December 31st. We left Encinal at daybreak and arrived at about 2 P. M. at Santander, o’ Jimenez. Road good for about ten miles when we found ourselves on the brow of a hill, some 350 feet above the vast plain, in the midst of which was the little town of Santander. No other indication of life was to be seen than its white houses. The descent was very steep, the road bad from the foot of the hill to Santander. We had a slight stampede here, some one imagined that he saw an armed troop approaching (which turned out to be the Alcalde and his suite). We passed the town, crossed the river and encamped. Songo got 19 eggs and we had a “bust.” Colonel Thomas turned out some whiskey to Gibson for an eggnog—before he arrived the eggnog was gone. I have some indistinct ideas of my last sensible moments being spent in kneeling on my bed, and making an extra eggnog on the old mess chest. I dont recollect whether I drank it or not, but as the pitcher was empty the next morning, I rather fancy that I must have done so.
January 1st, 1847. Woke up and found the ridge pole off at one end. I rather suspect that G. W. [Smith] must have done it by endeavoring to see the old year out—perhaps the new one came in via our tent, and did the damage in its passage. We began the new year by starting on the wrong road. After invading about two miles of the enemies’ country we were overtaken by an officer at full gallop, who informed us that the column had taken another road and that we must make our way to the front as we best could. Smith had been informed the preceding day by Winship (General Pillow’s Adjutant General) that the road we took was the right one to Victoria. We quickly discovered the magnitude of our mistake, for we got amongst the Volunteers, and the lord deliver us from ever getting into such a scrape again. Falstaff’s company were regulars in comparison with these fellows—most of them without coats; some would have looked much better without any pants than with the parts of pants they wore; all had torn and dirty shirts—uncombed heads—unwashed faces—they were dirt and filth from top to toe. Such marching! They were marching by the flank, yet the road was not wide enough to hold them and it was with the greatest difficulty that you could get by—all hollowing, cursing, yelling like so many incarnate fiends—no attention or respect paid to the commands of their officers, whom they would curse as quickly as they would look at them. They literally straggled along for miles.
In making a short cut through the chaparral we came upon a detachment of mounted Volunteers, amongst whom the famous Murphy, captor of two cities, stood out predominant. He was mounted on the “crittur” he had “drawn,” i. e. stolen in the bushes. The beast was frisky and full of life at first, but by dint of loading him down with knapsacks and muskets he had tamed him pretty well. Imagine an Irishman some six feet, two inches high, seated on the “hindmost slope of the rump” of a jackass about the size of an ordinary Newfoundland dog, his legs extended along its sides, and the front part of the beast loaded down with knapsacks etc. Murphy steered the animal with his legs, every once and a while administering a friendly kick on the head, by way of reminding him that he was thar.
When we crossed the San Fernando I saw a Mexican endeavoring to make two little jackasses cross. He was unable to do so and finally sold them to a Volunteer for fifty cents; the Volunteer got them over safely. After regaling ourselves with a view of Murphy we considered ourselves fully repaid for the extra distance we had marched. At last we gained our place at the head of the column and arrived at Marquesoto about 12 noon, without further incident—except that General Pillow appropriated one of our big buckets to the purpose of obtaining water from the well. We had a very pretty ground for our encampment and had a fine eggnog that night, with Winship to help us drink it. From Santander to Marquesoto about ten miles.
January 2nd. Started before daylight, Captain Snead’s Company in advance. Road very rough, covered with loose stones—could not improve it with the means at our command. Pat thought we might have done it—but hang Pat’s opinion. Saw for the first time the beautiful flower of the Spanish bayonet—a pyramid, about two and a half or three feet high, composed of hundreds of white blossoms. Pat immediately began to talk about “δενδρον” this and “δενδρον” that—and the “δενδρα” in his conservatory. San Antonio is the place where Iturbide[20] was taken—as Arista’s map says.... It is a large yellow house—looking quite modern in the wilderness.
Facsimile reproduction of McClellan’s manuscript.
First Page of the Mexican War Diary.
The crossing at the stream was very bad, and required a great deal of work. Major McCall thought it would take two days—in two days we were at Victoria. The stream is a branch of the Soto la Marina and is called San Antonio. It is a clear cold stream—the banks lined with cypress trees—the first I ever saw. Pat (after ringing in to the owner of the ranch for a dinner) ensconced himself in the roots of a large cypress and with a countenance expressing mingled emotions of fear, anxiety, impatience and disgust watched the progress of the work—yelled at everyone who rode into the water etc., etc.
January 3rd. We started before daylight and succeeded in getting clear of the volunteer camp by dint of great exertions. After marching about five miles through a fertile river bottom we reached the main branch of the Soto la Marina, a most beautiful stream of the clearest, coldest, most rapid water I ever saw—about sixty yards wide and three feet deep. Songo had some trouble in crossing without being washed off “Jim.”
Padilla is situated on the banks of this stream—an old town rapidly going to ruin—with a quaint old Cathedral built probably 200 years ago, if not more. After marching about twelve miles more we reached the stream of La Corona, another branch of La Marina, similar in its character to the others. After working for about an hour on the banks we encamped on the further side. The Tennessee horse gave our men a “lift” over both the last streams—some of the Sappers[21] had evidently never been mounted before.