I rode in advance next morning through the long wagon train to find a new ford. We crossed and encamped with General Pillow’s Brigade. Went down to Major Harris’ (4th Illinois) tent, where I had a fine drink of brandy and the unspeakable satisfaction of seeing a democratic Volunteer Captain (in his shirt sleeves) sit, with the greatest unconcern, on a tent peg for at least an hour. Gibson and I then went to Winship’s tent where we found G. W. [Smith] and an invitation to dine with General Pillow.
During dinner it began to rain like bricks. We adjourned to Winship’s tent, and the sight we presented would have amused an hermit. The water [was] about an inch deep in the tent, and we four sitting on the bed passing around a tumbler continually replenished from that old keg of commissary whiskey—oh lord! how it did fly ’round! and we were as happy a set of soldiers as ever lived “in spite of wind and weather.” “Whoa Winship,” says Gibson, “that’s too strong” so he drank it all to keep us from being injured. Well, we amused ourselves in this way until dark—then we waded back to our respective domiciles (is a tent a domicile?) having previously seen old Patt make his grand entrée in the midst of a hard rain—he in Dr. Wright’s[16] covered wagon (looking for all the world like an old Quaker farmer going to market), his escort and staff dripping with the rain. We wondered why they looked so dismal and thought that it had not been such a horrid bad day after all!
This evening G. W. [Smith] and myself had a grand cursing match over an order from the “stable” requiring a detail from our camp to pitch and unpitch the General’s tents etc. However, we sent them just about the meanest detail that they ever saw. At this place our large army was divided into two columns. We moved at the head of the first column. General Pillow came on one day after us.
We started about 7.30—a bright sunny morning. Nothing of interest this day—the men improved in their marching. We encamped about three o’clock at Guijano, where there were two ponds of very good water. We had a beautiful spot for our encampment, and a most delightful moonlight evening. There is one house—hut rather—at this place. From Matamoros to this place the road is excellent requiring no repairs—chaparral generally thick on roadside—one or two small prairies—road would be boggy in wet weather. From Matamoros to Moquete [is] about ten miles, from El Moquete to El Guijano about ten miles.
On the next day (December 24th) we marched to Santa Teresa, a distance of 27 miles. It was on this march that we (i. e. Songo[17]) made the “raise” on General Patterson’s birds. He sent us four for supper. We ate as many as we could and had five left for breakfast—fully equal to the loaves and fishes this. We stopped for nearly an hour at Salina—a pond of rather bad water about half way to Santa Teresa—what a rush the Voluntarios made for the water! When we arrived we found the mustang crowd taking their lunch.[18] As Songo had just then made one of his periodical disappearances we were left without anything to eat for some time, but at last we descried him caracoling across the prairie on his graceful charger. The mustangs did not have the politeness to ask us to partake of their lunch, but when Songo did come our brandy was better than theirs anyhow. At Santa Teresa the water was very bad—being obtained from a tancho. I bluffed off a volunteer regiment some 100 yards from our camp. As the Lieutenant Colonel of this same regiment (3rd Illinois) was marching them along by the flank he gave the command “by file left march!”—to bring it on the color line. The leading file turned at about an angle of 30 degrees. “Holloa there” says the Colonel “you man there, you dont know how to file.” “The h—l I dont” yells the man “d—n you, I’ve been marching all day, and I guess I’m tired.”
Road good—passes principally through prairie—at Salina wood scarce in immediate vicinity of the water, plenty about three quarters of a mile from it. Wood not very plenty at Santa Teresa—enough however.
December 25th. We started at sunrise, and it was a sunrise well worthy of the day. A cloud obscured the sun at first, but it seemed a cloud of the brightest, purest gold, and the whole east was tinged with a hue which would defy the art of man to imitate. It was one of those scenes which occur but once in many years, and which elevate us for a moment above the common range of our thoughts. In an instant I thought of my whole life, of the happy Christmas days of my childhood, of my mother, of the very few others I love—how happy Arthur and Mary[19] must have been at that moment with their Christmas gifts! When I was a child—as they are now—I little thought that I should ever spend a Christmas day upon the march, in Mexico. The time may come hereafter when I shall spend Christmas in a way little anticipated by me on this Christmas day. God grant that my troubles may be as few and my thoughts as pleasant as they were then!
I rode off into the prairie—followed by Songo—and in the excitement of chasing some rabbits managed to lose the column. I at length found my way back, and was told that I had created quite an excitement. When I was first seen in the distance they did not know whether I was a Mexican or a white man. Patt, finally concluded that I must be a straggling “Tennessee horse,” gave the Colonel a blowing up for allowing his men to leave the column, and directed him to send out a guard to apprehend the “vagrom man.” Just about that time Smith found out what was going on, discovered who it was and rectified the mistake.
Passed Chiltipine about 11 A. M.—sent Songo to buy eggs and milk. After we had passed about a mile beyond the Ranche [Rancho, a hut], I heard a peculiar neigh—which I recognized as Jim’s—and loud laughing from the volunteers. I turned around and saw Jim “streaking it against time” for the mare—head up, eyes starting and neighing at every jump, minus Songo. I rode back to see what had become of the “faithful Jumbo,” Jim following like a little puppy dog. It appeared that Jim had thrown his “fidus Achates.” When we stopped at Chiltipine Dr. Wright gave us a drink of first rate brandy.
At Chiltipine (or very near there) we left the road and took a prairie path to the left. The grass was so high that we found ourselves at about 1 P. M. out of sight of the train and artillery. Pat became very much agitated and ordered a halt, glasses were put in requisition (brandy and spy) but no train could be discovered. Pat became highly excited and imagined all kinds of accidents. At last some artillery was discovered. Pat’s excitement reached its highest pitch, for he took it into his head that they were Mexicans. “Good G—d, Mr. Smith! Take your glass—take your glass—those are our artillery or something worse! I fear they have been cut off.” However, it turned out to be Gibson, and Pat’s countenance changed suddenly from a “Bluntish,” blueish, ghastly white to a silly grin.