PART VI.

SERVICE AT FORT RANDALL, CAMPAIGNING IN KANSAS AND EXPIRATION OF MY ENLISTMENT--1857-1859.

We arrived at Fort Randall in June, 1857. It was located on the west bank of the Missouri river, about a hundred and twenty-five miles north of the Big Sioux river as the crow flies; but more than two hundred miles by following the tortuous water course. At Fort Randall an unusually sharp turn to the east, and another to the south, gave the fort a river front on two sides, east and north, with the protection of high banks sloping to a wide strip of bottom land along the shore. That the location was desirable is proved by the fact that it has been used as a military post up to the present time, and is now in the midst of a large reservation.

The four companies that went there when Fort Pierre was abandoned a year before, had also worked hard and put up substantial log houses, rough, but comfortable, around a parade ground of reasonable size. Our three companies went into camp and waited for the arrival of the raft from Fort Lookout, which came in about a week. Then the re-erection of our quarters and officers' houses commenced. The cabins for the married soldiers were all placed on the bottom land called "The Hollow". There also were the cabins of all the citizen commissary and quartermaster's employees, married and single, and near by was a considerable camp of Ponca Indians.

There were about a dozen of citizen mechanics at the fort who did the greater part of the work in re-erecting the quarters. They had the help of only a small detail of soldiers. The buildings were improved by ceilings, and a mess-room was built--something we had not had for two years.

A large post garden had been planted early in the spring by the companies there, and during the summer and fall we had an abundance of vegetables. I had never seen potatoes, onions, and tomatoes, attain such an astonishing size as they did in that rich virgin soil. A few soldiers detailed as gardeners lived beside the garden in tents about a mile west of the fort.

We drilled and performed guard duty and moved into our new quarters after the middle of August. I did not have much to do and spent a great part of my spare time swimming, fishing and visiting the Indian camp. One day, I swam across the Missouri with some companions, but we were so exhausted we had to come back in a canoe.

There was a singular hot spring or pit on the opposite side of the river. It could not be closely approached because of the dangerous quick-sand about it. There was no overflow, and the pit seemed to be bottomless. We threw long sticks into it from a distance. They went down but never came up. The spring emitted steam in winter, but it was overflowed by the river in the spring and disappeared.

Major Hannibal Day was in command at Fort Randall. There was a band and we did regular garrison duty, including Sunday dress parades and skirmish drills. Once in a while, an escort was furnished to accompany some wagons to Sioux City and back--a place which was then beginning to build up--or a company occasionally made a short march to settle a small Indian difficulty. Our duties were varied and the summer passed quickly.

The sutler had built a roomy store at Fort Randall, with lumber brought from St. Louis. It was stocked with goods for both soldiers and Indians, and the prices were lower than at Fort Pierre. He kept ale on draught which, with some restrictions, he was allowed to sell to the soldiers by the glass. Whiskey began to be smuggled from Sioux City and was sold to the soldiers. This made more cases for the guard-house.

An enterprising soldier's wife fixed up a small still in her quarters at the "Hollow" and made a little corn whiskey which she sold to soldiers secretly, but she was informed on after a while and her distilling plant was destroyed. As a punishment, she was deprived of her ration allowance. Every company had some men who were slaves to the liquor habit. There was one in my company who, whenever he saw an intoxicated man, could not refrain from exclaiming, "I wish I had half of your sickness!"

A second lieutenant, a man of middle age, joined my regiment. He was appointed from civil life, but there was a rumor that he had served as an officer in the navy. If so, the navy was to be congratulated on its loss, for we soon discovered that he was one of those steady drinkers who, without being intoxicated, are almost constantly under the influence of liquor in a minor degree. He was saturated with it and exhaled it. Whenever any severe duty was to be performed he managed to get excused on the plea of sickness, and was away on leave as often as he could get it. Unfortunately, he remained with my regiment until after the beginning of the Civil War. By that time he was unfit for field duty. He was on the sick list most of the time, and never was present at any battle. We got rid of him in 1862, when he was retired as a captain.

All of the officers' families, from whom they had been separated for two years, joined them at Fort Randall. It was quite a novelty to see white ladies again and to see their children playing on the parade ground.

Captain Gardner was married here to the sister of a lieutenant of another company. He went home to Georgia on leave, and when he returned brought back with him a negro and his wife, both of whom were slaves. The woman cooked and the man did chores.

A partial alteration was made at this time in the army uniform. The tight fitting jacket was replaced by a loose fitting blouse of dark blue cloth, which was an agreeable change. The light blue trousers were replaced by trousers of dark blue cloth, but in less than two years were changed back to the light blue, which the army has adhered to ever since. There was an absurd change from the old uniform hat to a strange and unmilitary design. The new creation was made of stiff black felt with a broad brim and a high crown. The brim was looped up on the right side and fastened with a brass eagle, otherwise it would have interfered when the soldier had his gun at "shoulder-arms." On the front was a brass bugle with the regimental number in the centre of it, and a brass letter of the company above it. Around the hat was a worsted cord with tassels of light blue for the infantry. A single black feather or plume was fastened on the left side of the hat, which few of the soldiers knew how, or cared to keep curled neatly. In damp weather it looked like a drenched rooster's tail-feathers. The officers had similar hats of finer material with more generous plumes.

A substantial new guard-house of hewn logs with a large room for prisoners and a few dark cells had been built during the summer. It was at the head of the road leading down to the river, and chance made me the first inmate of one of the cells. Some soldiers who had deserted were recaptured and tried by a general court-martial, which sentenced them to receive thirty-nine lashes on their bare backs, laid on with a rawhide. They were also to be confined at hard labor for four months, lose all pay and allowances and be dishonorably discharged. On the autumn day on which the first part of the sentence was executed we were paraded, and formed three sides of a square, the guard-house and prison forming the fourth side. It was the first time that I had ever seen corporal punishment with a rawhide inflicted on a man while in the army, and was also the only time, as flogging for desertion was abolished forever by Act of Congress a few years later. The three prisoners were present under guard.

The officer of the day read the sentence, and called out the name of one of the deserters, who was led to the centre of the square, where a triangle formed of strong joists had been set up. Here he was divested of his jacket and shirt, his wrists were bound with cords. His arms were pulled up over his head and tied to the top, while his feet were spread apart and secured to the bottom of the triangle. It had always been the custom in the army for flogging to be administered by one of the musicians. Why they were selected to do it, I never learned. When all was ready the officer of the day called one of the older boys from the ranks. He was handed a rawhide and told by the officer to strike the prisoner hard from the shoulders to the loins.

At first the blows were moderate, but increased under the officer's threats until each blow left a dark red mark and then began to cut the skin until blood flowed. The poor wretch squirmed and groaned piteously, the more so when some ill directed blow struck him around the side. When the thirty-ninth blow had been struck, the officer who had kept count cried, "Halt". The victim was untied by the guards and, unable to stand on his feet, was dragged towards the guard-house.

The second prisoner was then led forward and prepared to receive his punishment. The officer of the day turned about to select another musician to strike the blows. His glance rested on me for an instant but he passed me by and called out another by name, for which I felt very thankful. The brutal scene was repeated in all of its revolting details.

When the last prisoner was ready the officer of the day called out my name; but I stood still and shook my head. He then peremptorily called me a second time, to which I replied, "I refuse." He ordered me to be placed in charge of the guard, and called on my drummer to execute the sentence which my refusal to act had delayed for a few minutes.

Charges of disobedience of orders were preferred against me, and in about a week I was tried by court-martial. I could only plead guilty, and in another week my sentence was promulgated. I was to be confined in the guard-house for thirty days, ten of them in solitary confinement on a diet of bread and water, the remainder at hard labor, and to forfeit one month's pay. My captain tried to have my sentence commuted, but it was so glaring a refusal to obey orders without any extenuating circumstances that he was unsuccessful.

I commenced to serve the first part of my ten days at hard labor by going out with the prison gang under guard at seven o'clock each morning, chopping wood at the officers' quarters or sweeping the roads and keeping the parade ground clear until six o'clock in the evening with an interval of an hour for dinner. All of the prisoners "soldiered", and shirked their work as much as they could. None of us worked hard.

My second term of ten days was to be in one of the new cells on bread and water. But all of the sergeants in charge of the guard were friendly to me, and let me out of my cell into the guard room for hours at a time after dark. Some took the risk of letting me out in the day time after the officer of the day had made his customary rounds. As for bread and water, I never had any of that. Everyone seemed anxious to smuggle in something nice for me to eat, and I had to give away much of it to other prisoners. There was more than one boy could consume. Hot coffee was also supplied to me when it was brought in with the meals for the other prisoners. Friends furnished me with plenty of candles and books.

When my ten days of solitary confinement expired, I commenced the last term of ten days at hard labor the same as before. During those terms I had to sleep on the floor in the large prison room with the other prisoners. I would have preferred to sleep in the cell alone.

But there was enough that was amusing going on at the post to make the memory of my punishment soon lose its sting. For example, there was one man in my company, an old soldier of the Mexican War, who would sometimes take a drink too much. This always made him maudlin and melancholy. At such times he always spoke of the "beautiful senoritas," as he called them. Tears would come into his eyes when he told us the charmers called him "Senor Patrucio Martino". Then he would say with a sob, "Look at me! What am I now? Nothing but plain Paddy Martin," and burst into a flood of tears.

The winter was much milder than the two preceding ones. There were some bitterly cold days during January and February, yet we were quite comfortable. We had plenty to eat and a variety. The general health of all the soldiers was exceedingly good. We got up amusements to pass the time. There were some negro employees in the Quartermaster's Department who could sing plantation songs for us. One of them, a coal black negro who had been on the frontiers for a number of years with the Fur Company, was married to a squaw and had several children who were curious specimens of the human race, combining the most prominent features of the Indian and the negro. Both the father and the mother seemed very proud of them, however.

The Indian camp, of easy access to the garrison, always proved interesting. Its population was sometimes increased by visitors from the large Ponca Village, and from a Yankton village not far away. I spent much of my time with the Indians, as I had done two winters previous at Cantonment Miller.

In April, after the breaking up of the ice on the Missouri and the melting of the snow, flocks of wild ducks and geese made their appearance. For a time they came in incredible numbers and we managed to get all we wanted of them.

A man of my company named Jack Lynch, who had a habit of prowling about the country alone, showed us a spoonful of gold dust that he said he had found during his wanderings, but did not tell us where. About this time there were articles in the papers about the discovery of gold in the Black Hills, some hundreds of miles to the west of us; and we saw no good reason why gold should not exist in the bleak hills about Fort Randall. Our man brought in more samples of gold. He was watched and was discovered washing gold in a ravine, through which a small water course ran down from the hills a mile or more south of the fort.

Then excitement ran high. Crowds of soldiers went prospecting and washing gold. Places were discovered where it was more plentiful. In fact, too plentiful, for some of the more industrious quickly accumulated a considerable quantity of it. I had about a pint of it myself. Games of poker were played in the quarters evenings, at which the stakes were gold dust measured out in thimblefuls. Others hoarded their wealth and guarded it jealously. Hope of riches within our grasp warmed our hearts and cheered us.

The excitement had reached a high pitch, when, about a week after our "gold digging" started, some one thought of submitting a sample of the gold dust to the hospital steward, who had the necessary acids for a test. He promptly declared the stuff to be pyrites or "fools' gold". Some of the men were bitterly disappointed, others laughed. The discoverer and a few more, however, clung to their "gold dust". They believed that it was valuable until they got a report from St. Louis--where they had sent a sample to be assayed--which confirmed the hospital steward's opinion. After a while some of the soldiers began to think that Jack Lynch might have been playing a huge joke on us. He was a peculiar man in many ways, and was the possessor of a pair of eyes that did not match, one of them being light blue and the other dark gray.

During the early spring of 1858, we read much in the newspapers about the Mountain Meadow massacre in Utah in 1857, by Indians instigated by the Mormons. A large party of emigrants had been annihilated, except a few small children, and Col. Albert Sidney Johnson was gathering troops at Fort Bridger, Utah, to punish the Mormons. We also read about trouble on the border line between Missouri and Kansas Territory. Kansas desired to become a "free state," while the Missourians, together with some adherents in the territory, wanted it to become a "slave state." This led to many atrocities on the border line, where people were being driven off their farms and murdered by a gang called the "Border Ruffians."

Soon a rumor spread that some of the companies at Fort Randall would be withdrawn to serve either in Kansas or Utah, and presently an order arrived to send two companies to report at Fort Leavenworth, as soon as transportation by steamboat could be had. For this service my own company and Captain Lyon's Company B were selected. We were ordered to prepare ourselves in light marching order, leaving behind us all of our full dress uniforms, and other articles not required on a campaign. We also left behind us the alcoholic second lieutenant, who managed to be excused from going and remained at Fort Randall on duty with some other company. The officers' and soldiers' wives and children also remained. Captain Gardner and Lieutenant O'Connoll of my company and Captain Lyon and a lieutenant of Company B were the only officers to go.

We waited impatiently for a steamboat to arrive. She did not appear until near the middle of May, and with her came a paymaster who gave us eight months' pay before our departure. When the boat was unloaded and all was ready, we formed on the parade ground and, escorted by the band, marched to the boat. Among those who watched our departure were a number of Indians and squaws from the camp.

The river was still high and the current swift. The boat was but lightly loaded, so we did not strand on any sand bars and made good progress, running at night on the latter half of our trip. We still had to tie up now and then and cut wood to feed the boilers, but occasionally there was a pile of cord-wood for sale.

The great changes that had taken place since we had ascended the river three years before, were surprising to me. Then St. Joseph, Mo., marked the limit of the white settlements. Less than a hundred miles from Fort Randall by river, we made the first landing at Niobrara, where the river of the same name, flows into the Missouri. There was a small cluster of houses, and a somewhat pretentious hotel, a three-story frame building which some enterprising citizen had erected. Next we stopped at Sioux City, which had become a considerable village near the river bank of one and two story frame buildings, with a general store and a small church. Then came Council Bluffs, Omaha; Nebraska City; Atchison and some smaller places. All of them had sprung up within three years, and were busy and rapidly growing. We stopped at all these places to take on passengers or a little freight.

Such comfort as the staterooms afforded was not for the soldiers. They were set apart for the use of the passengers and our officers, while we were very uncomfortably limited to the lower or boiler deck. We had to sleep anywhere we could find room to lie down, on piles of freight or on the bare deck. The weather was raw at first, and we had cold rains. With half a dozen others I slept under the boilers several times after the fires were banked and the boat laid up for the night. The rear of the boilers was elevated on iron supports three feet or more above the deck. It formed a warm and sheltered place when the cold wind blew fore and aft through the open deck from stem to stern. After the boat began to run at night, the place became too hot for us and we had to sleep elsewhere.

There were no docks or wharves at any of the landings. When the boat approached a town she sounded her whistle and rang a bell, which brought many of the inhabitants to the river bank. In making a landing while going down stream, the pilot slowed down, approached the shore at an acute angle and pressed "her nozzle ag'in the bank." There he held the boat, until the force of the current swung her around and the bow pointed up stream. The impact of the boat always dislodged a large quantity of soft earth from the river bank, which fell into the water and left a big dent in the shore line. Every steamboat on its way down stream deprived the town of some of its real estate, if it made a landing.

In ten or twelve days, we reached Fort Leavenworth and went into quarters. I found the place very much improved. It had been cleaned up, the old buildings had been renovated and some new ones added. There was no cholera or other infectious sickness there then. It was a very busy place at that time. Soldiers were arriving and departing frequently, on their long march via Forts Kearney and Laramie to Fort Bridger, near Salt Lake City, where Col. Johnson was assembling a little army to punish the Mormons. At Leavenworth post I saw Robert E. Lee, who was then the colonel of one of the cavalry regiments and soon to become the Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Army.

A few days after our arrival at the fort some comrades and myself obtained a twenty-four hour pass to go to Leavenworth City, only a few miles down the river. It had grown to a thriving town with many stores, hotels and saloons, on the business streets; churches, dwellings and shacks on others. All were built of wood and very few were more than two stories high.

We were in luck--a circus had come to town and was parading through the streets when we arrived. There was a steam organ on a decorated truck followed by a band and the mounted circus performers which drew a great crowd. Of course, we were on hand at the afternoon performance in the tent and thought it was great. In the evening we went to a theater in a barn-like building in the heart of the town, where we sat on wooden benches which were all on a level. There was no gallery. Three or four disreputable looking musicians, playing on wheezy instruments, made up the orchestra. The stage and the auditorium were lighted with candles. The floor of the stage creaked when the performers walked over it, and the scenery threatened to topple over. I distinctly remember that the piece played by the ambitious actors was "The Lady of Lyons," which they probably murdered. However, the audience that crowded the place applauded and seemed to enjoy it, and so did we. We slept at a hotel that night on a real bed for the first time in years, and next morning walked back to the fort.

A few days later we received orders to start for Utah. Each man bought a gray felt hat at the sutler's store, as we had seen other detachments do. These we wore on the march instead of the fatigue cap, which was a poor protection against the fierce rays of the sun on the prairies. Our first objective point was Fort Kearney on the Platte River, about two hundred and fifty miles away. But we had marched only about a week when we were recalled and retraced our steps to Fort Leavenworth. I felt disappointed, I had hoped to see the Great Salt Lake and the Mormons. The long weary march did not intimidate me. On our return to the fort, we learned that fresh trouble had broken out on the Kansas border, and we were to go to Fort Scott in the south-eastern part of Kansas, a few miles from the Missouri border, to protect the settlers. In a few days our little command was ready to start. It included Companies B and D and a section of a battery of artillery consisting of two of the old style brass six pounders with their caissons, and necessary complement of artillerists commanded by First Lieutenant Beekman Du Barry, Third Artillery, who attained high rank later in the Army of the Potomac. Second Lieutenant J. B. Shinn was his assistant. The surgeon who accompanied us was Samuel W. Crawford, who later commanded the division of Pennsylvania Reserves at the battle of Gettysburg as a brigadier general. Captain Nathaniel Lyon, being the ranking officer, commanded the detachment. Captain Lyon, the firm abolitionist, and Captain Gardner, the ardent pro-slavery advocate, were there together, on a mission to keep the peace between rival factions, the free-soilers and the partisans of slavery. Whatever their feelings may have been, but they did not exhibit them. They were polite to each other but not cordial.

Our first day's march ended at a creek which was almost dry when we crossed it. That night there was a cloud-burst which drenched us, and next morning the dry creek had become a raging torrent many yards wide. We witnessed the drowning of a man and a horse, who attempted to swim over to our side, and to whom we could give no aid.

A few nights later we were encamped on low bottom land at the Kansas River, when after midnight a terrific rain storm flooded our camp with several inches of water. I sat until daylight in my tent on an inverted quart tin cup. My bare feet were in the water and I held my knapsack and clothing on my knees to keep them dry.

We crossed the Kansas river on a private ferry, which consisted of a flat-boat or scow large enough to carry a wagon with a team of horses. A cable was stretched across the stream high above the water. An ingenious arrangement of pulleys was attached to this cable and to the boat, so that it was guided from shore to shore while the current furnished the motive power. No steering was required and no labor, except to shove the boat off to take the current. It was easy work, but very slow. It took all day to pass the soldiers and wagons over the river. The artillery crossed on the following day.

We encamped one day near a small village called Shawneetown. In the evening many of the soldiers strolled to the village, where there was a hotel with a bar-room, in which a few citizens were drinking with some of the soldiers. It was becoming dark, and the saddled horses belonging to the citizens were hitched to posts on the street. This gave a joker of my company an opportunity to play a trick on one of the civilians. He pulled a hair out of a horse's tail, and tied it firmly around the animal's hind leg between the hoof and the fetlock, concealing the hair by carefully covering it with the hair on the horse's leg. Then he awaited developments.

After a while the civilians came out, mounted their horses, and started off. We leisurely followed them, as their road led in the direction of our camp. Soon one of the men noticed that his horse was going lame. It raised one of his hind feet higher than the others, and brought it down with a jerk, as though it were trying to kick off something which annoyed it. The rider dismounted and examined the horse's hoof but found nothing wrong. Then his two companions dismounted and examined it. As we passed we heard them say that the only thing to be done was to go back to the village and have the shoe taken off. This they did and I hope discovered the harmless trick that had been played on them.

After leaving Shawneetown, we directed our march close to the border line. Sometimes we were in Missouri, sometimes in Kansas. This continued all the way down to Fort Scott. We halted for a day's rest at a small village called West Point in Missouri, where we could overlook a valley and see some Indian mounds. By this time we had been joined by half a dozen dogs, who had left their owners and followed us. They seemed to love the soldiers, who petted and fed them. We had quite a pack before the summer was over. Our marches were easy. There was no hurry; it was desired to let the people know that there were troops for their protection near the border line.

The country was sparsely settled. When we had reached the border we began to see abandoned farms, and burned farm houses and cabins. Those of the settlers who remained were outspoken sympathizers with slavery. On some of the abandoned farms the gardens and fields had been planted in the spring and were now overgrown with weeds. The horses and cattle had been taken away too, but there were pigs in the woods and chickens and ducks running loose without any owners. Every day was a feast with us on that short march. We lived on fresh pork, chickens and all kinds of vegetables, disdaining of the government rations, except the hard bread.

We reached Fort Scott in the evening during a heavy thunder storm, soaked to the skin. We put up for the night in one of the old barrack buildings, and next morning established a camp just outside of the little town. Fort Scott was an old frontier post, built on the same plan as all the others, which had been abandoned and sold by the Government. Citizens now lived in the frame buildings, formerly occupied by officers and soldiers. One of the old barrack buildings had been converted into a hotel, and the parade ground, with its well in the centre, was now the public square. On it faced the court house, in one of the old buildings, with the old guard-house serving for the prison.

The town of Fort Scott on the Marmiton river was the county seat of Bourbon County, Kansas. Some scattering houses had been erected outside of the old fort, but the entire population probably did not exceed two hundred at that time.

There appeared to be very little money in circulation. The farmers had none, and could only trade for their produce at the stores. They came to our camp, and sold us two chickens for twenty-five cents, eggs at five cents per dozen, two quarts of milk for five cents, and other produce in proportion, and seemed to be pleased to get real money. Two guileless farmer lads drove into camp one day with sixty pounds of choice butter. They said that "Ma" had told them that they must bring home six dollars for it. They had no scale, but a soldier loaned them one of our quart tin cups, which he said would hold just a pound, if filled and well heaped up. When they had sold all of their butter at ten cents per cup, they found to their chagrin that they had a little less than four dollars to take home to "Ma."

There were some abandoned farms around Fort Scott, but they were quite a distance from camp. Some of the soldiers, when they wanted green corn or potatoes, found it easier to get them from nearby farms when the farmer was not looking. One day a farmer complained to Captain Lyon about losing a calf and said he thought he could identify the soldier whom he suspected of taking it. We were paraded, but when he looked us over he said he could not pick out his man because we all looked alike. Some of the men who had dined on the calf made friends with the farmer, and took him to the hotel in town. There they filled him with whiskey and started him home feeling so happy that he invited them all to visit him at his farm.

One day three comrades and myself were enjoying a savory stew of chicken, young pork, potatoes and onions. We had it in an army mess pan which we had placed on the ground in our tent, and we were squatted around the pan, each dipping into it with his spoon in soldier fashion.

We had just started when one of the men began to sputter and kick.

"What in h---- is the matter with you," exclaimed one of the others. "Why don't you blow on it, if it is too hot?"

Instead of acting on this suggestion the man rolled over on his back, his mouth frothing and his eyes distended. He kicked over the pan and scattered our luscious dinner over the tent floor.

We sent for the doctor, who after a long time brought him back to consciousness. The man had had a fit. He had subsequent attacks and was soon after discharged from the service.

I suppose it was this incident that inspired a big red-haired Indiana "hoosier" in my company to try to get a discharge in the same way. One night he disturbed us by groaning and gnashing his teeth. We found that he was frothing soap-suds at the mouth, and was such a bad actor that it needed only a glance to show that he was shamming. The orderly sergeant threw a bucket of water over him and he had no more "fits."

A lot of pigs belonging to the towns' people ran around loose, and rooted about the camp until they became a nuisance. One day a soldier who craved some fresh pork, not daring to shoot a pig near the camp, baited a large fish hook with a piece of meat and when some of the pigs appeared in the company street he threw the hook just outside of his tent. Soon one of them took the bait, and only had time to let out one little squeal before the "fisherman" had him in the tent smothered in blankets. Roast pork was on the bill of fare for the mess next day.

We had easy duty while at Fort Scott and plenty to eat. We drilled for an hour during the cool part of the morning, for it was very hot there in midsummer. After that those who were not on guard or on some detail had the remainder of the day at their own disposal. I spent the greater part of my time on the shady banks of the Marmiton river, which was a fine lively stream of clear water with rocky embankments that showed out-croppings of soft coal. There were plenty of fine fish in the river, which we caught and often cooked on the bank, although our camp was but a few hundred yards away. I went in swimming several times each day, and enjoyed it immensely. At the stream we also washed our clothes and sat under a tree while they dried hung on bushes in the hot sun.

One afternoon, while many of us were at the river, we heard the "Long Roll" beaten in the camp. We rushed back and got under arms. On a hill a mile from camp we saw two dozen mounted men who were examining our camp and prancing around in a defiant manner. They all seemed to carry guns and opened fire on us when they saw us forming ranks. All of their shots fell short, and when Captain Barry sent a shell over their heads, they soon scattered. Pursuit was out of the question, as they were well mounted and we were on foot. This was the only time during our stay in Kansas that we saw any of the Border Ruffians. They were careful to keep out of our reach. The little incident caused some excitement among the inhabitants of the town who were glad to have the soldiers there to protect them from a raid.

I think we had been a month at Fort Scott, when we broke camp one morning and commenced our march to Lawrence on the Kansas River by way of Ossawatomy, Kansas. This was the place where John Brown had a sharp fight with the Missouri raiders in 1856, and earned the name of "Old Ossawatomy Brown." We were told that he was in Kansas at that time earnestly working for the Free Soilers, but I don't think we met him. We made a leisurely march. I rode Dr. Crawford's horse for five or six miles every day. He seemed to enjoy marching in the cool part of the morning, as also did some of the other officers. At night we often camped at some small settlement or near a farm house. We found the natives ill-informed. They seldom saw a newspaper, and knew but little as to the cause of all the trouble in Kansas.

Some had never seen any soldiers before. One good old lady marveled at the "big pistols on wheels," when she saw the artillery. Money was almost a curiosity in some of the "way-back" places through which we passed, and they sold us their produce at ridiculously low prices to get a few coins.

We stayed but a few days at Lawrence and then marched south again by a different road, back to Fort Scott. Our empty wagons were sent from Lawrence to Fort Leavenworth, with a small escort for supplies, and rejoined us later at Fort Scott. On our re-arrival there, Captain Lyon encamped us about a mile from town, but as long as we were close to the Marmiton River we cared little for the town.

About the first week in September, we received orders to return to Fort Leavenworth, which we did by the same route along the border line, by which we had come down. We had done a considerable amount of marching since we had left Fort Leavenworth, three months before. Our clothing was nearly worn out, and some of the men would soon be bare-footed, for we had left there in very light marching order, not expecting to remain away so long. Clothing and shoes were issued to us on our arrival at the fort.

I look back upon the summer I passed in Kansas, as an excursion when compared with the hardship of marching on the prairies. We always found a stream, a spring or a farmer's well within easy distance, which obviated the necessity of making distressingly long marches on account of the scarcity of water. We also fared well in the matter of food.

We remained but a few days at Fort Leavenworth before a steamboat arrived which was to take us up the Missouri River to Fort Randall again. This boat was much smaller than the others we had traveled on. She was what is called a "stern-wheeler." Her paddle-wheels, on the stern instead of on the sides, made her shake more than the other type of boat. She carried no other passengers, and we had the use of the unfurnished cabins on the saloon deck in the rear next to the paddle-wheels. This boat was of very light draft and not heavily loaded, so we seldom ran on sand bars and made steady progress. We were tormented by mosquitoes when the boat was tied up at night, and had to make smokes on the shore.

I became ill with chills and fever soon after we started and remained so until we arrived at Fort Randall. Dr. Crawford dosed me so liberally with quinine, that I could scarcely hear anything at times.

We made the trip from Leavenworth to Randall in a little less than four weeks, and arrived there in the middle of October. We occupied our old quarters, and resumed the usual duties. There were but five companies at the post then, two others having been sent away during the summer to Fort Laramie. We arrived in time to take part in the fall duck shooting, and Sergeant McVeagh of my company and I got a two-day pass to go hunting at a lake on the other side of the Missouri River, about ten miles away, where wild ducks and geese abounded. We borrowed shot guns from some of the citizen employees, and carried blankets and some provisions with us, intending to camp at the lake for one night.

We hunted during the afternoon with fair success, and as evening approached made our way toward one end of the lake where we saw woods in which we intended to camp for the night. But on approaching closer we noticed smoke issuing from the tops of several Indian teepees among the trees. We quickly decided that it would be safer to trust to the Indians' hospitality than to camp alone, as they had no doubt discovered our presence. A furious barking of dogs announced our arrival, and we entered the largest of three lodges. We sat down, and after the customary smoke we made the savages understand that we were hungry, and wanted to sleep in their camp for the night. The Indian assented by pointing to a heap of skins on one side of the tent, and making the sign indicating sleep.

We found that these Indians belong to the Oo-he-non-pas (Two Kettle Band) of the Yankton tribe, and the inmates of the teepee consisted of an Indian with his two squaws, two girls about my age, two children five or six years old, and a wrinkled gray-haired squaw bent with age.

We gave the squaws all the ducks we had shot. They prepared some of them for supper, also some venison which they had. The sergeant and I made coffee for the whole family, and shared our bread with them. After supper we gave the Indian some tobacco, and we smoked our own pipes.

We talked with all of them as much as our limited knowledge of their language permitted and found out they had been far away hunting, and were going to winter with their tribes. They had been at the fort and knew the soldiers. Some visitors from the other two lodges dropped in. The Indians showed us his pipes, his bows and arrows, his gun and his little curiosities. He admired our guns, which we had kept loaded, removing the percussion caps before entering the lodge. The sergeant interested them with a pack of cards, while I amused the younger squaws by drawing pencil sketches for them, and showing them my watch.

I began to wonder what the arrangements for sleeping would be when I noticed one of the squaws make a bed of buffalo robes and other skins on one side of the lodge for us, while directly opposite on the other side of the fire which was in the center of the floor, she put the two young squaws to bed. First she wound a horse hair rope many times around the lower limbs of each, to prevent them from running away with us I suppose. As a further precaution she lay down at their side next to the fire. The Indian with the other squaw slept opposite the opening to the lodge. The two children slept at the foot of the young squaw's bed next to the door, while the old squaw was left defenceless and alone to sleep at our feet on the other side of the door. They all lay down with their clothes on so we did the same, taking off only our coats. Our guns we laid next to the side of the lodge where I slept, the sergeant sleeping in front next to the fire.

I was tired and soon went to sleep. A noise awoke me during the night, but it was only the old crone putting a few fagots on the fire to keep it lighted. We arose soon after daylight. The two girls had been unwound before we got up. We had breakfast and departed, not forgetting to invite the family to visit us at Fort Randall.

We resumed our hunting, and soon had all of the ducks we were able to carry. Then, after a lunch by the lake, we took up our tramp to the fort, where we arrived in the evening.

The Indian and his family hunted us up in a few days at the fort, but the old squaw and the two children were not with them. They came mounted on ponies. The sergeant and I got them something to eat, and bought the squaw a few things in the sutler's store. We gave a plug of tobacco to the buck to repay his hospitality and they all went away satisfied.

The river closed early, and cold weather was soon upon us. We passed our time as we had done the previous winter. Nothing disturbed our tranquility, until suddenly in the early part of January Company I and my company were ordered to go at once to Niabrara. Four army wagons mounted on runners were prepared to carry our provisions and baggage. One of them was fitted up with a sheet iron stove for the officers to ride and sleep in. It seemed that the Ponca Indians, whose village was close to Niabrara, had killed one of the citizens and committed depredations on the settlers. The villagers had asked the commandant of Fort Randall for protection. The commanding officer sent a message to "Big Drum," the chief of the Poncas, and the head men of the tribe to come to Fort Randall, but they paid no attention to it. After waiting a reasonable time he ordered the two companies to go and punish the Indians.

The captain of Company I, who commanded the expedition, was a corpulent, elderly man, with a large family. He loved his ease and had lost his stomach for fighting. When the Civil War broke out he soon resigned to spend his declining years peacefully keeping a store in a western town. The other officers of our little expedition were Captain Gardner and Lieutenant O'Connoll of my company and a lieutenant of Company I.

We started our march in the forenoon of a very cold but bright day and climbed the hills below Fort Randall. The snow was deep, and the thick crust on it made marching hard and tiresome. It was quickly discovered that our customary way of marching by fours was impracticable. We were reduced to twos, and as soon as the two leading men were tired out breaking a path in the deep snow, they stepped to one side, and waited to fall in line again in the rear. The officers rode their horses, but at times took to the warm sleigh which the commander hardly ever left. The days were short, and I think we accomplished only a little more than six miles on the first before darkness overtook us. We went into camp on the spot where we halted on top of a bleak hill, and waited a while for the sleighs with our baggage to come up.

It was bitter cold, probably thirty degrees below zero at least, but we had no thermometer to tell us that. We shoveled away some of the deep snow and tried to put up tents but found it impossible to drive wooden tent pins into the frozen ground. We therefore banked up the snow high to the windward, and made our beds on the frozen ground. Fortunately we had plenty of robes and blankets. I slept in the middle with three in the bed, and felt warm all night.

The cooks started a fire with wood obtained from a nearby ravine, but for water they had to melt snow. We had coffee before we went to bed, which helped to warm us up and the fire was kept burning all night. Snow had to be melted to water the horses and mules, and to make our coffee in the morning. We slept in our clothes, removing only our overcoats and boots. When we arose we found that the exhalation from our bodies had caused a thick crust of ice to form on the topmost robe, while the lowest one was frozen fast to the ground. I had imprudently left my boots and buffalo hide overboots outside of my bed. In the morning they were frozen as stiff as sheet iron. I could not put them on until a comrade had thawed them at the fire for me.

The four officers slept in the sleigh as best they could. I overheard Captain Gardner remark to another officer next morning while they warmed themselves at the fire before mounting their horses, that he had the courage, but not the constitution to stand such a march. Our corpulent commander did not leave the sleigh, and had his breakfast cooked and brought to him by his "dog-robber," as the men called an officer's soldier-servant.

We had a hard day's march the next day, for we kept near the river where it was hilly and made about twelve miles. We fared better on that and on subsequent nights, as we camped at the edge of woods where we could build roaring fires. Fortunately we had no snow storms to add to the rigor of the intense cold. We did not put up any tents during the march.

I think it was on the forenoon of the fourth day, just as we got to the brow of a hill, that about fifty mounted Indians appeared over the crest of a hill more than half a mile away. They seemed astonished on seeing us and halted for a moment. An excited soldier discharged his rifle at them without waiting for orders to fire. This caused nearly a dozen others to fire before the officer could stop them. At the first shot the Indians fled down the hill and were out of sight in a few seconds. They did not reply to our firing, which had done them no harm. We learned a few days later that this was a party of Ponca Indians on a peace journey to Fort Randall.

On the evening of the fifth day we arrived at the wooded bluffs overlooking the Niabrara River, near its junction with the Missouri. On the other side of the river was a small settlement of about a dozen houses and a hotel called "The Niabrara." Next morning we had a hard time getting the sleighs down the steep bluffs to the frozen river. The mules were unhitched, and the sleighs were slid down one at a time with ropes hitched around trees to prevent them from descending too fast. We got them all down safely, crossed the river and camped close to the settlement. With great difficulty we put up our "Sibley" tents, using steel picket-pins to drive holes in the ground before we could insert the wooden tent pins. We got brush in the woods to cover the ground inside the tents, and built fires in the company streets, as a fire within the tent would have thawed the frozen ground, and reduce it to a quagmire. The officers occupied rooms at the hotel and messed there.

The large Ponca Indian village was but a mile or two away, and the next day after our arrival orders were sent to the Indians to attend a council on the following morning. But that night a blizzard which lasted for forty-eight hours swept down upon us and caused intense suffering. The wind blew the drifting snow so fiercely that no fires could be kept going. It was evening before the kindly proprietor of the hotel sent for our cooks and allowed them to make some hot coffee for us in his kitchen. The next day the storm continued with unabated fury. All we could do was to lie in our tents covered up with our blankets and buffalo robes to keep from freezing. But we had hot coffee twice and some warm soup on the second day, which put some life into us.

The hotel at Niabrara must have been built with an idea that the settlement would grow rapidly like Sioux City. But it had failed to do so. The place seemed as large as one would expect to find in a western town of two thousand inhabitants. It was a frame building, clapboarded, three stories high with a shingled gabel roof. There was a kitchen and dining-room on the first floor, also a good sized bar-room and a sitting-room. The first two stories had been plastered, but the third was left unfinished, and had only the clapboards and the shingles as a protection against the weather.

I do not know whether it was an arrangement made by our officers, or an offer from the proprietor, influenced perhaps by the fact that at this time there were no guests at the hotel, and that all of the soldiers seemed to have money. At any rate, when the blizzard was over, we took down our tents and moved to the unfinished third floor of the hotel, which was just about large enough so that all could lie down at night. There were only about seventy of us, counting cooks, teamsters and "dog-robbers." It was very cold up there on the top floor at night, but we had plenty of bedding and during the day we were allowed to sit in the bar and the sitting-room, where there were stoves. We found it an agreeable change from the camp.

We cooked our own meals and ate them where we could, but the proprietor, who seemed a very shrewd sort of person, served some meals in the dining-room at fifty cents per head, at which we got fried bacon, corn bread, flap jacks and coffee sweetened with molasses, which was all he had to offer. He had some soft drinks at the bar, cigars and tobacco and a few candies and crackers. I do not know whether he had any liquor. If he did, he never sold any of it to the soldiers. He had his cook make large quantities of corn bread and often came into the bar-room with slabs of it, shouting: "Who'll have another section for a quarter!" Our officers occupied rooms on the second floor of the hotel, and had their meals served there.

The council with the Ponca Indians was held on the day after we had moved into the hotel. All the soldiers not on guard or other duty to the number of about fifty, were drawn up under arms in front of the hotel, when we saw Big Drum and his braves approaching. All of the officers and soldiers knew the chief. They had also met some of the other Indians, who had often been at Fort Randall, which was but "one sleep" (two days ride) from the Ponca Village. The chief, a man of about fifty years, was the tallest and most powerful member of his tribe. He was a typical savage in appearance with a large head and face strongly pock marked. I had seen him at the fort considerably under the influence of "fire water," which had been given to him by some of the officers or the sutler.

We noticed that the Indians had come to the council, contrary to custom, almost fully armed. Some had guns with them, which were but ill concealed beneath their robes or blankets. Their weapons were probably loaded, while our guns were not.

Our officers with a few citizens and some interpreters formed a group about twenty paces in front of the center of our little battalion, and faced the Indians who out-numbered us more than two to one. While the "talk" progressed the Indians spread around the flanks, and in rear of the officers, practically surrounding them. Had any trouble occurred we would have had to fire in their direction, and perhaps kill our own officers. We wondered at the unwise and negligent arrangements of our corpulent commander. I think the other officers noted it, for when the council was continued on the following day, our guns were loaded, our officers kept close to the front of our ranks, and the Indians were not allowed to spread around the flanks. At the close of the second day of the council Big Drum surrendered four Indians as prisoners. They were disarmed, and put in the guard-house, which was a small out-building belonging to the hotel.

About three days after the council, we commenced our return march to Fort Randall, taking with us the Indian prisoners, who marched in rear of the column with the camp guard. We crossed the Missouri on the ice and marched up on the east bank, where the land was more level and the distance somewhat shorter owing to the curvature of the river towards the west. We crossed the Vermillion River, almost without noticing it, where it passed through a piece of prairie. The snow being so deep that the banks were scarcely distinguishable. We accomplished the distance in three days' marching, and were fortunate not to encounter a snow storm.

About noon on the last day of the march, I succumbed to the severe fatigue of marching through the deep snow for the first time during my service. I was exhausted and unable to go further. I was put into one of the sleighs, hauled by six mules, into which some other worn out and half frozen soldiers had preceded me. We arrived at the fort after dark, where I discovered that some of my toes on both feet were badly frozen. It was about three weeks before I was able to do duty again. A number of the soldiers had been frost-bitten, but none seriously.

After a while Big Drum, accompanied by some Indians of his tribe, came to the fort, and remained for some time. He had several interviews with the colonel in command, which finally resulted in the four Indian prisoners being set free.

No further trouble occurred during the remainder of the winter. I began to count the days that remained before the expiration of my service on March 31, 1859. When the day arrived I received my discharge from the service, but remained with my company as their guest until I could get transportation to the States. A soldier of my company whose term of service had expired about the same time as mine, had built himself a staunch boat with two paddle wheels to be worked by hand power. He proposed to descend the Missouri in this boat to St. Louis, and invited me to make the journey with him. However, I preferred to wait for a steamboat. He started on his trip alone about the middle of April, but we never heard how he got along.

The ice in the Missouri broke up about a week earlier than usual, and the latter part of April I began to make frequent ascents of some of the highest hills about Fort Randall. From their summits I could look for many miles down the river and watch for a steamboat, for I was impatient to return to civilization. Finally the boat arrived on the evening of the first day of May, somewhat sooner than we had expected her. On this boat came Major James Longstreet, who was a paymaster in the United States Army and destined to become a Lieutenant General in the Confederate Army, and a conspicuous figure all through the war of the Rebellion.

Major Longstreet, with the assistance of his clerk, J. T. Bradley, paid off the troops at the fort next morning. I received all my due pay, and my retained pay of two dollars per month. The retained pay was the amount held back by the Government from each soldier since the pay had been raised in 1854, to be given to him at the expiration of his service. I also received more than fifty dollars, which I had saved on my clothing allowance and mileage to New York City, the place of my enlistment. All this amounted to over three hundred dollars--quite a sum of money for a boy not eighteen years old. It made me feel wealthy. From the pay of every soldier throughout his service there was a monthly deduction of twelve and a half cents, which went towards the maintenance of the Soldiers' Home at Washington, D.C., an institution of great benefit to old and indigent soldiers.

I engaged cabin passage on the steamer to St. Louis, as did a few other discharged soldiers, among them Sergeant John Brown of my company, whom I had first met as cockswain of the Governor's Island barge. Sergeant Brown had re-enlisted, and was going on a furlough. Later on he was made an Ordnance Sergeant. A few other discharged and furloughed soldiers took deck passage. I had sold or given away my clothing and bedding, and bought a suit of citizens' clothing at the sutler's store--regular wild western store clothes. I took with me a collection of Indian pipes, moccasins, bows and arrows, etc., and about three days after the arrival of the steamboat, I bade farewell to my comrades and to the officers of my company, receiving some good advice from Captain Gardner.

Many of my comrades advised me to remain in the west, and grow up with the country; and I came near doing so, but a strong desire to go to New York and see my mother overcame all other considerations. I was still very young, hopeful and ambitious to succeed in civil life, and I was strong and healthy in spite of the hardship and sufferings I had endured in my tender years.

I little thought at that time that in a year I should re-enlist and serve in the same company throughout the Civil War, in the Army of the Potomac. Neither did I think that I was too young and inexperienced at that time for success in civil life, or that it would require another term of service of harder experience to mature and prepare me for a permanent career outside of the army.

There were a few furloughed officers on the steamboat, among them Brevet Major Henry W. Wessells of my regiment, an estimable officer who was taking his eldest son, H. W. Wessells, Jr., whom I knew very well, to place in a school at Danbury, Connecticut. Young Wessells became a Second Lieutenant in the Army in 1865, while his father was retired as a Lieutenant Colonel and Brevet Brigadier General in 1871.

We took many passengers on the way down the river, some of them very interesting and talkative people, but Major Longstreet and his clerk, Bradley, led the conversations at the steamer's public dining-table. They were not only the most interesting talkers but received the most respectful attention.

I had not been many days on the river, when I was afflicted with the chills and fever again, and had to keep to my berth a great part of the time. It seemed as though I was to suffer from that or dumb-ague every time I traveled on this river. There was no doctor on the boat, but an elderly colored man, the chief steward, heard of my illness and came to see me. He assured me that he could cure me with three doses of medicine, so I would never have the fever again. For this he sagaciously demanded five dollars in advance. I was desperate, so I gave him the money and told him to go ahead. He brought me a dose of medicine, which was the vilest stuff I ever tasted and made me feel very sick. After an interval of a day he brought me another dose, which tasted so much worse than the first and made me feel so ill that no amount of his persuasion could induce me to take his third dose. I vowed that I would rather have the ague for ever after than to take his medicine. About this time we had reached Leavenworth, where I spent about half a day on shore. I began to feel better, and before I reached St. Louis I was entirely well.

At one of the towns along the river a gentleman and his son from Cleveland or Rochester, who were traveling on business in the west, took passage for St. Louis and struck up an acquaintance with me. The elder man seemed to be greatly interested in my experience in the Indian country, and before we reached St. Louis he invited me to visit him. He hinted that he would charge himself with my future, if I would go with him; but I declined. I was too much bent on getting back to New York, where I hoped to build up my future by my own efforts.

The river was high, and we had a quick passage to St. Louis, where my companion, Sergeant Brown, and I stayed for two days, seeing, after so long in the wilderness, the sights of a large city. We left St. Louis for New York on a Saturday afternoon, and arrived at Cincinnati on Sunday morning, where we had to lie over until midnight as no trains went out on Sunday. With a few changes of cars, we reached New York, where we separated, and I went home.