On the plains in '65

Front matter

H'

-BY

GEO. H. HOLLIDAY

Chapter I

Westward Ho!-— After Lee's Surrender— -Troops en Route for the Plains---A Glance Backward—A Fearful Collision---An Ex-Rebel Captain tlie Cause— All our Horses Thrown from a High Trestle Work— A Larg-e Number of Soldiers Killed.

Time passes rapidly by, ana we are whirled od, on, passing mile- 'Stone after milestone, until a greater part of the journey of life is passed. We look ahead, not heedinyf the stations as the3^ are passed, until we are appalled at the irresistible speed at which we have been driven.

And now we attempt to review the journey, casting longing glance back over the road which fate has compelled us to travel. We count a score of milestones — yea, forty, sixty, it may be three score and t<^n — ^and we are warned that we are about to enter the Great Union Depot — the end of the journey of life.

As I sit do'vvn to write, my mind involuntarily wanders back to the dark days of the war for the Union. I review again the army of the Potomac. I seem to hear the tramp, tramp, tramp of tired feet. I hear again the iron hoofs of a legion of war horses, as they tread all through the long night over the stony street. I hear again the sound of musketry and the roar of battle. I see the smoke spreadijQg over the battle field like a funeral veil. Then again I seem to hear the groans and sighs of wounded and dying men. I see them borne from the fatal field by tender hands. I hear their piteous prayers for mercy as they pass, mingled with the endearing words of mother, sister, and of loved ones at home.

But now look ! See, the battle is on ! There they charge; on, on— now they are checked by a volley, only for one instant; their ranks are thinned. But no matter, on they charge, into the very jaws of death. Now the rebel lines are broken — they flee. The battle is ours. The air is rent with the shout of victory.

No pen can describe, no tongue can tell it. Bat now, after a lapse of fifteen years, in the far off distance, I seem to hear the dying echoes of the roar and din of a dozen battles. Again I recount hairbreadth escape?^, loDg dreary marches by day and by night. Privaticms and hardships that can never be told. Camping at night in dense snow storms or drenching rains, with nothing but the canopy of heaven as a shelter.

Then again I cross deep streams filled with floating ice, until the chillir>g waters reach the back of my tired and jaded horse.

lu short, the scenes and privations, the bitter and sweet of over three years in the saddle, passed before my mind as though it were a dream of last nit^ht, or a tale that were told.

And now as 1 sit at my own fireside, surrounded by a loving wife and little children, I can scarcely realize that seventeen years have paa^td since then, and that I, who now love so well the quiet and pf'Hce of my own family circle, am the same boy of seventeen years ago — then so reckless of life, with nothing to care for — save my own country.

Passing thus hastily over an experience which would make material for a volume of interesting reading, and one such as almost any soldier could furnish, I come to the final end of the Rebellion.

The battle is fought and won. and now the boys, with glad hearts and proud spirits, are returning home. A great assemblage of the victorious armi&s is ordered to take place at Washington. For three looiT days brigade after brigade, division after division, corps after corps, marchtKl down Pennsylvania avenue by platoons, passing the White Hou-^e, where they were reviewed by President Johnson and Cabinet, and all the foreign ministers then in the United States.

This "Grind Review" was one of the most magnificent sp ectacles ever seen in the world, and will always have a reserved seat in my memory as thp grandest scene of my life.

My r< giment was the Sixth West Virginia Veteran Cavalry, formerly the old Sf^cond and Third West Virginia Mounted Infantry. A lar^^e pn)portion of this regiment had enlisted at the •' first call " and had " seen her through," as they expressed it. And when it became known that we were ordered across the plains to assist in squashing the hostile tribes of Indians then on the war path in Dakota, Wyoming and Montana, instead of being mustered out as were hundreds of regiments whose service had not been half so long and hard as ours, the wrath and indigrnation of some of the older men, who had family ties at home, knew no bounds. But with many of us younger boys the news was received with demonstrations of joy.

Visions of "scalps," wild "ponies," " buflfalos," and love among the little "squaws" — perhaps marriage among some of the dusky daughters of the Rocky Mountains. And then fighting Indians would be child's play compared with the stern realities of war through which we had just passed. All these and many other pious thoughts filled our young minds until we really feared that the protests of the older members of the regiment might prevail and the order be countermandKl.

Leaving Washington City about the 16th of June, 1865, with all our horses and equipments of war packed into a train of box and hog cars, via. the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, we found ourselves in full sail for the Great West, to engage In a new kind of warfare.

After being a few hours on the road we began to notice fresh signs

ON THJbJ PLAINS IN '65. 7

of devastation and general ruin in many of the little and some of the large towns through which we passed.

"I'll bet my life," said one of the boys, " that a New York regiment has passed over this road within the pi-ist few days." Whisky shops were gutted, groceries und peanut stands were riddled, and in fact everything presented the appearance of having passed through a hurricane, or perhaps been shaken by an earthquake.

Our train stopped at Grafton, where the storm seemed to have struck its hardest blow, and we asked a dejected looking man, who seemed to have forcibly retired irom business, the cause of hU the smashed up stores. "Don't ye know? Why, the Twenty-first New York Cavalry stopped here about fifteen minutes yesterday, and here it is. It shows for itself. But I reckon the Government will make it all right."

And Our train moved out, leaving the broken merchant cus5ing all soldiers in general and New York troops in particular. ISo then we learned for the first time that this " bummer" regiment was be fore us, and that they, too, were en route for the plains. This was not cheering news for the boys, for we had a great contempt for thisregiment, whose subsequent history I will detail further on. '

The summer of 1864, '5 and '6 marked a period of unusual peril to the daring pioneers seeking homes in the Far West. Following upon the horrible massacres in Minnesota in 1863, and the subsequent chastisements inflicted by the expeditions under Generals Sibley and Sulleb in 1864, whereby the Indians were driven from the then western borders ot civilization in Iowa and Minnesota, and the white settlements of Dakota, in the Missouri Valley, the great emigrant trails to Idaho and Montana became the scenes of fresh outrages, and from the wild and almost inaccessible nature of the country, pursuit and punishment was almost impossible.

Then the Government had been sorely taxed in her efforts to put down the Rebellion, and the red men of the plains had had their own way to a great extent. But now the war in the South had come to an end, and Uncle Sam turned his attention to the wild boys of the West, who had been so unruly while the "Great Father" was chastizing his subjects in the South.

Little did any of the four hundred men who composed all that was left of that once proud and magnificent regiment think of the hardships and perils that were m store for them in the land of the setting sun. Many who were of that little regiment died of scurvy, others were frozen to death in the mountains, while others were killed and their scalps now ornament the walls of the "tepe" of the noble red man.

But vye go back to Parkersburg. Here we unshipped our sti ffand hungyy horses from their railroad prison, as we had don§ many times before. We crossed the Ohio and many of us were in our native State, for the first time for many months.

What a difi'erence we found in the hospitality of Virginia and Ohio people ! Talk of your boasted Virginia hospitality ! Perhaps Virginia had had her stomach overloaded with troops, and the burden had made her sick of them. Be that as it may, we met with the very kindest of treatment all along the line of the M. and C. R. R., notwithstanding the aforesaid New York bummers had passed over the road just ahead of us, and had grossly insulted and mistreated the good people, who mistook them for a part of the Army of the Potomac, and wantwl to treat them kindly.

At many of the towns along the road our train was stopped, where great kettles of hot coffee and bean soup until you couldn't rest (never turn a cold shoulder on bean soup, boys,) had t>een prepared, and thousands of piea and cords of ginger bread were lying in reserve for us. Our stomachs being entire strangers to the latter, we found some trouble in introducing the rich strangers, and more trouble in maintaining the new acquaintances. At any rate, some of the boys became, as they declared, " sea sick," while others asserted that in their " hcnest opinion they had been pizened by Buckeyes." But I think now that the facts in the case were that pine top whisky, bean soup, coffee, dried apple pies and ginger bread, thoroughly stirred up by the motion of the cars over a rough road, was a combination of delicacies never intended by nature to lay tranquilly on the craw of even a soldier. And unless that railroad company used those cars immediately after we vacated them for shipping hogs, they certainly lost money in that transportation of troops.

' At Cincinnati we were joined by the Third Massachusetts Cavalry, Fourteenth Pennsylvania Cavalry, and Twenty-first New York Cavalry, all destined for the seat of the Indian hostilities in the West, and under Major General Frank Wheaton.

A night parade through the streets of the Queen City, then a camp during the remainder of the night on the streets, and next morning we were loaded into three trains bound for St. Louis via. the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad.

Had not a dreadful collision occurred near Carlisle, 111., in which we lost several men and nearly all our horses, the trip would not be worth noticing. Reader, have you ever witnessed a collision of railroad trains loaded with soldiers and ail their munitions of war, together with several hundred horses? If not, don't pine for the spectacle. It is one of those things which it is easier to imagine than look upon.

Collins Station is a little village on the O. and M. R. R., and is situate three miles east of Carlisle, a thriving town on the same road.

It was eleven o'clock at night when our train halted at Collins Station to await orders. We were an extra train and running "out of time." The order soon came to run down to Carlisle and pass an east bound train lyiug on the switch.

About the same moment the conductor of the east bound train received an order to wait on the siding until our train would pass. He was told by the operator who gave him the order that the west bound train was loaded with "Yankee troops."

Uhis conductor had but a few months before held a commission as captain in a Missouri rebel regiment, and of course still held a grudge against the men who had borne a part in wiping out his little Southern Confederacy. In tact, his treacherous heart yearned for revenge.

Here was such an opportunity as would never be afforded again. Stepping down to his engineer, he ordered him to run with all speed

OH TH]E PLAIISTS I^ '85. 9

up to Collins Station, where he would pass an extra freight on the sidihg.

Immediately his train moved on to the main track, making: all speed for Collins Station. So it will be seen that the two trains left the two stations about the same moment^ each engineer thinking that he is to make good time, and that the other is waiting for him to pass.

Halfway between the towns is a trestle work a half-mile in length across a vast swamp. On this the collision occurred.

But I can better describe the scene by my own observation and personal experience. It was now midnight, and dark as Egypt. Nearly every man on our train was in the " land of repose." We were in box cars. Behind the train was a passenger coach, in which the officers were stored. My company occupied the third car from the rear. The next car in advance of ours was filled with two companies. Then there were eight or ten cars immediately behind the engine filled with horses and equipage.

I had taken off my boots and made a pillow of them. We were "sardined" upon the floor of that car as compactly as was possible, ^o man could turn over without the consent of the whole squad, and then the order "right spoon" or "left spoon " had first to be given, so that all turn at once, when a general flopping over followed, not^ however^ without a good deal of "cussing" by those who had to be ^' waked" in order to successfully execute the command.

Suddenly the shrill scream of a whistle is heard, then another — only two— in close succession. Then a terrific shock — a crash — a crash — then a dead halt. The very earth seems to quake and tremble. In an instant we are rushing to and fro in wild confusion. Nothing can be seen. Presently a side door is pushed open and a man leaps out into the darkness— down, down, he falls, sixty feet, into the marsh and among the logs that lie beneath us.

One glance out, and we see fire falling from the engine, and realize at a glance that we are upon a high bridge. The door is closed immediately. Now the hissing of steam, the dying groans and prayers of wounded and mangled inen, the struggles and hard breathing of hundreds of horses are borne to our ears, and we begin to realize that a terrible accident has occurred.

Now the sound of voices is audible^. Those who have escaped unhurt begin to cast about for some means of escape. The alarming Fact that we were upon a high trestle Was communicated one to another. Then the cry was raised that the bridge and wreck were on fire, and that the bridge would soon fall. This caused a stampede, and several men were hurt in the rush that followed. Every man x)n that bridge fully believed that the whole mass would go down together before we could possibly escape.

For the first time since the battle of Winchester I tried with all my heart to feel religious. But I found that my desire to reach the ^' shore" at the east end of the bridge far out-weighed my longing to plant my feet firmly upon the shore of that "bourne from which no traveler ever does get back." Perhaps it was because 1 realized that i was much nearer the earth than the heavenly land.

But while I was pre|)aring to ncteet the end, which I thought wotild

'A Crash.- Then a Dead Haltsoon come, some of the boys seized their carbines, -ind with the butt ends commenced to smash in the end of the car. Soon a hole appeared, and in a twinkling the end of that car was demolished, and we were climbing to the roof. Running to the rear of th^^ train we found several hundred men upon the top and inside the officers' cu*. Here a dim lamp was procured, and by its light we commenced an extremely perilous trip back over the trestle work, not knowing how far or when the land would be reached.

Such a spectacle was never seen before nor since. In fact, it was too dark to be seen on that night. There were nearly lour hundred of us — a general, colonel, lieutenant cf)lonel, two majors, several cnptains and lieutenants — all together, astraddle of the two rails '■ crawfishing" it, for none dared to attempt to walk the ties in ttie darkness.

To udd to our already embarrassing situation, a sudden gust of wimd put an end to our light, and we found that we were in for the rest of the journey aided only by instinct. It was an hour of intense horror, which no pen can portray, no tongue can tell.

This all occurred in less lime than I could write two lines of this narrative.

We had proceeded in this way nearly a quarter of a mile, making as rapid strides as possible, when the advance sent ba( k the glad tidings thnt land had been discovered, and soon we stepped with weak one by one, upon terra firnia, with a fervent ''thank G( d" for our safe delivery.

Now our thoughts are wholly turned upon the work before us of rescuing our unfortunate comrades. We now stand upon a high fill and cast our eyes in the direction of the wreck and try to scan the situation.

Our hearts are melted by the sounds which arise from the debris away down in the swamp below us. A bright light flashes up near the engines and reveals the surroundings. It is the beacon light to guide us to the rescue. Then a voice is heard : "Help ! help ! in God's name, help! The bridge is on tire!"

The burning embers fall down, down until the wreck beneath is ignited and a lurid light illuminates the terrible scene. We are now able to see our way, and we hasten down the embankment and are soon among the debris assisting the living and removing the dead. I remembered the man who jumped from the car when the collision occurred, and by the aid of a torch light we found him, in a halfstooping posisition— dead. He was a Sergeant by the name of Ashburn.

In an hour after the accident the towns of Carlysle and Collins Station, and all the surrounding neighborhood, were depopulated and the people massed at the scene of the disaster. Such a throng of people had never before been gathered together in that section of the country, especially at midnight.

By the aid of a thousand willing hands, the flames were soon extinguished, the wounded cared for, and the dead gathered up.

The cry for help which had been heard came from the engineer of our train. His legs were securely fastened between the tender and boiler, which had been jammed together, and by the light of the slowly burning bridge his pallid face could plainly be seen hanging from the cab window, and his now faint voice could be heard pleading for assistance. It was more than any man could stind, and several of the boys attempted to climb to him at the risk of their own lives, for it was thought that the whole structure would fall before morning.

After repeated efiforts one of our men reached, and made every effort to release him, but, alas! to no purpose. He died while giving a message to be delivered to his young wife and child, and his white face dropped and hung lifeless by the window of his engine.

The flreman's body had been severed, and his lower limbs and part of his body hung beneath the bridge by his suspenders — a ghastly sight for his wife to look upon when she arrived by special train from St. Louis the next morning.

Underneath the trestle^ on either side, were vast heaps of dead and crippled horses, together with the debris of eight cars which had conveyed them to the scene of their death. Fortunately for us the horse cars were in advance, and of course saved us from total destruction.

A forage car containing corn and hay and a half dozen men had gone with the wreck. These men were all killed. The two engines seemed to have almost buried themselves in each other, while the rear cars of both trains were still upon the track.

An enterprising photographer was early upon the spot, and photographed the wreck and sold about one thousand pictures at fifty cents each, as we aftewards learned.

Upon the trestle near our engine lay a few dead horses, upin which the bottom of a ar securely rested. The sides had fallen irom this car, dragijing with them all the horses it contained— save one. There he stood like a marble statue. This horse belonged to a S^^rgeant Cabel, who called him "Giribadi.'^ Everybody knew this horse, and respected him for his noble qualities. Cabel loved him and was loved in turn by "Garibaldi."

The old mustang had carried his master throujfh two yeirs of hardship, and Wis never known to flicker, and could live as long on wind and go as far in a week as any horse in the army of the Potomac. He had stood by his master in many tight places — waiting patiently in a fence corner for hours for his wayward master to get sober, on more than one occasion — and now, could Cabel desert him? Not much! He would listen to none of the propositions suggested "to put the horse out of his misery;" but hastened to Carlysle and soon returned with block and tackle)^ and by the aid of hundreds of volunteers, the old pony was lowered to the ground amidst the deafening shouts of eight thousand sympathetic souls. This old mustang has a further history, which I will relate further on.

The wounded men were kindly taken care of by the good people of Carlysle, as indeed were all who wished to avail themselves of the proffered hospitality. Engines were soon brought from Cincinnati and St. Louis, and by night the track was cleared. Out of the thirtythree horses in my company but one remained — "Garibaldi."

Of course you ask what became of the rebel captain. I can't tell 5''0u. For a whole day we searched the woods and every corner in the towH, but could gain no clew. One thing was evident, he never got on his train after giving his enofineer his orders. Had we found him, his carcass would have danj^led in the air beneath that fatal brido:e.

Leaving our wounded to the tender care of the good people, and after burying our dead in sorrow, we embarked on another train for St. Louis.

Chapter II

Up the Turbid Missouri'-Ten Days Exposed to a Drenching- Rain— The Boat is Snag-g-ed, and the Boys Jump Overboard— Musing- Upon the Past— The Boys Stampede a Herd of Cattle and Run Them Into a Circus— Great Excitement, in Which the Cash Box is Missing-— The Tvc^enty-first New York Move, but the Sixth West Virginia Disobey the Order,

At St. Louis we embarked on an old hulk of a steamer destined for the Missouri river, and thence to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas — our starting point over the plains to the mountains — a distance of twelve hundred miles.

A voyage up the Missouri River is a fine thing to contemplate, but altogether a different thing to experience.

I had made the trip with a company of emigrants seven years before — when but a mere boy — a part of the way on the deck of the old *'William Bussell," and I still held some unpleasant recollections of muddy water, sand bars and snags, and the sinking of our steamer in six inches of water, and of waiting six long days for a boat to come to our assistance

I have waded through many years of untold hardships, but I now think that this second trip up the turbid Missouri was the most uncomfortable soldiering we had ever experienced. The boat was literally packed from stem to stern with troops and horses, there being a part of several regiments on board. My company, with several others, were quartered on the hurricane deck. The first several days the rain came dowm upon us in torrents. For shelter we pitched our tents all over the roof. But they afforded but poor protection, as we could not "ditch" around them, and the water ran under us and was tauen up by our heavy blankets.

To add to our discomfort a cyclone struck us one cold, wet night, and tore the last vestige of our tents from their fastenings and carried them into the surging muddy water. From that time until we reached

Kansas City we were drenched and soaked, and many of the boys for the first time in many months, had their uniforms washed.

To add to all this, we had but one stove — an old sheet iron thing: — upon which two or three hundred men had to do their cooking:. For eight or ten days and nights this was covered with cups and camp kettles. It was against the rules to fry meat — that could be eaten raw ; but coffee must be cooked.

It was delicious coffee. It looked rich and good, having the appearance of. being well "creamed;" but after drinking a few quarts it was positively necessary to take a chew of tobacco in order to kill the bad taste.

The day we passed Kansas City the storm *Met up," and the glorious sun came out warm and beautiful — a most beautiful sight. Then such a drying of clothes and blankets ! That boat looked like a huge "junk boat," with all the old rags in creation. It was a sight to make even a Chinaman blusb. Every available hog chain, as high as a pike pole could reach, was turned into a clothes line. All the railings, and even the pilot house, were brought into requisition, and the boys took turns at holding their blankets around the'smoke stack. They made hay while the sun shone.

It was a day of thanksgiving for the festive grayback. They, too, were warmed into new life, and marshaled their innumerable hosts on the sunny side of the blankets and old shirts, and basked in the warm sunshine, gathering strength for the next onslaught.

The night following was clear and pleasant. We had all "spooned', down together, and were making up for lost time at a splendid rate, when a crash and ringing of bells below awoke us rather abruptly. In and instant all was uproar and confusion, in which a few men fell overboard.

"The boat is wrecked!" "Boys, she is bound to sink!" "Grab a root!" "Sink or swim!" and many other expressions could be heard as the mass of excited men rushed to and fro in the darkness.

Some one ordered the horses to be cut loose and shoved overboard. Amidst the confusion I, with many others, had clambered over the guard rails and down the sides of the boat to the lower deck, which became so densely packed that many were shoved into the water.

Then over went a horse, then another, until a half a dozen or more were in the river. Then the bass voice of a man arose from out of the depths of the muddy waters, and could be heard above the din and confusion :

"What in the are you doing there? Don't launch anymore

horses over here. ' Taint a foot deep /"

In a little while our old comrade Cahall was hauled on board, with a]l the others who had fallen into the water. No one was hurt. Quiet was soon restored, and what at first seemed to be a dreadful accident became a good joke, especially on those who had been "ducked."

An inspection of the boat revealed the fact that she lay on a sandbar with a large snag running through her larboard wheel-house, which had completely demolished the cooking department.

Just aft of the wheel-house were several horses. One of these bad been caught by a prong of the snag in its ascent, and was found standing on his hind feet with his head up in the hole made in the floor of the caMn by the snug. On cutting his halter, he dropperl *'*right side up wiih care," and reveaved himself to be old "Garabaldi," He had made another narrow escape, and thus increased in value (in the eitimation of hi'^ master) to ''one thousand dollars."

Morning dawned, the snag was removed, and in the meantime some of the men went ashore in search of their stock, which was soon found quietly grazing on the rich Kansas grass.

The next day we disembarked at Fort Leavenworth, and I, with suppressed emotional feelings, realized that I once more stood upon the dear soil of my boyhood daj^s — thel soil which contained the remams of a dear mother.