CROSSING OF THE KAW RIVER—INDIAN FARMERS—FIERCE STORM ON STONE COAL CREEK—CROSSING A CREEK WITH PRECIPITOUS BANKS—RUINS OF AN ANCIENT CITY—WAGONLOAD OF SICK UPSET IN A STREAM—SAD NEWS OF COL. ALLEN'S DEATH—DISPUTE OVER HIS SUCCESSOR—MILITARY RULES DISREGARDED IN SETTLING THE QUESTION—TROOPS DISSATISFIED—SICKNESS IN CAMP—HARSHNESS OF THE NEW COMMANDER, LIEUTENANT COLONEL SMITH—BRUTALITY OF THE DOCTOR—DOSES OF OBJECTIONABLE MEDICINE IN AN OLD IRON SPOON—IN THE COMANCHE INDIAN COUNTRY—ABUSE FROM LIEUTENANT COLONEL SMITH—SCARCITY OF FUEL—BUFFALO CHIPS—COOKING FOOD UNDER GREAT DIFFICULTIES—INCREASE OF SICKNESS—UP THE GRAND VALLEY OF THE ARKANSAS—DETACHMENT OF SICK SENT TO PUEBLO—MIRAGES—HERDS OF BUFFALO—ON THE SICK LIST—REACH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS—PREHISTORIC RUINS—IN MEXICAN VILLAGES—ARRIVAL AT SANTA FE.
WE crossed the Kaw River about the 17th of August, being ferried over in flat boats by some half civilized Delaware and Shawnee Indians. Where we crossed the river it was from three to four hundred yards wide. The country in the neighborhood seemed to be well adapted to farming. The Indians had good crops of corn and watermelons, and knew as well as white men how to charge for them. These Indians were an intelligent-looking people, having log cabins for dwellings.
From the Kaw we traveled to Spring Creek, over a beautiful country, and there joined the companies that had preceded us. We met with rainstorms that made it very disagreeable for us at night, when two of us would spread one blanket and lie down on it. It would wet through at once; and though we had tents over us, we often slept on the wet ground, in wet clothes.
Moving onward to Stone Coal Creek, we there endured one of the severest storms of wind and rain that any of us ever had experienced. Nearly every tent was blown down; several government wagons were overturned, and others were sent rolling before the wind as though they were express or stage coaches; many men fell on their faces and held to the shrubbery to avoid being carried away by the violence of the hurricane, while others not so fortunate as to be able to catch hold of a shrub were driven some rods before the blast. Some were bruised and others badly frightened, but none received serious injury; and although everybody was thoroughly soaked, not even the sick seemed to be unfavorably affected in health by their experience.
The storm over and our clothing dried, we resumed our march. Coming to a deep creek with precipitous banks, we had to hold the wagons back with ropes and let them down gradually to the bed of the stream; then a number of men with ropes, on the opposite side, assisted the teams in drawing the wagons up the steep bank. We passed over some very fine land to a place we named Allen's Grove, and camped. Next day we came to the ruins of a city of the dim, distant past; the stone walls were yet visible to the traveler. That night we rested on Beaver Creek. On the 25th or 26th, while traveling through a beautiful country of rich soil, one wagon with five or six people was upset into a creek, and the occupants received a dangerous ducking, though I do not recall any serious results following.
It was on this day that a messenger from Fort Leavenworth overtook us, bringing the sorrowful news of the death of our esteemed commander, Colonel James Allen. It was a sad blow to us, for all had learned to respect, and, indeed, even to love him. Yet I have felt sometimes that it was a kind providence to him that he was taken from us, for his nature was too kind and sympathetic to have forced his men through what the Mormon Battalion had to endure before reaching its destination.
Colonel Allen's death left a vacancy in the command that was not difficult to fill according to military rules, as the next officer in rank should have occupied his place. But plain as is the military law on the subject, there arose a dispute, and much feeling was worked up. The council of officers decided that, as Captain Jefferson Hunt of company A had been placed in charge by Colonel Allen till the latter should rejoin the command, he should continue in that position. Accordingly, he led the battalion to Council Grove, where it was learned that Lieutenant Colonel Smith was on the way, intending to assume command. Thus the quiet of the camp was again disturbed, and much feeling manifested. There were many warm discussions between the officers and among the soldiers as well.
It was at Council Grove that Lieutenant Colonel Smith, Major Walker, and G. B. Sanderson overtook us. The question of command was further discussed, Captain Hunt standing up for his rights. But in the council, Captain Nelson Higgins of Company D (my company) moved that Smith should be recognized as the commanding officer; this was seconded by Captain Davis of Company E; all the officers but three, viz.: Laron Clark, Samuel Gully, and Wesley W. Willis, voted for the motion, and the question was settled. Lieutenant Colonel A. J. Smith took command, to the disgust of the soldiers, a large majority of whom, if not all, were quite dissatisfied. Next day we reached Diamond Springs, where the battalion was inspected by Lieutenant Colonel Smith.
At this time there was much sickness in camp, chills and fever and mumps. This condition was produced by frequent changes of drinking water, and by poorly-cooked food, as many times we had to depend on dry weeds for fuel. When a man became sick, it had been the custom for him to crawl into the company wagon. Our new commander soon dropped on the kindness of the teamster, and put an end to it without mercy. The commander was so rough and ungentle, and had so much pomposity and assurance, that the whole command was disgusted, and almost all were angry. He ordered the sick out of the wagons, and directed that before they could ride they must be reported by the doctor as unable to walk, and had to take a dose of the doctor's drugs from his old rusty spoon. We soon began to realize that we had fallen into bad hands.
The doctor often talked to the men as though they were brutes. He was very unfeeling, and the men would not respond to his sick call ("Jim along, Josey") when it was possible for them to walk alone. When we stopped he would sit in front of his tent with his book on his knee, a long chest of medicine before him, a colored man for his body servant, and a hospital steward standing in front of the wagon. At sick call, everyone who could not walk had to be taken before the doctor's tent, and there be seated or laid down, sometimes on the wet ground, then, like going to a mill, wait for his grist, or dose of calomel. There was not much chance to miss it, for, when a man's name was called and responded to, the hospital steward was ordered to give him such and such a dose, and the old iron spoon, with its contents of we knew not what, was presented in the presence of the doctor. Under these circumstances we began to feel at least the rigors of military rule.
About this time we entered the Comanche Indian country, and on September 2 camped on Cottonwood Creek. The Indians were said to be very hostile, yet we had no trouble with them. I think it was here that we began to see signs of buffalo, and the prairie dog villages. Timber was very scarce, and the country was more uninviting than that we had passed over.
Shortly after Lieutenant Colonel Smith took command we were drawn up in line, and some military laws were read to us. At the end of almost every sentence there was the word death, as punishment for infraction of the law. We were then talked to in a most offensive and domineering manner, until some of us began to wonder what we had done to merit such severity and downright abuse.
We were tired and footsore, and suffered much from lack of water. The country showed such a sameness of forbidding features that the journey became very monotonous and tiresome. Fuel was so scarce that we had to dig trenches two or three feet long, and eight or ten inches wide and a foot deep, fill these with dry grass, and start a fire and pile on buffalo chips, with which to do our cooking. The result was our food often was half raw and badly smoked, and many of the men were brought down with severe diarrheal complaints. As many had traveled the road in advance of us, even buffalo chips for fuel were so scarce that often we had to go for miles to gather them.
When we reached Pawnee Fork we found it a very difficult stream to cross. The wagons had to be let down the steep bank with ropes, by the men, and had to be taken up the opposite bank in the same manner.
The events narrated here will indicate that it is not all of a soldier's duty when on a long march to tramp all day with musket and accoutrements and knapsack, but the soldier on such a journey as we had must push and pull wagons up hill, hold them back when going down hill, haul them through deep sands, and help them and the teams out of quicksands; he must stand guard and night-herd stock; must press on, over rough or smooth ground, rain or shine; must wade rivers, and when crossing streams is not allowed to take off his clothing, but has to plunge into the water, and then travel on in wet clothes; besides, there are many other experiences that are far from pleasant.
We pushed along the best we could to the Arkansas River, through a very uninviting country, in which we began to find brackish water and saleratus. We traveled up the broad river bottoms of the Arkansas eighty to one hundred miles, the water being poor and unhealthy. Many were added to the corps of "Jim along, Joseys," and had to be led or carried by their comrades to the unfeeling doctor, many times to be cursed at by him, and then to take a dose from his nauseating spoon. Quite a number of the sick were badly salivated by the drugs given them.
About September 15 or 16, we crossed the river where the roads fork, one going toward Fort Benton, and the other leading to Santa Fe. There we parted with Captain Nelson Higgins, he having been detailed to take a small squad of men and the families to a Spanish town called Pueblo, some hundred miles away, there to winter. Meanwhile, we pushed our way over barren plains and sandy deserts to the Cimmaron River. We saw deceptive rivers, ponds and lakes; we chased after them for miles sometimes, till we found that, like jack o' lantern or will o' the wisp, we could not get nearer to them. Finally we learned that they were mirages—a peculiar reflection of the sun upon the great plains or sandy deserts. It seemed impossible for the inexperienced to discern the difference between the mirage and a body of real water.
In this barren country we saw immense herds of buffalo; in our long march we came to ponds of water made perfectly filthy by the buffalo, and rendered offensive by the broiling hot sun, the liquid being almost as thick as gruel; but we were so terribly famished with thirst that we were glad to get even such foul water.
When the Cimmaron River was reached, there was good water, and good feed for our stock, but our rations were reduced one-third, and we were pretty well worn down.
On the 18th or 19th of September it was my place to be on guard. I had stood the journey very well, but by this time had become affected by the alkali, and that day was so badly afflicted with diarrhea as to be almost unable to drag myself into camp. But rather than march to "Jim along, Josey," I took my place on guard. That night there came on one of the most terrible storms I ever have experienced. I had to brace myself with my musket to stand. From that date I have never been free from pain in the right limb, near the instep, caused by the severe exposure. Next day it became necessary to go on the sick list, to remain several days.
About the 23rd we began to come to timber in the hills, and having been for nine or ten days with nothing but grass and buffalo chips for fuel, we were in a situation to appreciate the change. Soon we were among the sandhills, where traveling was hard, and passed the Rabbit Ears (Black Peak and Agua Fria Peak), two high mountain peaks. In this mountainous region we found traces of the inhabitants of a past age, in old stone walls and in numerous' irrigation canals long since dry.
On the 2nd or 3rd of October we came to the Red River. The mountain air was bracing, but there were many men who yet remained sick. About this time the command was culled over by Lieutenant Colonel Smith and the doctor, and all who were considered able to stand a forced march to Santa Fe were ordered forward on the double quick.
The sick men were left to take care of themselves as best they could, with the broken down teams of the command to look after. My lot was still with the invalids, and of course I had to remain. Yet we were only about two days behind the strong men who left us in the mountains; we reached Santa Fe on October 12th, having passed through several Mexican villages, the houses of which were low and flat-roofed, and covered principally with cement and tile. We saw the very small Mexican sheep and goats, the people milking the latter, by sitting at the back end, in an earthen pot, and there milking regardless of anything that might drop into the vessel intended for milk only.
From the appearance of Santa Fe we had no reason to doubt that it was between three and four hundred years old; for it looked at least that far behind the times. Mexicans and Indians, badly mixed, made up the population. Their costume, manners, habits, and in fact everything, were both strange and novel to us, and of course were quite an attraction. Many of the people looked on us with suspicion, and if it had been in their power no doubt they would have given us a warm reception; others appeared to be pleased, doubtless because it made trade better for them, and on that account they seemed very friendly. They brought into camp, for sale, many articles of food; the strongest of these were red pepper pies, the pepper-pods as large as a teacup, and onions (savoyas) as large as saucers, to be eaten raw like turnips.
A few days' rest and change of food at Santa Fe, and the command was ready to resume its arduous march.