<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
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<h3>RETURN OF THE ARMY—MARRIAGE—ORDERED TO THE PACIFIC COAST—CROSSING THE ISTHMUS—ARRIVAL AT SAN FRANCISCO.</h3>
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<p>My experience in the Mexican war was of great advantage to me
afterwards. Besides the many practical lessons it taught, the war
brought nearly all the officers of the regular army together so as
to make them personally acquainted. It also brought them in contact
with volunteers, many of whom served in the war of the rebellion
afterwards. Then, in my particular case, I had been at West Point
at about the right time to meet most of the graduates who were of a
suitable age at the breaking out of the rebellion to be trusted
with large commands. Graduating in 1843, I was at the military
academy from one to four years with all cadets who graduated
between 1840 and 1846—seven classes. These classes embraced
more than fifty officers who afterwards became generals on one side
or the other in the rebellion, many of them holding high commands.
All the older officers, who became conspicuous in the rebellion, I
had also served with and known in Mexico: Lee, J. E. Johnston, A.
S. Johnston, Holmes, Hebert and a number of others on the
Confederate side; McCall, Mansfield, Phil. Kearney and others on
the National side. The acquaintance thus formed was of immense
service to me in the war of the rebellion—I mean what I
learned of the characters of those to whom I was afterwards
opposed. I do not pretend to say that all movements, or even many
of them, were made with special reference to the characteristics of
the commander against whom they were directed. But my appreciation
of my enemies was certainly affected by this knowledge. The natural
disposition of most people is to clothe a commander of a large army
whom they do not know, with almost superhuman abilities. A large
part of the National army, for instance, and most of the press of
the country, clothed General Lee with just such qualities, but I
had known him personally, and knew that he was mortal; and it was
just as well that I felt this.</p>
<p>The treaty of peace was at last ratified, and the evacuation of
Mexico by United States troops was ordered. Early in June the
troops in the City of Mexico began to move out. Many of them,
including the brigade to which I belonged, were assembled at
Jalapa, above the vomito, to await the arrival of transports at
Vera Cruz: but with all this precaution my regiment and others were
in camp on the sand beach in a July sun, for about a week before
embarking, while the fever raged with great virulence in Vera Cruz,
not two miles away. I can call to mind only one person, an officer,
who died of the disease. My regiment was sent to Pascagoula,
Mississippi, to spend the summer. As soon as it was settled in camp
I obtained a leave of absence for four months and proceeded to St.
Louis. On the 22d of August, 1848, I was married to Miss Julia
Dent, the lady of whom I have before spoken. We visited my parents
and relations in Ohio, and, at the end of my leave, proceeded to my
post at Sackett's Harbor, New York. In April following I was
ordered to Detroit, Michigan, where two years were spent with but
few important incidents.</p>
<p>The present constitution of the State of Michigan was ratified
during this time. By the terms of one of its provisions, all
citizens of the United States residing within the State at the time
of the ratification became citizens of Michigan also. During my
stay in Detroit there was an election for city officers. Mr.
Zachariah Chandler was the candidate of the Whigs for the office of
Mayor, and was elected, although the city was then reckoned
democratic. All the officers stationed there at the time who
offered their votes were permitted to cast them. I did not offer
mine, however, as I did not wish to consider myself a citizen of
Michigan. This was Mr. Chandler's first entry into politics, a
career he followed ever after with great success, and in which he
died enjoying the friendship, esteem and love of his
countrymen.</p>
<p>In the spring of 1851 the garrison at Detroit was transferred to
Sackett's Harbor, and in the following spring the entire 4th
infantry was ordered to the Pacific Coast. It was decided that Mrs.
Grant should visit my parents at first for a few months, and then
remain with her own family at their St. Louis home until an
opportunity offered of sending for her. In the month of April the
regiment was assembled at Governor's Island, New York Harbor, and
on the 5th of July eight companies sailed for Aspinwall. We
numbered a little over seven hundred persons, including the
families of officers and soldiers. Passage was secured for us on
the old steamer Ohio, commanded at the time by Captain Schenck, of
the navy. It had not been determined, until a day or two before
starting, that the 4th infantry should go by the Ohio;
consequently, a complement of passengers had already been secured.
The addition of over seven hundred to this list crowded the steamer
most uncomfortably, especially for the tropics in July.</p>
<p>In eight days Aspinwall was reached. At that time the streets of
the town were eight or ten inches under water, and foot passengers
passed from place to place on raised foot-walks. July is at the
height of the wet season, on the Isthmus. At intervals the rain
would pour down in streams, followed in not many minutes by a
blazing, tropical summer's sun. These alternate changes, from rain
to sunshine, were continuous in the afternoons. I wondered how any
person could live many months in Aspinwall, and wondered still more
why any one tried.</p>
<p>In the summer of 1852 the Panama railroad was completed only to
the point where it now crosses the Chagres River. From there
passengers were carried by boats to Gorgona, at which place they
took mules for Panama, some twenty-five miles further. Those who
travelled over the Isthmus in those days will remember that boats
on the Chagres River were propelled by natives not inconveniently
burdened with clothing. These boats carried thirty to forty
passengers each. The crews consisted of six men to a boat, armed
with long poles. There were planks wide enough for a man to walk on
conveniently, running along the sides of each boat from end to end.
The men would start from the bow, place one end of their poles
against the river bottom, brace their shoulders against the other
end, and then walk to the stern as rapidly as they could. In this
way from a mile to a mile and a half an hour could be made, against
the current of the river.</p>
<p>I, as regimental quartermaster, had charge of the public
property and had also to look after the transportation. A contract
had been entered into with the steamship company in New York for
the transportation of the regiment to California, including the
Isthmus transit. A certain amount of baggage was allowed per man,
and saddle animals were to be furnished to commissioned officers
and to all disabled persons. The regiment, with the exception of
one company left as guards to the public property—camp and
garrison equipage principally—and the soldiers with families,
took boats, propelled as above described, for Gorgona. From this
place they marched to Panama, and were soon comfortably on the
steamer anchored in the bay, some three or four miles from the
town. I, with one company of troops and all the soldiers with
families, all the tents, mess chests and camp kettles, was sent to
Cruces, a town a few miles higher up the Chagres River than
Gorgona. There I found an impecunious American who had taken the
contract to furnish transportation for the regiment at a stipulated
price per hundred pounds for the freight and so much for each
saddle animal. But when we reached Cruces there was not a mule,
either for pack or saddle, in the place. The contractor promised
that the animals should be on hand in the morning. In the morning
he said that they were on the way from some imaginary place, and
would arrive in the course of the day. This went on until I saw
that he could not procure the animals at all at the price he had
promised to furnish them for. The unusual number of passengers that
had come over on the steamer, and the large amount of freight to
pack, had created an unprecedented demand for mules. Some of the
passengers paid as high as forty dollars for the use of a mule to
ride twenty-five miles, when the mule would not have sold for ten
dollars in that market at other times. Meanwhile the cholera had
broken out, and men were dying every hour. To diminish the food for
the disease, I permitted the company detailed with me to proceed to
Panama. The captain and the doctors accompanied the men, and I was
left alone with the sick and the soldiers who had families. The
regiment at Panama was also affected with the disease; but there
were better accommodations for the well on the steamer, and a
hospital, for those taken with the disease, on an old hulk anchored
a mile off. There were also hospital tents on shore on the island
of Flamingo, which stands in the bay.</p>
<p>I was about a week at Cruces before transportation began to come
in. About one-third of the people with me died, either at Cruces or
on the way to Panama. There was no agent of the transportation
company at Cruces to consult, or to take the responsibility of
procuring transportation at a price which would secure it. I
therefore myself dismissed the contractor and made a new contract
with a native, at more than double the original price. Thus we
finally reached Panama. The steamer, however, could not proceed
until the cholera abated, and the regiment was detained still
longer. Altogether, on the Isthmus and on the Pacific side, we were
delayed six weeks. About one-seventh of those who left New York
harbor with the 4th infantry on the 5th of July, now lie buried on
the Isthmus of Panama or on Flamingo island in Panama Bay.</p>
<p>One amusing circumstance occurred while we were lying at anchor
in Panama Bay. In the regiment there was a Lieutenant Slaughter who
was very liable to sea-sickness. It almost made him sick to see the
wave of a table-cloth when the servants were spreading it. Soon
after his graduation, Slaughter was ordered to California and took
passage by a sailing vessel going around Cape Horn. The vessel was
seven months making the voyage, and Slaughter was sick every moment
of the time, never more so than while lying at anchor after
reaching his place of destination. On landing in California he
found orders which had come by the Isthmus, notifying him of a
mistake in his assignment; he should have been ordered to the
northern lakes. He started back by the Isthmus route and was sick
all the way. But when he arrived at the East he was again ordered
to California, this time definitely, and at this date was making
his third trip. He was as sick as ever, and had been so for more
than a month while lying at anchor in the bay. I remember him well,
seated with his elbows on the table in front of him, his chin
between his hands, and looking the picture of despair. At last he
broke out, "I wish I had taken my father's advice; he wanted me to
go into the navy; if I had done so, I should not have had to go to
sea so much." Poor Slaughter! it was his last sea voyage. He was
killed by Indians in Oregon.</p>
<p>By the last of August the cholera had so abated that it was
deemed safe to start. The disease did not break out again on the
way to California, and we reached San Francisco early in
September.</p>
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