We took many passengers on the way down the river, some of them very interesting and talkative people, but Major Longstreet and his clerk, Bradley, led the conversations at the steamer's public dining-table. They were not only the most interesting talkers but received the most respectful attention.
I had not been many days on the river, when I was afflicted with the chills and fever again, and had to keep to my berth a great part of the time. It seemed as though I was to suffer from that or dumb-ague every time I traveled on this river. There was no doctor on the boat, but an elderly colored man, the chief steward, heard of my illness and came to see me. He assured me that he could cure me with three doses of medicine, so I would never have the fever again. For this he sagaciously demanded five dollars in advance. I was desperate, so I gave him the money and told him to go ahead. He brought me a dose of medicine, which was the vilest stuff I ever tasted and made me feel very sick. After an interval of a day he brought me another dose, which tasted so much worse than the first and made me feel so ill that no amount of his persuasion could induce me to take his third dose. I vowed that I would rather have the ague for ever after than to take his medicine. About this time we had reached Leavenworth, where I spent about half a day on shore. I began to feel better, and before I reached St. Louis I was entirely well.
At one of the towns along the river a gentleman and his son from Cleveland or Rochester, who were traveling on business in the west, took passage for St. Louis and struck up an acquaintance with me. The elder man seemed to be greatly interested in my experience in the Indian country, and before we reached St. Louis he invited me to visit him. He hinted that he would charge himself with my future, if I would go with him; but I declined. I was too much bent on getting back to New York, where I hoped to build up my future by my own efforts.
The river was high, and we had a quick passage to St. Louis, where my companion, Sergeant Brown, and I stayed for two days, seeing, after so long in the wilderness, the sights of a large city. We left St. Louis for New York on a Saturday afternoon, and arrived at Cincinnati on Sunday morning, where we had to lie over until midnight as no trains went out on Sunday. With a few changes of cars, we reached New York, where we separated, and I went home.
PART VII.
Re-enlistment and Return to Frontiers, 1860.
It is not my intention to describe in detail my experiences as a civilian during the period between my first and second enlistments, but to restrict this story to my army career. I will only state here that my lack of knowledge of civil life made it hard for me to obtain any remunerative or permanent employment. I made all kinds of efforts, answering advertisements by letter or in person; in the latter case often finding a crowd of applicants ahead of me, most of whom had some experience in the kind of work offered. I often walked the streets looking for work and felt heartsick and discouraged at my failure to find employment. My little stock of money diminished day by day although I practiced the strictest economy, spending a few pennies for a mid-day meal when I was tramping about the city. After a time, during the summer, I found occasional employment; but it was not until fall that I secured a steady job where, however, the hours were long, the pay small and the work uncongenial.
About the middle of March, 1860, I was visited by two discharged soldiers from my company who had also come to New York, their former home, in search of employment, but without success. They had made up their minds to re-enlist and asked me to join them. I considered the matter carefully, and seeing no prospects for advancement, finding myself poorer financially than if I had remained in the service, and having a real fondness for a soldier's life, I decided to give up my employment and try my fortune once more in the military service.
On the twenty-fourth day of March, 1860, my two comrades and I re-enlisted to serve for five years in the United States Army. The recruiting office was in Chatham Street (now called Park Row), New York city. First Lieutenant Thomas W. Sweeney of my old company was the recruiting officer. He remembered us, seemed glad to have us return to the service and promised to see to it that we would be restored to our former regiment and company. It was just one year, lacking a week, since I had been discharged at Fort Randall, Nebraska Territory. My age at my re-enlistment was nineteen years, less three months.
We passed the medical examination, were sworn into the service by a notary, and on the same day were sent to Governor's Island, New York harbor. As I was no longer a musician I was assigned to quarters in the upper casemates of Castle Williams, along with a number of raw recruits. I found no changes or improvements on the island since I had left it more than five years before; it seemed the same as I have already described it, only the officers had all been changed. Major T. H. Holmes of the Eighth Infantry was in command.
In a few days I drew my kit and clothing at the quartermaster's stores and had to commence drilling along with other recruits who were being instructed by the drill-sergeants in their facings, marching, etc. The officer in command of the drilling squads soon discovered that I was well versed in all that was to be taught the recruits and detailed me to take a few of the stupidest of the lot to one side and try to instruct them. I disliked drilling this awkward squad, as it was very trying to my patience. They did not seem to know the left foot from the right; and when ordered to keep their heads up, out would go their stomachs. When it came to an "about face," some of them fell over themselves.