PART XIV.

DEPARTURE FROM THE FIELD AND LAST DAYS OF SERVICE, 1865.

The voyage to New York was uneventful. We had the usual transport discomforts with some rough and cold weather and, on the second day before the election, we reached New York Harbor. The small battalion of the Second United States Infantry, consisting of half a dozen officers, about seventy-five men and a dog, landed at Fort Hamilton dock, along with about half the other troops on board. The remainder, as well as those on another transport, were distributed among various forts in the vicinity of New York. We marched to the fort with flying colors, but we had no band; the few remaining members of our band were doing other duty and Sergeant Lovell, the big drum-major, had been one of the color sergeants for more than a year. My company was quartered in one of the damp and gloomy casemates which had but a single window, or porthole, overlooking the bay.

On election day we were not allowed to go outside of the fort. Extra ammunition was issued and a thorough inspection of arms was held. A large ferry-boat remained at the dock the entire day to transport us to the city in case of a serious riot which, however, did not occur.

A few days later several soldiers in the company, including myself, secured passes to visit the city. We had to walk a long distance before reaching a horse-car line to take us to one of the ferries from Brooklyn to New York. While on this leave I visited my old friend, Sergeant Major Milligan, who was ill with consumption at his mother's house. The hardships of field service had been too much for his somewhat delicate constitution. It was the last time I saw him. He died within two weeks, much beloved, and his death greatly regretted by his comrades, who erected a modest but appropriate monument to his memory in New York Bay Cemetery.

During our short stay at Fort Hamilton, we performed regular garrison duty. I was sergeant of the guard a couple of times and one of these occasions I am not likely to forget. We mounted a strong guard and had sentinels posted all around the fort and the adjoining redoubt. The guard-room and prison were in casemates on the east side of the fort, on each side of a sallyport. At that time nearly fifty prisoners were in confinement--the toughest element I ever saw in the army. Some were general prisoners undergoing sentences--they wore a ball and chain; others were awaiting trial for various crimes; and there were, also, a small number of ordinary "drunks." It was customary to parade and call the roll of the prisoners in the morning when the guard was changed, and again at retreat in the evening, before they were locked up for the night.

A few of the prisoners had escaped at times, which made a young and inexperienced lieutenant, who was officer of the day on my first tour of guard, so nervous that he ordered most extraordinary and unwise precautions against a recurrence of escapes. He ordered me to turn out the guard and all of the prisoners at eleven o'clock at night and at three o'clock in the morning--hours at which the sentinels were not relieved. The officer of the day was present at eleven, when I called out the two relieves of the guard, not on post, and formed ranks in the sallyport. Then with a corporal and two files of the guard, we started to turn out the prisoners. They objected strenuously at the unusual proceeding and cursed and swore dreadfully. It took a long time to turn them all out and count them, by the aid of a lantern. They were left standing in the ranks, half clad and shivering, while the officer of the day ordered me to accompany him for an inspection of the prisoners' quarters. More than half an hour had been consumed in the parading of the prisoners.

At three o'clock, when we turned them out for the second time, there was almost a riot. Some swore they would kill the lieutenant, others refused to get up and I had to bring in more help to drag them from their bunks and push them into the ranks, with only a blanket to cover them. They yelled and shouted and began to throw things at the guards in the semi-darkness--the only light being from a few lanterns. The lieutenant drew his sword and threatened to run it through the body of any prisoner who refused to obey orders, but he prudently remained outside the doorway. Now all this trouble was needless. A sentinel was posted outside the prison door and another at the only window. The prisoners' chances of escape by slipping away in the darkness, while outside, were better than when locked up. When the post commander heard the next day about the turning out of the prisoners in the night-time he ordered that it should not be repeated, and it may be assumed that the over-zealous lieutenant was admonished to use more discretion in the future.

About a week after the election, my company (C) received orders to be ready next morning in full marching order and proceed to Governor's Island to escort a detachment of Rebel prisoners from there to Elmira, New York, where the Government had established a large prison camp. As the other company remained at Fort Hamilton, we supposed that we would return there when our duty had been performed. We embarked on a steam-boat and soon arrived at the Governor's Island dock, where about two hundred ragged and hungry "Rebs," who had been confined in Castle Williams for a few days, were awaiting us. Each prisoner, as he stepped on board, received a loaf of bread and a piece of boiled beef to which he immediately did ample justice. The boat started for Jersey City where we put the prisoners on the cars of the Erie railroad. It was a special train, made up of emigrant cars, which made but few stops. I had charge of one of the cars in which every seat but four for the guard was occupied by a prisoner. With me were six privates as guards. I stationed three at each end of the car with their loaded rifles. When the train halted, one of the guards was stationed outside on each side of the car, and I also descended.

At Goshen and some other stations where we halted for a brief time, some of the citizens gave the prisoners fruit, cigars and tobacco, which we allowed to be passed to them through the car windows. It was quite late at night when we arrived at Elmira and turned our prisoners over to some guards, who marched them to the prison camp two miles or more away. The company passed the remainder of the night in some freight sheds, while the captain and lieutenant put up at the nearest hotel.

Next morning we were vexed and disgusted at learning that we were not to go back to New York, but were to remain at Elmira to guard prisoners. The general desire was to go back to the field and see the close of the war, of which a part of the Second Infantry had seen the beginning. We had made up our minds that the end was near; prisoners at the front had told us of the dire straits of General Lee's army for food and clothing and the rapidly diminishing forces. We felt angry with the authorities who had condemned us to such an inglorious duty, after our long and faithful service in the field, where we had lost more than a third of our number. But there was no help for it. As soldiers, we had to obey orders. We were not the only ones thus treated. The companies of the Twelfth and Seventeenth Infantry, who had left the field at the same time, had arrived here a few days before and were then doing duty. Subsequently we learned that the First Battalion of the Eleventh and the Second Battalion of the Twelfth were returned to the Army of the Potomac, where they remained to the end and were present at the surrender of General Lee's army. The company left at Fort Hamilton, together with our small "field and staff," was sent to Newport Barracks, Kentucky, there to recruit and reform the Second Infantry for future service.

The company marched from the Elmira depot a long distance beyond the suburbs of the town to the prison camp, near which we encamped, alongside of other troops. We put up "A" tents and raided some hay-stacks for bedding. It was cold, and as wood was furnished for cooking purposes only, we crowded around the kitchen fire, which had no shelter, to warm ourselves. All the troops, except the recently arrived regulars, were sheltered in temporary barracks.

The force guarding the Rebel prisoners, who were all of the rank and file, was composed of a battery of artillery, nearly a thousand regular infantry, several regiments of the Veteran Reserve Corps and a few others. The Veteran Reserve Corps was a new organization, something like Home Guards. It was composed of men considered unfit for field duty. In its ranks were a considerable number of men who had for a time served at the front. The active soldiers named this organization "The Invalid Corps." Colonel Moore of the Veteran Reserve Corps, the ranking officer, was in command of all the troops of the prison guard.

The prison camp near Elmira was established in July, 1864, and, at the time of our arrival, contained upwards of ten thousand prisoners. They had been in tents all summer but were then in barracks, within a stockade enclosing about forty acres. The main front with the principal gate and guard-house was close to and faced the road leading into Elmira, the back was near the Chemung river. A platform, from which the sentinels could overlook the prison yards and dead line, surrounded the entire stockade.

The site was badly chosen, there was a swamp within the enclosure and much of it was liable to be overflowed by the Chemung river. A great amount of sickness prevailed--at times five hundred were inmates of the prison hospital and as many more sick in quarters. More than ten per cent. of the prisoners died, while this prison existed; two thousand, nine hundred and seventeen were buried at the base of the hills about a mile from the prison. The greatest mortality was during the hard winter of 1864-'65, when often a dozen or more died every day and were removed every morning to be buried in trenches without any ceremony.

The Government allowed a soldier's rations for each prisoner, but that was considered too much for men who had practically no exercise, and it was left to the discretion of the prison commander, as to how much of the ration was to be issued. The saving was to constitute a fund for building quarters, hospitals, clothing, bedding and other supplies for the prisoners. At Elmira the prisoners received about two-thirds of a ration, served to them in two cooked meals daily. This kept them somewhat hungry, but they were far better off than our starving and shelterless prisoners in the South. When the inhuman treatment of our soldiers in the Southern prisons became known in the North, there was a hue and cry for retaliation; but I think none of it was practised in the Northern prisons. The suspension of the exchange of prisoners during 1864 by our Government caused increased suffering and many deaths of our soldiers in the Southern prisons.

Opposite the prison pen, on land not leased by the Government, several open-timbered observation towers had been erected by citizens. They were about forty feet in height with a flat deck on top, which had stairs leading up to it. From the top of these towers a good view of the interior of the prison and its teeming inmates could be had for the payment of ten cents admission fee. On clear days, and especially on Sundays, many of Elmira's citizens availed themselves of this opportunity to see the Rebel prisoners. The lower part of these structures were enclosed and used as groggeries, mainly patronized by soldiers. These places and some others along the road to town made trouble for the provost guard and provided inmates for the guard-house.

On the second day after our arrival, Colonel Moore ordered that one of the regular sergeants be detailed to act as post sergeant major. I was selected for the position and ordered to report to the post adjutant for duty. The adjutant's office was in a temporary building near the prison gate. It consisted of one large room, furnished with a number of desks and a stove. There were three clerks employed, all of whom belonged to the Invalid Corps. I performed the duties of a sergeant major at the guard-mount parade every morning which was no small affair, as the daily guard numbered more than two hundred. After guard-mount, Colonel Moore and the adjutant spent a few hours at the office, while the clerks and I were busy consolidating the morning reports of the troops and making out guard details from rosters for the following day. In the afternoon I was generally free to do as I pleased, go to town or to my cold camp, for I had to mess with my company and sleep in my tent. I had a standing pass to go anywhere about Elmira; but when the weather was bad, I usually remained in the adjutant's office until it closed in the evening. The hot stove there had an attraction for me.

One night there was a noisy disturbance and fighting among the soldiers in one of the groggeries. The provost guard arrested every one there, including Quinn, the proprietor. Next morning a boy came into the adjutant's office and handed Colonel Moore a dirty, crumpled piece of paper on which was scrawled in pencil--

Kurnell Moore sir i am in the gard hous sir and i dunno for wat sir im a sitisen sir and me name is Patrick Quinn sir.

The Colonel was an elderly man with a good sense of humor; he was much amused by this note and pinned it up on the wall over his desk where he often called some of the visiting officers' attention to it. As for "Patrick Quinn sir" he had to be released, as he had a city license and was not located on Government ground.

On Thanksgiving Day, the ladies of Elmira provided a turkey dinner for all the soldiers. We marched by detachments to a temporary hall, neatly decorated for the occasion. There was a band and an abundant dinner served by the ladies themselves. At its close we gave thanks to the ladies of Elmira in speech and in rousing cheers.

After Thanksgiving Day we had deep snow, and it became so cold that we suffered greatly in our camp. Temporary quarters were being erected for the regulars, but they were not ready until the first week in December. My company did not occupy them; we were sent to Barracks No. 2, which was on the opposite side of the town, on the outskirts, more than three miles from our camp. Owing to this move I lost my position of post sergeant major, which I had held for only three weeks. At Barracks No. 2 we were fairly comfortable. We had stoves and bunks in the quarters. A few other companies were quartered there, but no Rebel prisoners. We did the ordinary garrison duty and had much spare time to walk around the town, going sometimes to a theatre, when a troupe came to town. The shows were held in a hall on the second floor of a building on the principal street. I particularly remember a piece called, "The Sea of Ice," in which, owing to the limited height of the pasteboard icebergs on the stage, the actors were forced to stoop low when trying to conceal themselves from the bloodthirsty Eskimos.

During the winter, which was severe, the first sergeant of my company reenlisted, receiving a two months' furlough, and in his absence I acted as first sergeant. I have still in my possession the company roll, as I then daily called it. Only ten names of soldiers, who had served on the frontiers, remained; all the others were the names of men who had joined during the war. Of the officers, there were but seven in the regiment who had seen frontier service, all of them serving elsewhere at this time. Not one of these seven officers belonged to the regiment at the outbreak of the war, they had all been promoted into it. Captain William F. Drum was in command of Company C, but left us during the month of February to become the colonel of the Fifth New York Veteran Volunteers, then serving in the field in the Fifth Army Corps under General Warren. Captain Drum, whose esteem I possessed, told me before his departure that, after he took command of his regiment, he would apply to Governor Fenton of New York for a commission for me as he desired to have me serve with him after my discharge, which was soon to take place. A few weeks later he wrote me, saying he had made the application.

About the middle of March, 1865, we left Barracks No. 2 and again went into camp near the prison pen, on the same ground we had occupied previously. The ice in the Chemung river had broken up and melting snow raised the river until it overflowed its banks and inundated a part of the prison barrack buildings, causing much suffering among the inmates. In a few days the first sergeant returned from furlough; but as I had not many more days to serve, I was excused from guard duty. At the request of the company commander, Brv't. Captain William Falk, I devoted the last days of my service to putting the company's books and papers in thorough order.

On the twenty-fourth day of March, 1865, I received my discharge from the army for the second time, by no means certain that I would not rejoin again. I put on my best uniform and disposed of my little belongings among my comrades. I received my final statements, which I handed to a paymaster, permanently stationed in Elmira, who paid me in full. That evening with a few special friends I had dinner at a hotel in the town, and at about nine o'clock bade them farewell at the depot. I boarded a train, spent the night on a seat, and arrived in New York next morning.

I had a letter to Colonel Richard I. Dodge, who was the chief mustering and disbursing officer in New York city, with the principal offices at 23 and 25 St. Marks Place. Colonel Dodge employed me at once as a clerk at seventy-five dollars per month. In a few days I entered upon my duties under Captain Henry A. Ellis, in whose office there were half a dozen other clerks, all but one being discharged soldiers, some of whom I had known in the field. Our duties consisted in making discharges and final statements for individual soldiers, regulars and volunteers. Later on, when the army disbanded, we made out the muster rolls and final accounts for many volunteer regiments, who were mustered out of the service in New York.

General Grant had put the Army of the Potomac in motion, and on the first day of April, the battle of Five Forks was successfully fought, which indicated the end of the Confederacy. All this time I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of my commission for I ardently wished to be present at the final stage of the war. General Lee surrendered on the ninth of April to General Grant, and General Johnston to General Sherman a week later. Peace was soon declared. The grand review of Grant and Sherman's veteran soldiers was held in Washington on May twenty-fourth and, by June first, the Fifth Army Corps had ceased to exist.

I received the commission from Albany early in June but I wrote to Colonel Drum informing him that, in as much as the Fifth New York Veteran Volunteers were likely to be mustered out of service within a month, I had decided not to be mustered in to join the regiment for so short a time. I have since regretted that I did not serve as an officer, even for so short a time. The fact of not having been mustered in debars me from becoming a member of the Loyal Legion according to its rules, no matter how much service I had in the field.

We were busy during the summer mustering out troops, and opened a branch office at the south-west corner of Broome and Elm Street where, under Lieutenant Netterville of the Twelfth United States Infantry, I remained for a few months. In the fall I was returned to the main office, where I continued until the month of January, 1866, when the mustering and disbursing office was ordered to be closed. This proved to be my final service for the Government, in or out of the army. Henceforth I was to be a citizen.

REFLECTIONS.

I sometimes ask myself the questions--Was my army service a benefit or a detriment to me in after life? Would I have attained a better condition and standing, if I had not been in the military service? These are questions hard to answer in my case, as I had to struggle for a living and had no one to give me a helping hand to gain a higher plane. When I left the army I was not yet twenty-four and totally inexperienced in earning a livelihood in civil life, which was rendered more difficult by the fact that a million young men were released from the army at the same time, all seeking new careers outside of military service. An element of luck and some of the habits I had acquired in the army were beneficial to me. The military training taught me responsibility, promptness and self-control, which I found useful in my long business career and as an employer. The out-of-door life for ten years fortified me in health, which has lasted to the present day and for which I am most grateful. I have much to be thankful for and little to regret.

I believe that a three years' term of army service would be beneficial to most young men of good character and habits. To-day soldiers of the United States Army enjoy many advantages and comforts that were unknown to the older army in times of peace; the soldiers' pay, food and clothing are better, and the discipline is less strict. I have visited a number of home garrisons and those in Honolulu and Manila, in all of which I found the quarters comfortable, clean and sanitary. There are libraries, schools and club-rooms; and separate beds with sheets and pillows are provided for each soldier, a luxury formerly unheard of in garrisons. I have seen British soldiers serving in India and those of other nations on foreign service in various parts of the world; but I think the American soldiers now receive better care and more liberal treatment than those of other nations. It has always been a soldier's habit and privilege to grumble. I suppose there is as much grumbling to-day in the army as there was in former times.

AUGUSTUS MEYERS,

Sergeant, Second U.S. Infantry.

November 17, 1913.

ADDENDA.

On a recent tour of the northwestern states I visited Sioux City. There, in September, 1913, I found a large and prosperous city with many fine buildings, where there had been only a wilderness in 1855. The river-front was unrecognizable to me. The early houses that once clustered there had been replaced by a railroad yard.

I had the good fortune to meet Mr. J. M. Pinkney, a congenial business man who had lived in Sioux City almost from its foundation. He was well informed and we had a long and interesting conversation about the early days when the city was a mere frontier settlement. Mr. Pinkney introduced me at the office of the Sioux City Journal where I was courteously received. I found the Journal to be a large up-to-date newspaper such as one would expect to find only in a great metropolis.

I was seized with a strong desire to revisit Fort Pierre, although I had no pleasant recollections of it. To me it brought only thoughts of suffering. I left Sioux City on a late night train and arrived at Pierre, the capital of South Dakota, in the middle of the next afternoon. Pierre, built mainly on hills overlooking the Missouri River, is a city of only about three thousand inhabitants, but boasts a large and magnificent capital building surpassed by few in the western states. There is also a modern fire-proof hotel, a government post office, a Carnegie library and other buildings worthy of note. A substantial railroad bridge crosses the Missouri.

The smaller town of Fort Pierre, the county seat of Stanley County, South Dakota, is directly opposite on the west bank of the river. A small motorboat makes hourly ferry trips, communication by way of the railroad bridge being infrequent.

I boarded the motorboat next morning, September eighth, to go to Fort Pierre, where I had arrived fifty-eight years ago in the same month. I found the Missouri River just as muddy and treacherous for navigation as of yore. A large sandbar made a long detour necessary to reach the channel on the western side of it. The boat ran aground several times, and finally it was caught so hard and fast that we had to wait for the other ferry to haul us off on its return trip.

There were two other passengers on the boat beside myself, one a white citizen and the other a full blooded young Sioux who had been educated at Carlisle School. I learned from them that the old stockade fort no longer existed. It had been a few miles further up the river, but they could not tell me its exact location. They offered to take me to the office of Mr. Stanley Philip, the owner of a large ranch near the site of the fort. Mr. Philip was out, but they introduced me to Mr. C. H. Fales, a prominent business man of the town, who kindly volunteered to show me the site of the old fort.

As we were preparing to start, Mr. Philip arrived in an automobile and invited both of us to go to the place in his machine. He soon set us down at the site of the old stockade about two and one-half miles up the river. Not a stick remained of the old fort. It had left no mark save a depression in the ground where a cellar had been. I recognized the contour of the low hills on the west and of the higher hills across the river. There was the same bleak prairie extending back to the foothills with its colonies of barking prairie dogs, who appeared to me to be somewhat bolder than of old.

The Indian burial place had disappeared, but the island in the river below the fort was still there. The most noticeable change was in the river front. The channel was much further out, and a wide strip of bottom land, covered with willows and brush, had formed at what was once an abrupt bank. As I gazed upon this changed scene, I thought of the time when I had seen the plain dotted with the tepees of thousands of Indians who had assembled at that very spot to sign a treaty with General Harney.

After a while we went about a mile up the river to Mr. Philip's large ranch where he has thirteen thousand acres fenced in for a buffalo preserve. There are more than three hundred of the animals roaming at large among the hills and the number is being increased by the annual addition of some dozens of calves.

Much of the ranch on the high bottom lands along the shore of the Missouri is under cultivation and is yielding good crops. All this great estate I had seen as a wilderness that I was glad to get away from. In those days I would not have taken the whole county as a gift had I been required to live there. Mr. Philip, who manages his own ranch, is a young man. His father, a Scotchman, lately deceased, was one of the early settlers and accumulated the property.

On the way back to Fort Pierre, which is a neat little town of about one thousand people, with wide streets and cement sidewalks, my companions told of the discovery on February 17, 1913, of a lead plate on a hill back of the town, where it had been buried by French explorers in 1743. It is now the property of Mr. William O'Reilly, a resident of Fort Pierre. Mr. O'Reilly kindly presented me with a photograph of the plate and a translation of its inscription. He also took me to the bank where it is kept in a safe deposit vault and allowed me to examine it carefully. It is of thick sheet lead about six by seven inches in dimensions and but little corroded. On one side is the seal of France above an inscription in Latin. Both are deeply stamped in the lead and quite legible. A translation of the inscription follows:

In the twenty-sixth year of Louis XV's reign, in the name of the King, most illustrious sovereign, for the Governor, Marquis of Beauharnis, in 1743 Peter Gaultier de la Verendrye deposited this plate.

On the reverse side is scratched rather irregularly the following inscription in French:

Deposited by the Chevalier of Laverdendried (Witnesses) Louis La Louette, A. Miotte. April 30, 1743.

In a Fort Pierre book store I was able to procure "A Brief History of South Dakota," written in 1905 by Doane Robinson, Secretary of the State Historical Society. In this interesting book Mr. Robinson says:

"The first white man that we know certainly to have visited South Dakota was a young man named Verendrye (de la Verendrie on the plate), in the year of 1743. He claimed the land for the King of France, and on a hill near the camp planted a plate engraved with the arms of France and marked the spot with a pile of stones. To unearth that plate would be a rich find for some enterprising young South Dakotan. Taking into account the direction traveled and the time spent in making the trip, it is most likely that this plate rests within fifty miles of the state capitol."

The book contains many items of special interest to me. On one of the maps is shown the location of the winter cantonments of "Harney's troops in 1856." There is a good picture of "Old Fort Pierre in 1855 and vicinity," also a ground plan of the fort drawn to scale, showing all of the buildings within it. This plan shows the fort to have been three hundred by two hundred and fifty feet square, somewhat larger than I judged it to be from memory. The names of some Indian chiefs and their pictures printed in the book bring the originals back to my thoughts.

In the afternoon I bade farewell to the two gentlemen who had been so courteous to me. I was the only passenger on the ferry when the boatman vainly tried to make her start. He finally went up the street to get some dry batteries and returned with another man. They installed new batteries and took much of the machinery apart and put it together again. Still the boat refused to budge. Nearly an hour had been lost and I was beginning to get apprehensive about catching my train, when another boat arrived from the east shore. The boatman aboard her soon found what the trouble was and we started for the other side which we reached without mishap save grounding twice on the sandbar.

A reporter of a local paper caught me there, but I had time to give him only a very short interview. I caught the train for the east with little time to spare. A state fair was being held at Huron, S.D., four hours' ride from Pierre, and many persons got on at the intermediate stations. Among them were a few Indians and their squaws. To see an Indian mount the steps of a car, carrying a suitcase, seemed extraordinary to me. Surely the Indian as I knew him no longer exists.