<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
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<h3>TRIP TO AUSTIN—PROMOTION TO FULL SECOND LIEUTENANT—ARMY OF OCCUPATION.</h3>
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<p>When our party left Corpus Christi it was quite large, including
the cavalry escort, Paymaster, Major Dix, his clerk and the
officers who, like myself, were simply on leave; but all the
officers on leave, except Lieutenant Benjamin—afterwards
killed in the valley of Mexico—Lieutenant, now General,
Augur, and myself, concluded to spend their allotted time at San
Antonio and return from there. We were all to be back at Corpus
Christi by the end of the month. The paymaster was detained in
Austin so long that, if we had waited for him, we would have
exceeded our leave. We concluded, therefore, to start back at once
with the animals we had, and having to rely principally on grass
for their food, it was a good six days' journey. We had to sleep on
the prairie every night, except at Goliad, and possibly one night
on the Colorado, without shelter and with only such food as we
carried with us, and prepared ourselves. The journey was hazardous
on account of Indians, and there were white men in Texas whom I
would not have cared to meet in a secluded place. Lieutenant Augur
was taken seriously sick before we reached Goliad and at a distance
from any habitation. To add to the complication, his horse—a
mustang that had probably been captured from the band of wild
horses before alluded to, and of undoubted longevity at his
capture—gave out. It was absolutely necessary to get for ward
to Goliad to find a shelter for our sick companion. By dint of
patience and exceedingly slow movements, Goliad was at last
reached, and a shelter and bed secured for our patient. We remained
over a day, hoping that Augur might recover sufficiently to resume
his travels. He did not, however, and knowing that Major Dix would
be along in a few days, with his wagon-train, now empty, and
escort, we arranged with our Louisiana friend to take the best of
care of the sick lieutenant until thus relieved, and went on.</p>
<p>I had never been a sportsman in my life; had scarcely ever gone
in search of game, and rarely seen any when looking for it. On this
trip there was no minute of time while travelling between San
Patricio and the settlements on the San Antonio River, from San
Antonio to Austin, and again from the Colorado River back to San
Patricio, when deer or antelope could not be seen in great numbers.
Each officer carried a shot-gun, and every evening, after going
into camp, some would go out and soon return with venison and wild
turkeys enough for the entire camp. I, however, never went out, and
had no occasion to fire my gun; except, being detained over a day
at Goliad, Benjamin and I concluded to go down to the
creek—which was fringed with timber, much of it the
pecan—and bring back a few turkeys. We had scarcely reached
the edge of the timber when I heard the flutter of wings overhead,
and in an instant I saw two or three turkeys flying away. These
were soon followed by more, then more, and more, until a flock of
twenty or thirty had left from just over my head. All this time I
stood watching the turkeys to see where they flew—with my gun
on my shoulder, and never once thought of levelling it at the
birds. When I had time to reflect upon the matter, I came to the
conclusion that as a sportsman I was a failure, and went back to
the house. Benjamin remained out, and got as many turkeys as he
wanted to carry back.</p>
<p>After the second night at Goliad, Benjamin and I started to make
the remainder of the journey alone. We reached Corpus Christi just
in time to avoid "absence without leave." We met no one not even an
Indian—during the remainder of our journey, except at San
Patricio. A new settlement had been started there in our absence of
three weeks, induced possibly by the fact that there were houses
already built, while the proximity of troops gave protection
against the Indians. On the evening of the first day out from
Goliad we heard the most unearthly howling of wolves, directly in
our front. The prairie grass was tall and we could not see the
beasts, but the sound indicated that they were near. To my ear it
appeared that there must have been enough of them to devour our
party, horses and all, at a single meal. The part of Ohio that I
hailed from was not thickly settled, but wolves had been driven out
long before I left. Benjamin was from Indiana, still less
populated, where the wolf yet roamed over the prairies. He
understood the nature of the animal and the capacity of a few to
make believe there was an unlimited number of them. He kept on
towards the noise, unmoved. I followed in his trail, lacking moral
courage to turn back and join our sick companion. I have no doubt
that if Benjamin had proposed returning to Goliad, I would not only
have "seconded the motion" but have suggested that it was very
hard-hearted in us to leave Augur sick there in the first place;
but Benjamin did not propose turning back. When he did speak it was
to ask: "Grant, how many wolves do you think there are in that
pack?" Knowing where he was from, and suspecting that he thought I
would over-estimate the number, I determined to show my
acquaintance with the animal by putting the estimate below what
possibly could be correct, and answered: "Oh, about twenty," very
indifferently. He smiled and rode on. In a minute we were close
upon them, and before they saw us. There were just TWO of them.
Seated upon their haunches, with their mouths close together, they
had made all the noise we had been hearing for the past ten
minutes. I have often thought of this incident since when I have
heard the noise of a few disappointed politicians who had deserted
their associates. There are always more of them before they are
counted.</p>
<p>A week or two before leaving Corpus Christi on this trip, I had
been promoted from brevet second-lieutenant, 4th infantry, to full
second-lieutenant, 7th infantry. Frank Gardner, [Afterwards General
Gardner, C.S.A.] of the 7th, was promoted to the 4th in the same
orders. We immediately made application to be transferred, so as to
get back to our old regiments. On my return, I found that our
application had been approved at Washington. While in the 7th
infantry I was in the company of Captain Holmes, afterwards a
Lieutenant-general in the Confederate army. I never came in contact
with him in the war of the Rebellion, nor did he render any very
conspicuous service in his high rank. My transfer carried me to the
company of Captain McCall, who resigned from the army after the
Mexican war and settled in Philadelphia. He was prompt, however, to
volunteer when the rebellion broke out, and soon rose to the rank
of major-general in the Union army. I was not fortunate enough to
meet him after he resigned. In the old army he was esteemed very
highly as a soldier and gentleman. Our relations were always most
pleasant.</p>
<p>The preparations at Corpus Christi for an advance progressed as
rapidly in the absence of some twenty or more lieutenants as if we
had been there. The principal business consisted in securing mules,
and getting them broken to harness. The process was slow but
amusing. The animals sold to the government were all young and
unbroken, even to the saddle, and were quite as wild as the wild
horses of the prairie. Usually a number would be brought in by a
company of Mexicans, partners in the delivery. The mules were first
driven into a stockade, called a corral, inclosing an acre or more
of ground. The Mexicans,—who were all experienced in throwing
the lasso,—would go into the corral on horseback, with their
lassos attached to the pommels of their saddles. Soldiers detailed
as teamsters and black smiths would also enter the corral, the
former with ropes to serve as halters, the latter with branding
irons and a fire to keep the irons heated. A lasso was then thrown
over the neck of a mule, when he would immediately go to the length
of his tether, first one end, then the other in the air. While he
was thus plunging and gyrating, another lasso would be thrown by
another Mexican, catching the animal by a fore-foot. This would
bring the mule to the ground, when he was seized and held by the
teamsters while the blacksmith put upon him, with hot irons, the
initials "U. S." Ropes were then put about the neck, with a
slipnoose which would tighten around the throat if pulled. With a
man on each side holding these ropes, the mule was released from
his other bindings and allowed to rise. With more or less
difficulty he would be conducted to a picket rope outside and
fastened there. The delivery of that mule was then complete. This
process was gone through with every mule and wild horse with the
army of occupation.</p>
<p>The method of breaking them was less cruel and much more
amusing. It is a well-known fact that where domestic animals are
used for specific purposes from generation to generation, the
descendants are easily, as a rule, subdued to the same uses. At
that time in Northern Mexico the mule, or his ancestors, the horse
and the ass, was seldom used except for the saddle or pack. At all
events the Corpus Christi mule resisted the new use to which he was
being put. The treatment he was subjected to in order to overcome
his prejudices was summary and effective.</p>
<p>The soldiers were principally foreigners who had enlisted in our
large cities, and, with the exception of a chance drayman among
them, it is not probable that any of the men who reported
themselves as competent teamsters had ever driven a mule-team in
their lives, or indeed that many had had any previous experience in
driving any animal whatever to harness. Numbers together can
accomplish what twice their number acting individually could not
perform. Five mules were allotted to each wagon. A teamster would
select at the picket rope five animals of nearly the same color and
general appearance for his team. With a full corps of assistants,
other teamsters, he would then proceed to get his mules together.
In two's the men would approach each animal selected, avoiding as
far as possible its heels. Two ropes would be put about the neck of
each animal, with a slip noose, so that he could be choked if too
unruly. They were then led out, harnessed by force and hitched to
the wagon in the position they had to keep ever after. Two men
remained on either side of the leader, with the lassos about its
neck, and one man retained the same restraining influence over each
of the others. All being ready, the hold would be slackened and the
team started. The first motion was generally five mules in the air
at one time, backs bowed, hind feet extended to the rear. After
repeating this movement a few times the leaders would start to run.
This would bring the breeching tight against the mules at the
wheels, which these last seemed to regard as a most unwarrantable
attempt at coercion and would resist by taking a seat, sometimes
going so far as to lie down. In time all were broken in to do their
duty submissively if not cheerfully, but there never was a time
during the war when it was safe to let a Mexican mule get entirely
loose. Their drivers were all teamsters by the time they got
through.</p>
<p>I recollect one case of a mule that had worked in a team under
the saddle, not only for some time at Corpus Christi, where he was
broken, but all the way to the point opposite Matamoras, then to
Camargo, where he got loose from his fastenings during the night.
He did not run away at first, but staid in the neighborhood for a
day or two, coming up sometimes to the feed trough even; but on the
approach of the teamster he always got out of the way. At last,
growing tired of the constant effort to catch him, he disappeared
altogether. Nothing short of a Mexican with his lasso could have
caught him. Regulations would not have warranted the expenditure of
a dollar in hiring a man with a lasso to catch that mule; but they
did allow the expenditure "of the mule," on a certificate that he
had run away without any fault of the quartermaster on whose
returns he was borne, and also the purchase of another to take his
place. I am a competent witness, for I was regimental quartermaster
at the time.</p>
<p>While at Corpus Christi all the officers who had a fancy for
riding kept horses. The animals cost but little in the first
instance, and when picketed they would get their living without any
cost. I had three not long before the army moved, but a sad
accident bereft me of them all at one time. A colored boy who gave
them all the attention they got—besides looking after my tent
and that of a class-mate and fellow-lieutenant and cooking for us,
all for about eight dollars per month, was riding one to water and
leading the other two. The led horses pulled him from his seat and
all three ran away. They never were heard of afterwards. Shortly
after that some one told Captain Bliss, General Taylor's
Adjutant-General, of my misfortune. "Yes; I heard Grant lost five
or six dollars' worth of horses the other day," he replied. That
was a slander; they were broken to the saddle when I got them and
cost nearly twenty dollars. I never suspected the colored boy of
malicious intent in letting them get away, because, if they had not
escaped, he could have had one of them to ride on the long march
then in prospect.</p>
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