walnut Creek, in order to better the crossing of the creek and to consolidate the whole command. Four companies of the Sixth Infantry (Companies G, A, D, and K) came up in the morning, and the men looked on while we cut away the banks of the stream and prepared brush to throw into the soft places. In the afternoon, all crossed the creek and camped together on the far side.

_May 12_ (Wednesday). We marched sixteen miles, camping four miles beyond Oak Point. This was the first day the whole command marched together, and it was plainly evident that the crack marching regiment was making strong efforts to fill our sick list by fast marching. We attributed the attempt to outmarch us to their ignorance of the spirit and personnel that made up Co. A, Engineers.

_May 13_ (Thursday). We went six miles beyond the Fourth Branch of Grasshopper Creek, a distance of fifteen miles. We had tattoo a little after sunset, in order to allow a long rest to those who wished it.

_May 14_ (Friday). We reached Vermilion Creek, after a very disagreeable march of twenty-one miles. The air was raw and cold, and most of the day a cold wind blew directly in our faces. The roads were deeply cut with ruts, and the grass was filled with water. The Sixth was ahead at the beginning, but we passed them on the march; and although they tried once or twice to regain their position, they failed to do so.

_May 15_ (Saturday). Another cold day. We marched twenty miles, to the Big Blue River. Overcoats were worn, and we were glad to keep our hands in our pockets. About 11 a.m. we were treated to a heavy hailstorm, the stones coming rattling about our ears as large as marbles.

There is a ghost of a village here, which the residents have the presumption to call "Palmetto City." It consists of a blacksmith shop, a tavern, two stores, and five or six log houses; and boasts of a weekly paper, just large enough to make a good cigar-lighter. Sugar crackers sell at 35 cents per pound, and whiskey, of doubtful quality, at 75 cents per quart.

_May 16_ (Sunday). A day of rest for everybody except us. It rained all day. The Infantry lay in their tents and watched the Engineers at work with pick and shovel. We went to the river crossing, and employed the old remedy, brush and digging, to make it passable. After returning to camp we were each treated to a gill of whiskey, which, we were informed, it was a part of our duty to drink. Some of the men brought wood and made a large camp fire, and stood by it to dry themselves in the rain.

_May 17_ (Monday). The next day we resumed our march, and encamped at Cottonwood Creek, only eleven and three-quarter miles from the Big Blue.

_May 18_ (Tuesday). We went on to Turkey Creek, twenty-one and three-quarter miles. It was quite a warm day, and several of the men had recourse to the wagons, on account of lameness. Some wolves were seen prowling about during the march. Lieutenant Alexander fired at one or two, but the distance was such, apparently, that the animals were only amused by the whistling of the bullets. Part of the Company repaired the crossing of the creek this evening.

_May 19_ (Wednesday). The waters of Big Sandy Creek, which we reached the next day, after a march of twenty-one and a half miles, were very limpid, an unusual thing in this country. We nearly all took a wash.

_May 20_ (Thursday). We encamped at a place called "West Point on Blue River," after a march of nineteen and three-quarter miles. Considerable game was within sight to-day, among which were several antelopes. Attempts were made to capture some, but we only succeeded in bringing a wolf into camp.

_May 21_ (Friday). We went to the Little Blue River, twenty-one and three-quarter miles. The heat to-day was very great. The perspiration oozed at every pore--and the dust collected on our faces and in our eyes, filled our noses, and encrusted our lips. Lieutenant Alexander and Sergeant Pierce saw some buffaloes, and went out to shoot one; but, provokingly enough, some mischievous Puck was officious enough to turn them into oxen just in time to disappoint the hunters and to save the lives of the animals.

_May 22_ (Saturday). We went as far as Little Blue Valley, twenty-one and a third miles. We overtook an ox-train bound for Salt Lake, and a difficulty arose concerning our passing them. The place was such that we could not turn out of the road to pass, and those in charge of the train did not seem inclined to hurry to a point where we could pass. Argument was of no avail, and consequently we came into collision. The battle was to the strong--the quick, furious plunges of the mules proving too much for the sluggish pulling of the oxen. One of our wagons got through, and then, by driving the leaders' noses against the tailboards of the preceding wagons, all our train made its passage through. One of the teamsters of the ox-train gazed with wild astonishment at our harmless forge, and asked at last, "Are you going to take _only one cannon_ with you?"

_May 23_ (Sunday). This turned out to be another day of rest--and, as nothing could be found for us to do, we had our share in it, too.

Last night we were all awakened by the fury of a severe thunder storm. The rain fell in torrents, and a little of it made its way into the tents. The wind blew a perfect tornado. As we expected every minute to be without a roof over our heads, and could do nothing to avert the danger, we did the next best thing--sat down and smoked our pipes. The lightning was blinding, and the flashes followed each other in constant succession. The loud thunder rattled everything movable around us. But the storm was too violent to last, and before our pipes were out we saw the full moon in the sky, and the lunar-bow.

_May 24_ (Monday). Last night we were favored with act two of the play begun the night before. The wind, hail, and rain raged with a fury not a whit less severe, but again no damage was done.

We marched to the Second Crossing of Elm Creek, seventeen and a third miles. The effect of the storm was to render our marching less comfortable, the roads being very muddy and the grass dripping with water, so that we were soon wet and muddy up to our knees. We came across a couple of emigrants, near the close of our march.

_May 25_ (Tuesday). This day brought us to the valley of the Platte River, after a march of eighteen miles. The valley is level, and about three miles in width, the river winding along a serpentine course. The river is nearly a quarter of a mile wide, and from two to twelve feet in depth, the current being very swift and powerful.

The day closed with a sad accident. A supernumerary teamster of the commissary train, Thomas B. Smith, of New Jersey, went in bathing, took cramps, and was carried away by a relentless current to a watery grave. Fruitless efforts were made to recover the body.

A grave was seen as we descended into the valley; a lonely record of sanguine expectations and frustrated hopes. A board at the head bore the inscription, "Miss Susan G. Hale, Mormon; Died 1852, Aged 24 years."

Here first commenced the work of gathering buffalo chips for fuel. We engaged in the duty somewhat reluctantly, softening the unpleasantness of it by laughing at each other.

_May 26_ (Wednesday). We reached the long-looked-for Fort Kearney, marching thirteen and a third miles. Our course lay along the valley, and the Fort was in sight throughout the march. It first consisted only of a chimney and a flag-pole, but every mile added something to it. A large house, we found, was attached to the chimney, and a flag to the pole, and at last the place grew into several extensive buildings, flanked about by adobe houses. Inhabitants: Infantry and washerwomen. Goods for sale: buffalo skins and whiskey. Game: buffaloes and wolves. Products: prairie grass and cacti. Water very poor.

A mail was distributed among us, and the happy recipients sought shady nooks in which to have a chat with some loved one, or perhaps to battle with wind and sand in trying to reply to the epistles received.

_May 27_ (Thursday). We remained in camp on account of about fifty teamsters of the commissary train striking for higher wages. They were marched away from the camp, bag and baggage, with the guard at their rear at _charge bayonets_. The delay was rather fortunate, however, as it gave an opportunity, both to us and the mules, to recuperate from the wear and tear of the march.

_May 28_ (Friday). We left Fort Kearney behind, but made only ten and a half miles, none of us being in the long-march humor. The prairie was covered with long, dead grass, and some careless individual lighted his pipe and the prairie at the same time. We soon succeeded in extinguishing the blaze. But we were not long in camp before we were turned out by the _long roll_ to do battle once more with the devouring element; this time our weapons were gunny-bags and blankets, and the fire was soon thoroughly beaten out.

The command was joined before leaving Fort Kearney by Companies F and I of the Sixth Infantry. And we left behind at the Fort one of our own men, Robert Ayres, suffering with inflammatory rheumatism, so that he could have the advantage of good medical attendance and a comfortable hospital.

Somebody made a trade to-day whereby we lost our wall tents and were given bell tents instead. The wall tents were quite comfortable, although too crowded; the bell tents are more roomy, but less comfortable.

_May 29_ (Saturday). We encamped on the Platte River, having marched twelve miles. Wood is so scarce that a party had to swim across the river for some, floating it back to camp.

_May 30_ (Sunday). This should have been a day of rest. We congratulated ourselves on our good luck in not having to march, as the day was wet and chilly. But we crowed too early in the morning, for we were all turned out to procure wood, which, as yesterday, had to be floated back from the opposite side of the river, after three hours' work in a swamp, up to the middle in mud and water.

_May 31_ (Monday). We reached the crossing of Plum Creek, a distance of fifteen miles. At one time during the march we were gladdened by the sight of a large lake, with bluffs and headlands extending into it, and with vessels sailing majestically on its calm bosom; but, sad to relate, on nearer approach the lake turned into a low fog, the headlands dwindled into the old, monotonous chain of sand-bluffs, and the vessels metamorphosed into three or four rusty looking ox-wagons.

_June 1_ (Tuesday). We encamped in Buffalo Bog, so called because it is a great trail for the buffaloes. Our march amounted to seventeen and a third miles. As we came into camp a herd of buffaloes was seen on the neighboring sand hills. The Lieutenant and the Indian hunters went after them and killed two or three, bringing in the tongues and the humps, and leaving the remainder for the wolves to pick.

We saw our first real Indians to-day. A chief of the Sioux and his squaw came into camp this afternoon. They were savage all over--in their looks, dress, and conduct; and decidedly so in their speech, which, however, they used very sparingly, talking to us in a sort of dignified pantomime. The gist of the conversation was, "Something to eat," and no matter of what we spoke they invariably began their answer with, "How! How!" and terminated with "Something to eat." It would have been difficult to distinguish the chief from the squaw, they resembled each other so closely in looks and dress, were it not that the squaw never laughed until the chief smiled nor opened her mouth to speak until first spoken to.

_June 2_ (Wednesday). To-day brought us to Reedy Flat, seventeen and a half miles. Our camp ground is level and swampy, and full of tall reeds--hence its name.

Two men are now detailed each morning to start an hour or two before the command, in order, if possible, to shoot some game; but owing to the inexperience of our men, they rarely succeed in obtaining anything.

_June 3_ (Thursday). We came to-day to Cottonwood Spring, concluding a march of seventeen and a third miles. After dark the police detail was obliged to turn out on a wood hunting expedition, in order to procure fuel for breakfast. The nearest wood was at least a mile from camp, and in the search for it there was also, incidentally, found some whiskey, which two individuals retailed from a rude tent at the moderate price of one dollar per quart.

_June 4_ (Friday). We went two or three miles beyond O'Fallons Bluff, nineteen and a half miles altogether. A great variety of flowers decked the prairie, and many of us amused ourselves by making bouquets.

Some three or four days ago Lieutenant Duane gave up pedestrianism and took to riding his horse.

_June 5_ (Saturday). We marched again to-day over a flowery plain: phlox, wall flowers, bachelor's buttons, larkspur, lilies, cacti, golden dagger, snap-dragons, daisies, and forget-me-nots grew in wild confusion. We covered eighteen and a half miles. The weather was mild and beautiful.

_June 6_ (Sunday). We did not march to-day, but no rest was vouchsafed us. The company was fallen in at fatigue call and divided into working parties--some roasted coffee, some ground tools, others mended tents, and the remainder forded the river after wood.

_June 7_ (Monday). We were again en route, and proceeded to North Pond, sixteen and a third miles. Three or four successive dry days have made the road very dusty.

_June 8_ (Tuesday). We came to within four miles of the "First Crossing," journeying nineteen miles. A Sioux village was in sight, on the opposite side of the river, and we were not long in camp before some thirty of the villagers paid us a visit, headed by an old, bow-legged warrior. They all approached with extended hand, exclaiming, "How! How!"--then wandered about the camp; making observations and taking anything they found loose, and trading with the men. They never failed to be near when anything like provisions was produced, and were not at all backward in telling one they were hungry. We gave some a little soup, which they liked very much, taking especial care, however, to avoid the vegetables which it contained. A party of boys among them amused us by shooting down little ornaments with their arrows, receiving as reward the ornaments which served as targets. They also ran several foot races with our little drummer boy, the honors being divided. The Indians are bold riders, the harness on their horses consisting only of a Mexican bit and a rawhide bridle. They twist their feet inside the horses' forelegs, and the animals might as well try to get rid of their tails as of one of these copper-colored devils.

This evening a party of women came over, with skins and moccasins to trade. Some of the younger ones were comely looking maidens. One old squaw, accompanied by two daughters, made a trade with one of the men, giving a buffalo robe for a double-sized silk handkerchief, blue, with red and yellow flowers. She no sooner spread it to the breeze than both daughters besieged her for it, but she turned and ran with her prize, pursued by the two damsels.

_June 9_ (Wednesday). We made a march of seventeen and a quarter miles, to the crossing of the South Fork of the Platte River. It was very warm during the morning, and the soles of our shoes became very smooth from marching through the dead grass. At noon, though, it commenced raining, and continued to do so all afternoon and evening. After arriving at our camp ground we had to wait nearly an hour for the train, which through some cause had been detained. We kindled a fire and crowded around it, three or four deep.

The Lieutenant, Dwyer (the wagon-master), and two or three other men mounted mules last night, took a day's provisions, and started up the river to seek the crossing here. Finding it, they spent the night with the old Cheyenne chief, Spotted Tail, who had two or three wigwams at the crossing. They were entertained in a distinguished manner by his dusky highness, returning in the morning to the command. But as soon as our train came within sight to-day the old Chief pulled up his stakes and "vamoosed the ranch."

_June 10_ (Thursday). We remained in camp, as it was a raw, wet, chilly day; little was done except to sleep. The Colonel wishes a warm day for the crossing.

_June 11_ (Friday). The day being no better than yesterday, and there being no prospect of improvement, we commenced the long-dreaded crossing. Lieutenant Alexander divested himself of all clothing, except his shirt and drawers, and entered, leading his horse. We speedily stripped ourselves, carrying our belts and haversacks around our necks, our clothes in a bundle on the ends of our rifles. Every two good swimmers taking between them one of those ignorant of the now useful art, we trusted ourselves to the mercy of the chilling, madly rushing current. The water was high, and as cold as ice. It required as much strength as we could muster to gain a step against the current, and the sharp stones on the bottom cut our feet painfully, till our legs and feet became so benumbed with cold as to be insensible to further pain. As we made a step forward, when the water was but a foot or two deep, we would sink unexpectedly to the middle, and probably the next step would take us in to the arm-pits; then the water would obtain such a force against the body that it required almost superhuman efforts to keep an upright position. We became dizzy from the rapid current before getting half way across, and by the time the opposite shore was reached most of us were pretty well exhausted. One man, Artificer James R. Kelly, was swept off his feet, but luckily enough I was able to catch hold of him and bring him ashore.

Our train, while we were crossing, started off in a stampede, and we had the pleasure of being on one side of the stream and seeing our wagons carried away over hill and valley, in every direction, on the other. Fortunately, the mules were safely brought back, although a little blown; after they were all securely landed on our side of the river they were the meekest and most humble congregation of mules I have ever seen.

After we pitched our tents each received a gill of whiskey. Upon inspection, the losses of the day were found to be one linchpin and one pair of pantaloons.

_June 12_ (Saturday). We went as far as Rattlesnake Hill, eighteen and an eighth miles. Several rattlesnakes were seen during the march, and once or twice our men came near treading on them, but they escaped us by getting into their holes, or we escaped them by getting out of their way. The rear guard killed one or two.