CHAPTER II.

Ordered to fort Duncan, Texas—­“Northers”—­Scouting duty—­hunting—­nearly caught by the Indians—­A primitive habitation —­A brave DRUMMERBOY’S death—­A Mexican ball.

On the 1st day of July, 1853, I was commissioned a brevet second lieutenant in the First Regiment of United States Infantry, then stationed in Texas.  The company to which I was attached was quartered at Fort Duncan, a military post on the Rio Grande opposite the little town of Piedras Negras, on the boundary line between the United States and the Republic of Mexico.

After the usual leave of three months following graduation from the Military Academy I was assigned to temporary duty at Newport Barracks, a recruiting station and rendezvous for the assignment of young officers preparatory to joining their regiments.  Here I remained from September, 1853, to March, 1854, when I was ordered to join my company at Fort Duncan.  To comply with this order I proceeded by steamboat down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers to New Orleans, thence by steamer across the Gulf of Mexico to Indianola, Tex., and after landing at that place, continued in a small schooner through what is called the inside channel on the Gulf coast to Corpus Christi, the headquarters of Brigadier-General Persifer F. Smith, who was commanding the Department of Texas.  Here I met some of my old friends from the Military Academy, among them Lieutenant Alfred Gibbs, who in the last year of the rebellion commanded under me a brigade of cavalry, and Lieutenant Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte, of the Mounted Rifles, who resigned in 1854 to accept service in the French Imperial army, but to most of those about headquarters I was an entire stranger.  Among the latter was Captain Stewart Van Vliet, of the Quartermaster’s Department, now on the retired list.  With him I soon came in frequent contact, and, by reason of his connection with the Quartermaster’s Department, the kindly interest he took in forwarding my business inaugurated between us—­a lasting friendship.

A day or two after my arrival at Corpus Christi a train of Government wagons, loaded with subsistence stores and quartermaster’s supplies, started for Laredo, a small town on the Rio Grande below Fort Duncan.  There being no other means of reaching my station I put my small personal possessions, consisting of a trunk, mattress, two blankets, and a pillow into one of the heavily loaded wagons and proceeded to join it, sitting on the boxes or bags of coffee and sugar, as I might choose.  The movement of the train was very slow, as the soil was soft on the newly made and sandy roads.  We progressed but a few miles on our first day’s journey, and in the evening parked our train at a point where there was no wood, a scant supply of water—­and that of bad quality—­but an abundance of grass.  There being no comfortable place to sleep in any of the wagons, filled as they were to the bows with army supplies, I spread my blankets on the ground between the wheels of one of them, and awoke in the morning feeling as fresh and bright as would have been possible if all the comforts of civilization had been at my command.