by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
Game in those times was plentiful and easy to get. I remember one time in the winter we had about fifteen deer hung up in our cooking tent and we ate deer meat for breakfast, dinner, and supper for weeks. We also had wild turkey, as well as wild hogs, buffalo fish, as we called them, from the Devil’s River, and fine big catfish from the Rio Grande. Roy Bean, who ran the saloon at Langtry, was a character of the wild and woolly West. He was about fifty years old, full beard, and stout of build. He was justice of the peace and the law west of the Pecos, and nobody dared to dispute him in that, for he was equally fast on the trigger. The cowboys used to come in about every so often and help to dispose of Roy Bean’s wet and dry goods in good quantities, and there were many scraps and shooting up and around the saloon, also many bloody fights.
While the Southern Pacific Railroad was building a new bridge across the Pecos one day, a fellow fell off and was killed. Roy Bean ordered one of the Mexicans to bring the body in and, as he acted as coroner, rendered a verdict of accidental death. Somebody turned the body over and found a six-shooter and $40 on the dead man. At once Roy Bean reopened the inquest, found the dead man guilty of carrying concealed weapons, confiscated the gun for the deputy, fined the dead man $25 and $15 court costs, and so the law west of the Pecos collected the whole $40. That’s how the dead man paid his fine. At another time while our troop was in camp at Langtry, a cowboy shot and killed one of the Chinamen who worked in one of the construction camps near Langtry for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Roy Bean arrested the cowboy and in short order had him up for trial back of his saloon. We all crowded in and around the “courtroom” to see and hear the trial, and the final verdict, which was as follows, as near as I can remember: “I, Roy Bean, as judge of all laws west of the Pecos, have duly searched all my law books, heard all the evidence of the killing, and find that in this state when a man kills another he must be hung by his neck till dead, but in all my books of law I cannot find a single item in which the law so applies or even mentions a Chinaman. I therefore discharge the prisoner.” We all had a drink or smoke on the prisoner at Roy’s place, after which Roy handed the cowboy his hardware and the other cowboys brought the ex-prisoner’s horse. The ex-prisoner jumped on, Roy Bean fired a shot in the air and yelled: “Yonder is the setting sun. Now get!” and away flew the ex-prisoner and his bunch of cowboys amidst a cloud of dust. That’s how the law applied to a Chinaman, who was buried right along the railroad track at Langtry.
These were a few of the incidents while we were in the neighborhood of Langtry, from which place we did considerable scouting up and down the Rio Grande and along the Southern Pacific Railroad. One of the other troops from Fort Clark alternately relieved us on these scouting trips. The Southern Pacific Railroad in those times ran a morning and an evening train along this line, and these trains made a stop at Langtry for about twenty minutes to take on water and coal, also to give the travelers a chance for a bite to eat and to stretch their legs by a short walk on the platform. We used to hang around the station when off duty and so did the cowboys, just to watch the travelers. One day on the evening train from the east a man stepped off the train and asked a lot of questions about the country. Finally, he wanted to know what they really raised besides cattle out there. “Well,” said a cowboy, “we raise cactus, rattlesnakes, and hell.” I guess he told the easterner about the truth, for during my soldiering down there we often were kept busy picking one another’s cactus thorns out of the seat of our pants and legs, and we killed more rattlers, especially in those rocky canyons and ravines along the Rio Grande, than in any other part of the country.
Fort Clark itself was built on a very rocky formation, and had good quarters, as well as good stables and fairly good water supply from a spring below the fort and between there and the nearby town of Brackettville, which was a typical cowboy town, wild and woolly, having one-half dozen saloons and gambling halls, dance halls, and a few general stores, and mostly adobe houses or sheds. The roulette wheels were spinning day and night, and faro games, studhorse, and poker games ran continuously by Mexicans as well as white men and half-breeds. The cowboys and soldiers were the main support of the town, and we saw many shootings and stabbings, also several public hangings, while stationed there. Close to Fort Clark was also a Seminole Indian camp of about 300 or 400 Seminole Indians, who had about as many dogs as women and children. Once every two or three weeks these Indians held their Saturday night celebration, which lasted well on till 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning, by dancing, whooping, and howling and being very hilarious. Usually on these occasions they roasted or cooked some of their dogs, which was considered the proper festival food (Indians do not eat turkey, as they are very superstitious about that bird). These Indians were kept there by the U. S. Government and went often with us as scouts on special occasion and expeditions when going on the road or march, and they were very trustworthy.
In those times the soldiers had neither mattress nor a pillow, but a bed sack made of white canvas. This had to be washed and scrubbed every four weeks for monthly inspection, and we usually filled it once a month at the quartermaster’s corral. Before filling our bed sack, we usually took a pitchfork and shook the snakes and cactus out of the hay, for the Mexicans who supplied us with hay were not any too particular what it contained, so long as the weight was in it, as they got paid so much per hundred by the U. S. Government. Our horses were a mixture of Mexican broncho and American, but made pretty good mounts and stood hard riding after being broken in.
In the early summer of 1885 we received orders from Washington to pack up and draw rations for the Indian campaign, as the Apaches under Geronimo were on the warpath in Arizona, also some of the Cheyenne and Comanches in Indian Territory. Part of our outfit was sent to Arizona, the rest of the troops from Fort Clark, including my troop, in heavy marching order, proceeded the same night to the nearest railroad station where a train was all ready waiting for us, and we put our horses in the cattle cars, also our rations, and piled into day coaches and were shipped to the extreme western part of Indian Territory, on the Kansas border. General Nelson A. Miles, who was brigadier general at that time, was there in person and had charge of that campaign. There were lots of other soldiers from different regiments strung all along the border, and the Indians on the warpath had a poor chance of breaking through the line and making raids on the settlers of western Kansas, as we had them all surrounded. Their object was to unite with the Apaches and start a general war on settlers [sic].
We were there during the better part of the summer and after General Miles held a big review of all outfits, we got orders to march through Indian Territory and gather up all hostile renegades. It was hot and dusty during that drive and we kept the Indians constantly on the move, and finally landed with a lot of them in Fort Reno, and later on in Fort Sill, where this campaign ended, as all Cheyennes and Comanches had been driven back to their respective reservations after being disarmed.
We proceeded on our march and eventually crossed the Red River, when everybody took a much-needed bath and washed his underwear, and while waiting for them to dry we laid in the sand, mostly naked, and nearly everybody got a dose of poison ivy, which caused a lot of discomfort. We crossed the Staked Plains in Texas and finally reached Fort Clark again, but stayed there only a short time, as some of the Apaches from Arizona, who were still on the warpath, had been seen in the extreme western part of Texas, and all the settlers and ranches were asking the government for protection. It was now late in the fall and we were ordered out again, and after taking on supplies marched to the extreme western part of Texas and border of Arizona, guarding ranches along our scouting trips and doing general border duty to deep away the Indians from coming across the Rio Grande. We were out all winter and part of the spring, when some other troops from the Eighth relieved us and we marched back to Fort Clark, for about that time the hostiles in Arizona had been driven over into Mexico and General Miles was negotiating with Geronimo, who was about to surrender, and
this about ended the Geronimo Campaign. This was about September, 1886.
After being stationed at Fort Clark for a short time, we received orders to pack up and march to Fort Duncan, near Eagle Pass, for border duty. Arriving at that old fort, which was a remnant of the Mexican War, we first proceeded to clean out some of the old quarters, which were occupied by thousands of large bats. The bat manure was about a foot deep on the floors and for weeks these animals flew not only at night, but sometimes during the day, and finally we began to smoke them out so we could move in. Meantime, we made a camp on the old parade grounds. This also had been overgrown with cactus and mesquite shrubs and formed a regular jungle, and in some rocky places rattlesnakes were comfortably housed. These we cleaned out with our sabers. The quarters and stables in this place were all built of adobe (a sun-dried mud brick), but made a fairly good place to live in, but the nauseating odor from the bats hung for a long while. As there was no available water supply at Camp Eagle Pass, which name the place received after we took possession of it, we had to ride our horses down to the Rio Grande twice daily over a high bluff to water them. Our drinking water we hauled in a water wagon from the nearby water tank of Eagle Pass on the railroad track.
During the winter of 1887, or rather toward spring, one day lightning struck one of the quarters which we used as a storage place for hay or grain for our horses, and set the hay on fire. The fire, which was very stubborn and right in the center of the building, made us pitch most of the hay out in the rain, and we tried to bail up some rain water from the gulley and ditches with the old-fashioned leather fire buckets, which were no doubt remnants of the Mexican War, but the fire and rain caused most of the hay to be a total loss. From this place, part of the outfit had to do scouting along the Rio Grande toward Laredo to keep the Mexican smugglers and cattle and horse thieves as much down as was possible in that open country right on the border. We did have several scraps with the cut-throats, but mostly came out ahead, for those outlaws would rather fight than eat, but had all respect for the boys in blue, and usually made a fast getaway by jumping in and swimming the river for the Mexican side where the mountainous country soon swallowed them up.
In the spring of 1888, being relieved by a troop of the Third Cavalry, we received orders from Washington to march to Fort Concho, there to concentrate with the rest of the other troops of the Eighth Cavalry, and from there to march to North Dakota [Dakota Territory], overland, to change stations with the Seventh Cavalry. We packed our horse feed in a six-mule wagon and our own food, as well as tents and camping outfit, in another. Our overcoats, tents, and spare blankets, as well as lariats and other equipment, we always carried on our saddles in heavy marching order, even our sabers were strapped to the saddle. These cavalry ornaments often came in handy in cutting down grass, chopping wood, digging out tarantulas, and knocking the heads off rattlers and water moccasin snakes, of which there were plenty along part of that God-forsaken country in Texas. We left on the 15th of May and marched to Fort Clark, and from there due northwest till we reached Fort Concho.
Because our troop came from the farthest place on the lower Rio Grande, most of the other troops had arrived there before we did. Consequently, we only had a few days’ rest and time to draw feed and rations before we started on the long march to North Dakota under Lieutenant Colonel John K. Mizner in command. I was corporal at that time and carried our troop’s guidon (flag) most of the way to Fort Riley, Kansas, and as we headed north through the staked plains and Texas Panhandle country we often had to build our campfire with buffalo chips because wood was rather scarce in that part of the country, especially for twelve troops. We came to the Brazos River, which stream happened to be high water, and we camped there several days before we could safely cross, and when we did cross, or rather swim part ways, everybody was wet from head to foot, for one could only see our heads and those of our horses sticking out of the water. While camping on the shores of the Brazos, we found the whole place covered with white sand, and this held, or was infested with, hundreds of tarantulas’ nests (a big poison black spider) whose bite is often fatal. These nests we dug out with our sabers before spreading our blankets.
Lieutenant Colonel Mizner was rather fond of regimental drilling along that march, and he had us often strung for miles in skirmish drill, trotting, galloping, and even charging over the wild plains, where roads were unknown, and only buffalo trails could be followed, also where prairie dog holes by the thousand were a constant menace of getting a sudden spill if a horse’s foot got caught in one of the holes. Arriving at the Red River, we found that stream in fairly good condition and did not have much trouble fording it, although the water reached over our saddles. We did not mind that, however, for by that time we were fairly used to getting wet. We were now in Indian Territory (now called Oklahoma) and reached the fork of the Canadian River without any mishap, which we crossed safely and made camp about 7 p.m. Everybody was waiting for our six-mule teams to arrive, when finally a guard rode into the camp and reported quite a few of the wagons, including ours, were stuck in the quicksand of the Canadian River. I was corporal of the guard that evening and was detailed with about fifteen men to ride ten miles back and help get our wagons out by unloading. We were in the river till about 11 o’clock that night up to our necks, unloading horse feed as well as our heavier pieces in the cook’s wagon. After unloading the wagons and hitching a dozen mules onto them, we finally pulled them out, loaded them again, and got into camp after midnight. Along toward 1 a.m. we had our supper—a cup of black coffee, a slice of sow belly, and one-half dozen of those aged gray hardtack, the first bite since breakfast.
In those times we marched all day and made no stops for lunch. Everybody had a canteen full of water and a few hardtack, just to keep the stomach from growling. On reaching Fort Sill, we got a few days’ rest, also fresh meat and real bread and some vegetables, which the troops stationed there kindly supplied us, and certainly were gratefully received by us. After drawing rations there, we started out again for Fort Reno, where we also had the same courtesy extended us as before at Fort Sill. We ran into quite a number of rainstorms toward the Kansas border and the mud was terrible in some places. Often the wind and rain would blow our Sibley tents down during the night (each troop had about three large Sibley tents besides some wall and A tents). A Sibley tent would hold about sixteen men. It is a round tent and looks like an Indian tepee.
A private of the Sixth Cavalry stands in full dress uniform with chin strap employed, at Fort Logan, Colorado, in the early 1890s. Editor’s collection
Our march through Kansas was rather hot and dusty. It was now late July and good camping ground was rather hard to find for a whole regiment. In many places we nearly drank the creeks and wells of settlers dry, and after crossing the Smoky [Hill] River we reached the bottom land, near Fort Riley, Kansas, safe and sound, where part of the Seventh Cavalry was also encamped. This was early in August, and we camped and rested there several weeks. Our troops received some new horses, for quite a few of the older ones were completely worn out, and many had sore backs caused from the heat and perspiration, and a number of the plugs were inspected and condemned. Several dozen soldiers, including myself, whose time of enlistment was about to expire, were now assigned to some of the troops of the Seventh Cavalry at Fort Riley because we could not be taken along on the road with the regiment and perhaps be discharged in the open prairie, so after the regiment drew new rations, clothing for men, and fresh equipment, we bade our comrades farewell. The Eighth Cavalry finally reached Fort Meade, [Dakota Territory, ] in September, and my troop, which had come from one of the hottest parts of Texas, was sent to Fort Buford, up near the Canadian border—a change from the Mexican to the Canadian line.
I may state here that from the original seventeen recruits assigned to my troop in 1883, just three returned after serving their full five years’ enlistment in August, 1888, including myself. Some died of fever, some were wounded or injured and sent to the Soldiers
Home in Washington, [D. C., ] and some were killed; a few deserted. During the campaign in 1885-86 while in Arizona after the Apaches, some troops of our regiment were ambushed by Geronimo and lost quite heavily in killed and wounded. Among those killed was our Dr. Thomas J. C. Maddox, who had been stationed with us at Fort Clark, Texas, up to 1885. He was the doctor who brought me through when I had malarial fever…and the government certainly lost a fine man. Dr. Leonard Wood was at that time just a contract doctor (citizen doctor enrolled by the government) and got his start in that campaign, when he in later years with Theodore Roosevelt became a colonel of the Rough Riders [First U. S. Volunteer Cavalry], and later on governor of the Philippine Islands. All in all, I think the Eighth Cavalry did as well as any other regiment of the U. S., and that march from Texas to South Dakota certainly was the longest one any U. S. regiment ever made, and that without any serious mishaps. It was an experiment by the War Department and proved what could be done if it became necessary.
In conclusion, I may state that I was only a youngster of seventeen and one-half years when I enlisted, but easily passed for twenty-one, and my memory always becomes wide-awake when I recall the five years of service in the Eighth Cavalry. We generally carried forty rounds of ammunition in our web belts and one extra one in our pocket, this last one saved for ourselves should fate so design it. I received my discharge at Fort Riley, Kansas, in the latter part of 1888, signed by Lieutenant Colonel Samuel M. Whitside, Seventh Cavalry. [I received a notation of] excellent character and recommendation for re-enlistment….
