The heat, softened by constant breezes, was thought by many less oppressive than in Tennessee and Kentucky, though sometimes men fainted at the drills. Bathing proved a valuable resource; and on the seashore there were oysters, crabs and a large variety of beautiful fish to catch and eat. Stately processions of herons and scarlet-winged flamingos and the chatter of jackdaws and many other birds amused the soldiers; and some of those addicted to sport discussed the project of crossing the mosquitos with gamecocks, we are told. The roar of the sea and the mirages along the river, innumerable flowers, the solemn burros (donkeys) almost buried by their loads, the Mexicans vending eatables at exorbitant prices, the long lines of tents where such a luxury as tents existed, target shooting, and now and then the muffled drum helped occupy one’s attention. On July 5 occurred a Sunday and a sermon—the last of the campaign. At sunset a tremulous orange haze in the west was due, followed by the twinkling lights of the camp, that were so agreeable to view from a distance, and then by the howling of wolves, the tenor chorus of the swamps, and the agonized baritone fugues of the donkeys. It was now time for singing, story-telling and, above all, gambling—perhaps Old Sledge on a blanket, perhaps Chuckle-luck, perhaps monte, perhaps faro; and now and then came a fandango (dance) on the hard ground with such American and Mexican women as there were. The camp life was “a rough furnace and a hot fire,” wrote Sergeant Miller; but the novelty of it soon wore off, and the volunteers grew discontented.[7]

THE MORALE OF THE ARMY

They had come for glory and a good time, and were having neither. They wanted to do something, and to do it at once or go home. One at least of them believed that assignment to garrison duty would have led to general desertion. Wherever they were, they panted to be somewhere else. Having come to gamble, with their lives for a stake, they clamored to have the game begin. If there was no enemy to fight, they were ready to fight friends; and in one of the many brawls and riots Colonel Baker was shot in the neck. Four or five months of training under expert officers and strict discipline were necessary to prepare regulars for the field;[8] and naturally these volunteers, almost wholly alien to the habits, feelings and efficiency of the real soldier, often felt at liberty to thwart and even defy their commander, and were unable to coöperate with him intelligently when really disposed to do so. In spite of positive orders they wasted ammunition recklessly, and Lieutenant Meade thought a day passed in his tent no less perilous than a stiff battle.[11]

The officers were very similar. One brigadier general came with a light buggy, in which he proposed to make the campaign. Another had enlisted as a private, and, not being deemed worthy to command the company, had been elected a lieutenant; but the executive fiat provided him with qualifications. “In the name of God,” wrote a soldier to Senator Allen, don’t let Hamer be a brigadier general; he is talented, but doesn’t dare undertake to drill a squad; yet the commission was issued.[9] Pillow, another of the same rank, ambitious to figure but not acquainted with his proper work, did what was not proper. Some of the volunteer generals on horseback reminded Lieutenant Jamieson of the line,

“Woe to the mullein-stalk that came in our way.”

Persons of a mature age, who had bulked large at home, would not stoop to plod through the rudiments of a new profession. Even good officers were in fear of the letters written by their men and the revenge that might be taken later, should real discipline be enforced; while those less conscientious threatened to resign if kept in the background, stood in the way of superiors belonging to the opposite political party, in order to prevent them from making a reputation, or even took part with the men in the hope of getting into Congress by and by.[11]

In short, the volunteers were all one costly mass of ignorance, confusion and insubordination, said Meade; while the regular officers felt discouraged, not merely by discovering that civilians were preferred to educated soldiers for high appointments, but by finding themselves in the shadow and even under the command of men who had been discharged from West Point for incapacity or from the army for gross misconduct.[10] At the height of this, General Taylor, who was disqualified by lack of experience and mental discipline for organizing an efficient staff, and therefore needed to use his own eyes and his own voice, held aloof. “I very seldom leave my tent,” he wrote on July 25, adding helplessly, “How it will all end time alone must tell.” Besides, every mail brought letters about the Presidency to distract his attention.[11]

Probably he saw he had blundered. On April 26 he knew that war had begun, and called upon Louisiana and Texas for soldiers with a view to the invasion of Mexico, which he must have believed, under the circumstances, that his government wished. By the rules of the service it was then his duty, as he well knew, to make requisitions for everything the campaign would require,[12] and a zealous commander, gathering—as Taylor had been instructed to do—all the information he could find regarding the local conditions, might reasonably have sent on to Washington with it an able officer to assist the department. With a scorn, however, for science and vision that should have delighted Polk, Taylor did neither; but, assuming that the Mexicans would not fight—if at all—north of the mountains beyond Monterey, he determined to advance with about 6000 men. Unfortunately he neglected to have his engineers inspect the three steamboats on which his plan depended, and these proved to be worm-eaten and practically useless.[13]

TROOPS ADVANCE

About the middle of June, boats for the Rio Grande began to be despatched from New Orleans, but—in addition to mishaps at the coast resulting from gales and the freaks of the shifting bars—a serious embarrassment soon occurred above. A direct advance against Monterey by land was deemed impracticable, because the route lacked water. Taylor had therefore planned to have his troops march to Camargo, the head of navigation toward that city, and send their supplies to that point by the river; but during the first eleven days of July rain fell heavily and flooded the country. The freshet, however, ensured a sufficient depth in the Rio Grande, and on July 6 the Seventh Infantry set out for Camargo. The distance, called about 120 miles by land, was more than twice as long by water; and the river wandered about so much that according to humorous natives a bird could never get across—always alighting on some projection of the bank from which it had risen. It proved a hard task for the light and feeble steamboats, with only green wood for the boilers, to stem the fierce current; the pilots were unacquainted with the difficulties of such navigation;[14] and in making one of the sharp turns a boat was frequently caught by the current, and swept downstream or against the bank—breaking the rudder perhaps.[16]