We are to accompany General Patterson[6] to Tampico. I hope and suppose that we will have a fight there, then join General Taylor, then hey for San Luis [Potosi] and another fight.
December 5th [1846]. Mouth of the Rio Grande. After getting up quite an excitement about a fight at Tampico etc., we were completely floored by the news that the navy had taken it without firing a single gun[7]—the place having been abandoned by the Mexican troops, who are doubtless being concentrated at San Luis Potosi in anticipation of a grand attack on the place—ah! if we only fool them by taking Vera Cruz and its castle, and then march on the capital—we would have them completely. After a great many orders and counter orders we have at length arrived thus far on our way to Tampico. We left Camargo on Sunday evening last (November 29th) in the corvette, with Generals Patterson and Pillow[8] and a number of other officers (among them Captain Hunter 2nd Dragoons, Major Abercrombie, Captain Winship, Seth Williams,[9] and about a thousand volunteers). We had decidedly a bad passage—running on sand bars very often—being blown up against a bank by the wind—breaking the rudder twice, etc., etc. We left General P[atterson], Captain Swift and many others at Matamoros. The General started with the intention of going to Tampico by sea—all the troops (except the Tennessee cavalry) were to go by sea, but at Reinosa an express overtook us ordering the General to proceed by land with all the troops except this company, which is to go by sea (!). Captain Swift remained at Matamoros on account of his health.
I was perfectly disgusted coming down the river. I found that every confounded Voluntario in the “Continental Army” ranked me—to be ranked and put aside for a soldier of yesterday, a miserable thing with buttons on it, that knows nothing whatever, is indeed too hard a case. I have pretty much made up my mind that if I cannot increase my rank in this war, I shall resign shortly after the close of it. I cannot stand the idea of being a Second Lieutenant all my life. I have learned some valuable lessons in this war. I am (I hope and believe) pretty well cured of castle building. I came down here with high hopes, with pleasing anticipations of distinction, of being in hard fought battles and acquiring a name and reputation as a stepping stone to a still greater eminence in some future and greater war. I felt that if I could have a chance I could do something; but what has been the result—the real state of the case? The first thing that greeted my ears upon arriving off Brazos was the news of the battle of Monterey[10]—the place of all others where this Company and its officers would have had an ample field for distinction. There was a grand miss, but, thank heaven, it could not possibly have been avoided by us. Well, since then we have been dodging about—waiting a week here—two weeks there for the pontoon train—a month in the dirt somewhere else—doing nothing—half the company sick—have been sick myself for more than a month and a half—and here we are going to Tampico. What will be the next thing it is impossible to guess at. We may go to San Luis—we may go to Vera Cruz—we may go home from Tampico, we may see a fight, or a dozen of them—or we may not see a shot fired. I have made up my mind to act the philosopher—to take things as they come and not worry my head about the future—to try to get perfectly well—and above all things to see as much fun as I can “scare up” in the country.
I have seen more suffering since I came out here than I could have imagined to exist. It is really awful. I allude to the sufferings of the Volunteers. They literally die like dogs. Were it all known in the States, there would be no more hue and cry against the Army, all would be willing to have so large a regular army that we could dispense entirely with the volunteer system. The suffering among the Regulars is comparatively trifling, for their officers know their duty and take good care of the men.[11]
I have also come to the conclusion that the Quartermaster’s Department is most wofully conducted—never trust anything to that Department which you can do for yourself. If you need horses for your trains, etc., carry them with you. As to provisions (for private use) get as much as possible from the Commissaries—you get things from them at one-half the price you pay sutlers. Smith has ridden over to Brazos de Santiago to endeavor to make arrangements for our immediate transportation to Tampico. Captain Hunter went with him on my mare. They return in the morning. Whilst at Camargo, Smith had a discussion with General Patterson about his (General Patterson’s) right to order us when en route to join General Taylor, under orders from Head Quarters at Washington. The General was obliged to succumb and admit the truth of the principle “That an officer of Engineers is not subject to the orders of every superior officer, but only to those of his immediate chief, and that General (or other high officer) to whom he may be ordered to report for duty.”
There goes Gerber with his tattoo—so I must stop for the present.
December 6th [1846]. Go it Weathercocks! Received an order from Major McCall[12] this morning to go back to Matamoros, as we are to march to Tampico, via Victoria, with the column under General Patterson.[13] Smith is away at Brazos and if the order had been one day and a half later we would have been off to Tampico by sea. Have fine sea bathing here. It is blowing very hard from the south east, so much so as to raise the sand too much for comfort entirely. Bee and Ward at the Brazos—coming over this morning—will at least have an opportunity of giving Georgie that letter of Madame Scott’s! I feel pleased at the idea of going by land—we will have a march to talk about, and may very probably have a fight on the way. I firmly believe that we will have a brush before reaching Tampico. Unfortunately the whole column is Voluntario.
January 2nd, 1847. Rancho Padillo, on Soto la Marina river. I “firmly believed” we would have a brush!—the devil I did!—and a pretty fool I was to think I’d have such good luck as that. I’ve given it up entirely. But I was right in the other—the whole column is Voluntario—and a pretty column it is too. To go on with our affairs.—We reached Matamoros on the 8th [December] and encamped on the river bank just below the Mexican batteries. Smith went down to the mouth [of the river] again to select tools for the march, leaving me in command. After various orders and counter orders we were finally (December 21st) directed to appear upon the Plaza as early as possible in order to march to El Moquete, where General Pillow was encamped with the 3rd and 4th Illinois Volunteers. “Mind, Mr. Smith” said the old Mustang[14] the night before, “mind and appear as early as possible, so that you may not delay us”—all this with that air of dignity and importance so peculiarly characteristic of Mustangs; well we got up at daybreak and reached the Plaza a little after seven, immediately reported ourselves ready to start and were informed that we should wait for the guide who was momentarily expected. We were to march in advance, then the wagon train, then Gibson with his artillery (a twelve pounder field piece and twenty-four pounder howitzer) was to bring up the rear.
I waited and waited in the hot sun on the Plaza, watched the men gorging themselves with oranges, sausages etc., them took to swearing by way of consolation. When I had succeeded in working myself into a happy frame of mind (about one o’clock) old Abercrombie[15] ordered Gibson to start in advance and our company to bring up the rear. I wont attempt to describe the beauties of forming a rear guard of a wagon train. Suffice it to say that the men straggled a great deal, some got rather drunk, all very tired. We reached the banks of El Arroyo Tigre about 8 o’clock (two hours after dark) and then encamped as we best could.
I rode on in advance of the company to see El Tigre and found Gibson amusing himself by endeavoring to curse a team (a caisson) across the river, which (the caisson, not the river—well, both were, after all) had got mired in the middle. I rode back and met the company about one mile from the camp ground, struggling along—tired to death and straining their eyes to see water through the darkness. I consoled them somewhat by telling them that it was not more than a mile to the water, but they soon found that a mile on foot was a great deal longer than a mile on horseback. However, we got there at last, pitched our camp, and soon forgot all our troubles in sound sleep.