I was ordered with my own and Company A, commanded by Lieutenant Carpenter, to Fort Aubrey, Kansas, via Leavenworth, to relieve two companies of one-year Ohio volunteers, whose time had expired, and who were near mutiny. I left St. Louis December 5, 1865. The weather was so cold, and the supply train furnished me at Fort Leavenworth so inadequate, that I seized and exchanged wagons and teams with a quartermaster's train returning from Santa Fe. One of my men froze to death on the journey, and several were severely frost-bitten.
I found the Walnut Fork of the Arkansas River impassable from floods, and traveled without a trail from Fort Larned for three days, until I could cross, thence moving south toward Fort Aubrey, as I supposed.
During the march a hostile band of Cheyenne Indians (called "dog soldiers") under young Bent, a half-breed, attempted to surprise us. Frustrated, they followed us into the Arkansas River, four miles above Fort Dodge. The Indians asked for parley, during which I discovered a captive American girl, who attempted to talk to me, but was silenced by the chief. I was later instrumental, through the Indian agent, Major Wyncoop, in securing the ransom of this girl, Mary Fletcher.
Leaving A Company at Fort Dodge, I took my own to Aubrey, where I relieved the Ohio volunteers. I remained until April, relieving the monotony by killing some of the buffalo which covered the whole country, riding a spirited horse which could overtake any buffalo.
My company clerk was Henry Garrells, an excellent penman and accountant, but so near-sighted I had to get special permission to enlist him. He was not only the most unprepossessing man I ever saw, but one of the most troublesome drunkards in the army. He got drunk periodically, generally selecting a time when urgency in the preparation of company papers was most desired. When under the influence of liquor, he was absolutely uncontrollable, requiring two or three men to keep him from violence. When sober, he was one of the mildest mannered men I ever saw.
Our post near the river was composed of rude huts and dug-outs. It was far from any settlement, and we had no liquor, so Garrells got along very well until, one Sunday morning, he obtained two bottles of bay rum from the post trader, with which he got gloriously drunk, smashing things right and left in the quarters. The sergeant detailed several men to restrain him (there being no guard house), reported the damage and asked what to do with him. I told him to get a cavalry lariat, about one hundred feet long, and with two strong men carry Garrells to the river bank. They were to divest him of clothing and throw him into the stream until the chill (it was January) should sober him.
I followed Garrells and his party on the opposite side of the stream. Arrived at the bank, about ten feet high, Garrells exclaimed, "Sergeant, here's a river! 'Twill require some engineering skill to pass this river!"
"Never mind," said the sergeant, "we'll cross it, Garrells." The men took off his hat and coat, and one of them reached into his pocket for his money, when Garrells became alarmed and began to shout, "Murder! Robbers! Help!"
By this time they had the rope around his body, and one man seizing his head, another his heels, they tossed him far out into the stream.