The Mexican War diary of George B. McClellan

by George B. McClellan

PARTS OF TEXAS & MEXICO COVERING
THE SEAT OF THE WAR
IN MEXICO

MEXICAN WAR DIARY OF
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN
1846-1847

We left West Point on the 24th of September 1846 for General Taylor’s army in Mexico—Company “A” Engineers[1] consisted of Captain [A. J.] Swift, Lieutenant G. W. Smith,[2] myself and 71 rank and file. On Saturday the 26th we sailed from the Narrows bound to Brazos de Santiago [Texas] where we were so fortunate as to arrive in 14 days. We had a very pleasant passage, on the whole. Felt very much the want of ice, and claret. At one time could only eat raw tomatoes.

The result of my experience with respect to the transportation of troops by sea is,—

In the first place see that the part of the vessel destined to receive them is thoroughly policed, washed and well scraped out before the vessel sails; then let a strong police party be detailed every day, so that the part between decks may always be well washed out and smell well. Wind-sails are very necessary. The acting commissary of subsistence should see for himself exactly what is put on board for the use of the troops and should cause a written requisition to be made upon him for the quantity used from day to day or week to week. He should have a reliable and intelligent sergeant at his disposal. Care should be taken that good cooking arrangements are provided. Mush appeared to be a favorite and agreeable food for the men at sea. The muskets should be inspected every day, when the weather permits, as also the quarters. Men must be required to wear their worst clothes (working overalls, etc.) on board. Care should be taken that camp equipage and all articles necessary for immediate use of troops when landed are so stowed that they can be got at at once.

Brazos is probably the very worst port that could be found on the whole American coast. We are encamped on an island which is nothing more than a sand bar, perfectly barren, utterly destitute of any sign of vegetation. It is about six miles long and one-half mile broad. We are placed about one hundred yards from the sea, a row of sand hills some twenty feet high intervening. Whenever a strong breeze blows the sand flies along in perfect clouds, filling your tent, eyes and everything else. To dry ink you have merely to dip your paper in the sand. The only good thing about the place is the bathing in the surf. The water which we drink is obtained by digging a hole large enough to contain a barrel. In this is placed a bottomless barrel in which the water collects. You must dig until you find water, then “work-in” the barrel until it is well down. This water is very bad. It is brackish and unhealthy. The island is often overflowed to the depth of one or two feet. To reach this interesting spot, one is taken from the vessel in a steamboat and taken over a bar on which the water is six feet deep, and where the surf breaks with the greatest violence. It is often impossible to communicate with the vessels outside for ten days or two weeks at a time.

We have been here since Monday afternoon and it is now Friday. We expect to march for the mouth of the Rio Grande tomorrow morning at break of day—thence by steamboat to Matamoros where we will remain until our arrangements for the pontoon train are complete. We received when we arrived the news of the battle of Monterey. Three officers who were present dined with us today—Nichols of the 2nd Artillery, Captain Smith (brother of G. W. Smith) formerly Captain of Louisiana Volunteers now an amateur, Captain Crump of the Mississippi Volunteers—fine fellows all. Saw Bailie Peyton and some others pass our encampment this morning from Monterey. I am now writing in the guard tent (I go on guard every other day). Immediately in front are sand hills, same on the right, same in the rear, sandy plain on the left. To the left of the sand hills in front are a number of wagons parked, to the left of them a pound containing about 200 mules, to the left and in front of that about fifty sloops, schooners, brigs and steamboats; to the left of that and three miles from us may be seen Point Isabel.

Camp opposite Camargo,[3] November 15th, 1846. We marched from Brazos to the mouth of the Rio Grande and on arriving there found ourselves without tents, provisions or working utensils, a cold Norther blowing all the time. We, however, procured what we needed from the Quarter Master and made the men comfortable until the arrival of Captain Swift with the wagons, who reached the mouth late in the afternoon, whilst we got there about 10 A. M. Thanks to Churchill’s kindness G. W. Smith and myself got along very well. We left in the Corvette the next morning (Sunday) for Matamoros, where we arrived at about 5 P. M. The Rio Grande is a very narrow, muddy stream. The channel is very uncertain, changing from day to day. The banks are covered with the mesquite trees, canes, cabbage trees, etc. The ranches are rather sparse, but some of them are very prettily situated. They all consist of miserable huts built of mesquite logs and canes placed upright—the interstices filled with mud. The roofs are thatched, either with canes or the leaves of the cabbage tree (a species of palmetto). Cotton appears to grow quite plentifully on the banks, but is not cultivated at all. The Mexicans appear to cultivate nothing whatever but a little Indian corn (maize). They are certainly the laziest people in existence—living in a rich and fertile country (the banks of the river at least) they are content to roll in the mud, eat their horrible beef and tortillas and dance all night at their fandangos. This appears to be the character of the Mexicans as far as I have seen, but they will probably improve as we proceed further in the country.

Matamoros is situated about a quarter mile from the river. Some of the houses on the principal streets are of stone, there is one near the Plaza built in the American style with three stories and garrets. All the rest are regular Mexican. On the Plaza is an unfinished cathedral, commenced on a grand scale, but unfinished from a want of funds. The great majority of the houses are of log. The place is quite Americanized by our army and the usual train of sutlers, etc., etc.,—you can get almost everything you want there. We were encamped near the landing. I rode over to Resaca and Palo Alto, but as there is just now a prospect of our returning to Matamoros, before moving on Tampico, I shall write no description of the fields until I have visited them again. After being sick for nearly two weeks in Matamoros I left with the company for Camargo on the “Whiteville,” where we arrived two weeks ago tomorrow, and I have been in Hospital Quarters ever since until day before yesterday.[4]

Now I am in camp, the wind blowing the dust in such perfect clouds that it is perfectly horrible—one can hardly live through it. My quarters in Camargo were the Palace of Don Jesus, the brother of the Alcalde [Mayor of the town]—he (the Don) having absquatatated [sic]. The main body of the Palace (!) is one storied. It consists of two rooms—the smaller one occupied by Dr. Turner, the other by “Legs” and myself (together with Jimmie Stuart for a part of the time). The floor is of hard earth, the walls white, and very fancifully decorated with paintings—the roof flat and painted green—an inscription on it showing that “Se acabó [This house was finished] esta casa entiaso [this word is not Spanish] Dio &c. &c. 1829.” Altogether it was quite a recherché establishment. Jimmie Stuart came down to take care of me when I first got there, and after doing so with his usual kindness was unfortunately taken with a fever, and had to stay there anyhow.[5]