Chapter 18

1867 - 1868: the border

By the first of September the regiment had begun to establish routines in most aspects of frontier duties and garrison life.

I had prepared a scout-sniper continuing training plan for Captain Lange’s review. It involved specified reviews and practice routines of scouting, reconnaissance, and sharpshooting skills, along with small unit operations. These would be conducted by the senior scout non-com at each post and included periodic evaluations. My intention was to visit each of the nine garrisons at least three times a year to assist and evaluate the ongoing training. Obviously, training routines would take second place to the necessities of our frontier mission, but training was important, both for the skills involved and for the morale and cohesion of the platoons.

We had already experienced a loss of a number of men from the regiment. Most men had signed-up for two-year enlistments; those would run for another ten months. The majority of them were expected to re-enlist. But there had been casualties in the line of duty, seven from accidents, but also twelve men killed or seriously wounded as the result of hostile action, primarily attempting to intercept groups of bushwhackers or Indian raiding parties, though one man had been found murdered outside of Fort McIntosh. That apparent murder remained unresolved. Another fifteen enlisted men, all at Fort Ringgold, had died from an outbreak of cholera, thought to be related to some oysters that had been brought from the Gulf by the crew of one of the river steamers and sold to the men; six men of that boat’s crew had died as well.

Thirty-five replacements were being sent from Regimental headquarters at Baton Rouge. Captain Lange told me that, rather than have Company A, which had remained at headquarters, rotate into the frontier posts, it would be used as a recruitment and training company to provide replacements to the border garrisons. Men would be rotated in individually, rather than as an entire company. At the same time, headquarters would recruit and train an extra platoon that could relieve the frontier platoons for the men to take extended leaves.

For our initial training reviews, Jordie and I split up. Rather than send written orders, which most would struggle with anyway, we decided to stop at each garrison and explain the program, then go on to the next camp, simply telling them what we planned to do. He headed northwest toward Fort Davis, while I headed southeast toward Fort Ringgold. We brought each battalion’s Indian scouts with us. Reeds Water went with Jordie.

We stopped at each post on our outbound trip to explain the plan and perform a cursory review, then head to the next post. Upon reaching Fort Davis and Fort Ringgold, we would follow that same routine, then lay over a hew days while the that fort’s scout cadre put things in order. At that point, we performed a thorough review and evaluation, before returning to the next post for a similar routine, working our ways back to Fort Duncan.

For the three days of a review, we’d start each day with a twenty mile hike with sixty-pound packs. On the first day we’d play two rounds of fox and hounds. The first game was with two teams of mixed colored scouts and Indian scouts on each team. The second game pitted Indian scouts against colored scouts. Each man on a winning team was scored two points, while the losing team earned one point.

The second day was a shooting contest, with both rifles and bows. With rifles, we fired at two hundred, five hundred, and eight hundred yards, with one, two, or three points available for each scout’s best shot. Bow shooting was at fifty, seventy-five, and one hundred yards, and was similarly scored.

On the third day we tested reconnoitering and map drawing. The commander of the post judged the results, without knowing which man had supplied the drawing. More than simple representations of the topography, the scouts were to suggest best approaches and ambush spots. These were graded on a four-point scale.

Up to three extra points could be earned for skill with the heliograph.

On the morning we departed the camp, I would post the scores and times in the barracks, including a total score. Highest total score won a dollar, second highest won fifty cents, and the third two bits, prizes not to be sneezed at when you earned less than forty-three cents a day. But mostly it was about bragging and ragging rights.

That initial round of reviews took us almost six weeks, including our march time out and back. Following that, with Captain Lange’s counsel, we made several adjustments.

First, in order to leave some Indian scouts at their battalions, only two went with the review teams, which also included either Jordie or me, and another colored scout. To fill those positions we would borrow the highest-scoring Indian and colored scouts from the last round. We continued to field two review teams, each team consisting of three men: a colored scout, an Indian scout, and either Jordie or myself.

Second, we rode horses, reducing the training trips from six weeks to just under four weeks.

Third, we made the review visits unannounced and would sometimes vary the order or even skip a post entirely.

Over time, scores improved markedly.

On Monday, December first, an order was posted in each camp announcing that the regiment’s Model 1861 muzzle-loading Springfield fifty-eight caliber rifles were going to be temporarily replaced by the Smith Carbine.

The Smith Carbine was a fifty caliber, single-shot, break-action, breech-loaded, percussion cap-ignited weapon with a rifled barrel that was just a hair over twenty-one and a half inches and an overall length of thirty-nine and a half inches. For comparison, our Springfield Model 1861 had a forty inch barrel and an overall length of fifty-six inches. At seven and a half pounds, the carbine was also a pound and a half lighter than our muskets.

The Smith Carbine was first manufactured in eighteen fifty-seven and was the invention of Dr. Gilbert Smith, of Buttermilk Falls, New York, an inveterate firearms tinkerer. Among its unique features was an India-rubber cartridge that was sliced open as the breech block was closed, exposing the powder. The Smith Carbine’s primary use during The War was by units of Union cavalry.

As Captain Lange explained to Jordie and I, “Arming infantry with this carbine is an experiment. The Army has taken note that most of our encounters with hostile opponents are usually in the nature of a skirmish and at much closer range than had been common in the major engagements during the war. In fact, it was Colonel Mackenzie who brought these conditions to the attention of brigade command. They passed it up the chain. The Colonel suggested that a breech loaded, hard-cartridge, shorter weapon would be more effective, especially in the wooded tracts along the lower Rio.”

We were standing at ease before the Captain’s desk in the junior officers’ “bull pen,” the room which served as the shared office for the captains and lieutenants assigned to the Regimental field headquarters. Captain Lange was seated at one end of the table that served as his work space. The other end of the five-by-three-foot table was the desk of Captain Ranulph Eubanks, the Assistant Quartermaster. Major Andrew Jeffries, the Quartermaster, worked from Fort Ringgold. It was just after dinner and only Captain Lange, Jordie, and I were in the twenty-foot square room; none of the other officers had returned from chow yet.

The Captain shrugged. “It’s certainly not the latest weapon available, but I think we will do well with these carbines. Reloads per minute should be trebled at least, nor will it require the need for exposure to use the ramrod. It’s a little clumsy to break the Smith’s breech while reloading in a prone position, but certainly much easier than with a muzzle-loader.

“There’s one peculiarity, though: it can sometimes be difficult to remove the spent rubber cartridge from the breech. We’ll have to devise some technique once they arrive.

“Oh, by the way, this is just a temporary re-arming. They are not purchasing any more cartridges for this carbine, so don’t grow too attached. When the supply of cartridges is exhausted, we’ll be going back to the muskets and the carbines will be going back to New Orleans.”

Then he looked to Jordie and back to me. “One more thing: when these carbines arrive at Fort Ringgold, the Colonel wants you two and Reeds Water, and at least seven more Indian and colored scouts to be with the platoon that provides escort when the freighters bring them along to the posts.

“There’ll be a sergeant accompanying the carbines to Fort Ringgold. He’s familiar with the Smith Carbine and he’ll instruct you and your scout party, then you’ll do the same with the garrison at each post.”

“When will that be, Cap’n?” Jordie asked.

“Just after the first of the year. Oh, and you’ll be on horseback. There’ll be ten cavalrymen as escort, too. And the paymaster.”

“The paymaster, too, Cap’n?”

“The paymaster, too, Jordie.”

“Will there be elephants and clowns, Cap’n?”

“No elephants, but I’m sure there’ll be clowns, Sergeant Tipton.”

I was grinning but something occurred to me. “The infantry platoon providing escort will be afoot, though, sir?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Then we’d best be scouting afoot on the return journey, sir, and let the cavalry take extended lead and rear, just within the range of the sounds of gunfire.”

“That will be up to the senior officer in the escort, Seneca.”

“As you say, Captain. But we may want to have in mind which cargo is to have priority in our responsibility, the payroll or the carbines?”

“And the ammunition.”

“Ammunition too, sir?”

Captain Lange sighed and looked down at a paper on his desk. “They’re shipping us two hundred wax-sealed wooden boxes, each box with six hundred rounds in paper-board containers.” He looked up at me. “The Colonel wants them distributed twenty boxes to a post with six additional at each battalion headquarters.”

“That’s a hunnert niney-eight, Cap’n,” Jordie observed. “Leaves two extra, sir.”

Lange grinned at Jordie. “Very good, Sergeant. I reckon we’ll just keep those two extra boxes here at Duncan.”

Then he turned back to me. “I’ll ask the Colonel, but I’d say the carbines and ammunition would be the cargo of more consequence to our mission here, not so much as we need them but more to keep them from falling into the wrong hands.”

I nodded. “I’m sure the men would see the payroll as the more valuable freight, sir, but I’d be inclined to agree with your estimation.”

Jordie and I decided to set out early on the trip to Fort Ringgold so that we could review the scout preparedness at each post, starting with Fort Duncan. And to take advantage of the opportunity for some additional leadership training, I asked the scouts who would serve on the escort detail to join us as part of the review team.

To that end, joining me. Jordie, and Reeds were Indian scouts Corporal Twin Smith and Guillermo “Memo” Micca, both from Second Battalion at Fort Duncan; and colored scouts Brightboy Williams, Corporals Grover Fairchild and Elias Woodburn, and Privates Brightboy Williams, George Lincoln, and Martin N’debe. Fairchild was with Company C, Second Platoon at Camp Mackenzie, Woodburn with Company F, Second Platoon at Fort Duncan; Lincoln from Company G, Second Platoon at Camp Walker; and N’debe from Company E, First Platoon at Camp Crockett. Some of the scout detail we’d pick up at the posts as we made our way southeast toward Fort Ringgold. However, George Lincoln would be joining us from Camp Walker. In fact, I wanted him to oversee the scout review at Fort Duncan because he would be the outsider with no iron in the fire.

Jordie, Reeds, and I wanted to participate in the review exercises, not just observe and evaluate them. We’d set the scoring up so that there would be no need for anyone to make a personal judgment about an individual’s performance, so the scoring was almost exclusively objective in nature. The closest we came to a subjective evaluation was when the commandant evaluated the mapping reports. But he didn’t know who had prepared each one, so that evaluation had more to do with the competence displayed rather than who prepared it. I felt some need to improve my own mapping skills, so I was looking forward to that exercise.

In addition, we planned to add a race to the twenty-mile hikes that were routine for the three mornings of a review. For that purpose, we decided to make a race of the return journey on the third morning. We would march out together, as as was our routine, but for the return ten miles, it would be a race back to the post, with all starting at the same time. First place would get two points, second place would earn one point. To keep the race within the confines of military competencies, immediately following one’s completion of the race, each man would have to participate in target shooting. This would also discourage running to exhaustion

As always, the inspection team would post its individual scores and times along with the scouts being reviewed, although neither our scores nor times would count in the reward placements or the overall scores for that post.

Corporal George Lincoln from Camp Walker, a scout private for Second Platoon, G Company, arrived at Fort Duncan with a returning freight wagon train on Wednesday, December fourth. The following day, we began a review of the Fort Duncan scout contingent. This included six colored scouts from the two platoons of Company F along with the five Indian scouts from Second Battalion, as well as me, Jordie, Reeds, and George Lincoln.

Over the next three days, I discovered several things. While I was able to hold my own in most categories, Jordie could out-shoot me -- and everyone else. Reeds Water and Beaver Teeth were both better than me and everyone else with the bow. And I was ahead by a literal mile at the end of the ten-mile race on day three.

By way of explanation, I determined that Jordie, besides his extraordinary eyesight, was just better at calculating the variables in sharpshooting. I also came to discover that the Pawnee, of which tribe Reeds and Beaver Teeth were members, were often superior bowmen because the Pawnee, being a generally poor tribe, its members could afford but few firearms, and little powder and lead. As a result they were more dependent on the bow for sustenance and combat and they tended to develop better bow skills. Finally, my racing prowess was likely because I had just learned how to keep up a sustained fast pace from Uncle Sammie, who said that the skill was one required of warriors in the tribes of the Iroquois Confederation. He and I had run a steady, if conservative, pace for hours at a time.

On the other hand, my map-drawing skills were mediocre, at best. Captain Lange had judged the maps and I went to him afterwards to ask what I should do to improve.

“Two things, I think,” he said. “First make your detail symbols smaller and draw more of them. Second, when you’re looking over the ground to be mapped, picture it in your mind as if it were already drawn on paper. In other words, see the ground as a map of drawn features as you gaze on it.”

Without pressing the horses, we were able to make each post in two-day marches. Allowing for the three days in scout reviews at each of three camps, we arrived at Fort Ringgold on Christmas eve, eighteen sixty-seven. As we had progressed southeast through the posts, our detail had added Indian scouts, Corporal Twin Smith and Private Memo Micca, along with infantry scouts, Privates Brightboy Williams, Martin N’debe, and Corporal Elias Woodburn. Along with me, Jordie, Reeds, and Private George Lincoln. All of these men had been high scorers in their respective reviews.

Christmas Day saw us in worship services and feasting -- at least feasting by Army standards, with noon-time dinner including pieces of roast chicken accompanying the beans and rice, and a dessert of pumpkin pie; usually, we only had a dessert on Sunday. Other than morning assembly and roll call, it was a day of general relaxation. A group of infantrymen went around the post singing carols, hymns, and other popular songs, polishing their performance with some practiced harmonizing. There was a horseshoe-throwing tournament and a base-ball game. In the evening, a number of the men staged a minstrel show, with singing to the accompaniment of guitars, banjos, and tambourines.

On the twenty-sixth it was back to army routines and, after assembly and morning chow, I gathered the review team to make a few points about my methods and general approach. The nine of them -- Jordie, Reeds, Corporal Twin Smith, Memo Micca, Corporal Elias Woodburn, Grover Fairchild, Martin N’debe, George Lincoln, and Brightboy Williams -- sat along the front edge of the barracks’ porticoed veranda while I stood out front in the cool, sunny morning.

“Tomorrow we’ll review the Fort Ringgold scout contingent. We’ll take Sunday off and finish on Monday. I wanted to explain the manner, or maybe the attitude, I try to use in carrying out a review.

“I learned from my folks and my uncle and some good Army officers and sergeants to encourage people to do things right rather than to deride them for doing something wrong. In other words, correct them, don’t berate them. That idea guided me in setting up scout training as well as in organizing these reviews.

“As the Army sees them, these reviews amount to official inspections. When I report on them to the regiment, I have to fill out an inspection report form. But the idea of an inspection is one that annoys most soldiers, so I try to stay away from that notion. Besides, we are really doing training while the scouts are, in practical terms, inspecting themselves.

“I can see you’re wondering how that can be, soldiers inspecting themselves. Well, it’s all on account of something Captain Lange pointed out to me, something that is plain as day, once you hear it: all the scouts like to compete with one another or compete with other soldiers. Just remember, all the colored scouts had to compete in various abilities and skills just to be included in the scout cadre, and it was all voluntary. With Indian scouts, from what I’ve learned, there is almost constant competition in various skills in every camp and village. Even the Indian women like to be known to excel at various skills.

“To avoid the odium of an inspection, all I had to do was allow that spirit of competition to carry the weight of what amounted to an actual performance evaluation. To foster that competitive spirit, we set it up so that each scout in the review earns points for doing well, and then we post their scores and times at the end of the review, and give out prizes to the best of the best. It all happens without us having to pass judgment on the men. The men, themselves, are eager to do better than their fellows, so we don’t have to browbeat them into improving, just freely offer advice. And its why we compete alongside them and post our own scores and times, so that we can demonstrate we know what we’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Jordie called, “or demonstrate you don’t know wha’ch talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Or that,” I agreed. I concluded with, “So there you have it, unit self-inspections and never a disparaging word.” I grinned at them. “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Jordie said. “What if you see a man doin’ something wrong, but he doesn’t ask for help?” Jordie and I had discussed this very thing, so I knew he was just priming the pump for the others to ask questions.

“Okay,” I began, “let’s say you’re on a review team and one of the scouts in review is doing poorly in his shooting skills. You think you’ve got at least one of his problems spotted, but he doesn’t ask you how to do better. How you deal with that partially depends on what you know about the man. If you know he’s easy-going and won’t take offense, you can just go up to him and say something like, “I noticed you’re supporting the barrel stock a little short. You might try taking hold a little further down the stock.’

“Or, if he’s the prickly type, wait until the next review, and if he still scores poorly on shooting, you might then approach him with, ‘Y’ know, I noticed most of the shooters seem to take a grip outward of center on the barrel stock.’ Or, if he’s really prickly, you could make your advice general to the whole group. You could announce to everyone, ‘A common mistake is to pull your support hand too close to your trigger hand. The farther out you can comfortably hold the barrel stock, the steadier your aim.’ That way, it goes for everybody, not just the man who’d take offense to be corrected.”

Brightboy asked, “What if he still don’t catch on?”

I shrugged, tipping my head slightly to the side. “Then we might be dealing with a different problem. If, on a third review, he still hasn’t caught on, then I’d go to him privately, where others won’t take notice. That privacy could be important to him. I’d say something to the effect that, ‘If you want to improve your shooting scores, you’ll likely have to move your support hand further out the barrel stock.’

“But keep in mind that the problem may be something else entirely. Maybe his eyes have gone bad. Maybe swamp fever has left him with the shakes. Maybe he hits the jug every day. Maybe he’s got bad news from home. It all depends on how big a problem the poor shooting is. If he’s still better than the average soldier, then it might not be a worry. If he’s doing poorly in other scouting skills too, then you need to bring it to me, or Jordie, or Reeds, or even Captain Lange though its likely he’d want you to bring it to me, first. I suppose, by rights, I should know about it before it gets to be a problem, so best bring it to me, though you could pass the word through Jordie or Reeds, if you prefer.”

George Lincoln asked, “So you’re sayin’ we ain’t never to say anythin’ bad to the men about how they do things?”

“More or less, but not exactly. Let me put it this way: Say good things where others can hear your praise, but keep the admonishments for private. And even then, no name calling, no berating. Tell ‘em what they’re doing wrong and how to correct it. If they argue, tell ‘em to just give it an honest try. If they resist, and it affects their scores, kick it up to me.

“But, for a general approach, you should say good things, encouraging things, as often as you can without sounding a false note.”

“False note?” Brightboy asked.

Jordie said, “It’s almost more important how you say it rather than what you say. Don’t get me wrong, they’s both important, but you don’ wanna sound like you jus’ be pretendin’.” Then Jordie exemplified his point by saying, in a syrupy-sweet voice, “Oh, you did such a fine job on that.” This he contrasted with a nearly uninflected, “God job, soldier.”

We discussed this for another ten minutes or so, then I challenged them to catch up with the Fort’s scout cadre, who had left a half hour earlier on a twenty-mile hike.

By December thirty-first, we had finished with the review of the Fort Ringgold scouts and were once again sitting in the sun on the front edge of the barracks’ veranda, letting breakfast settle. I stood in front of them again and, consulting my notebook, I announced, “Major Jeffries, the Quartermaster, tells me that the boat with the paymaster and the carbines should be here on the third, which is Friday.”

Consulting my notes, I continued, “There’ll be two officers with us: Major Hezekiah Adams, the paymaster, and Second Lieutenant Marcel Rochambeau. The Lieutenant’s headed for Company J at Fort Davis. One of their looies decided he’d rather ride than walk, so he transferred to the Tenth Cavalry where his brother is assigned.”

Jordie observed, “I heard that Lieutenant Rochambeau is a shave-tail, fresh out a’ that West Point Army college.”

“Dey lets any coloreds into dat Army college?” Brightboy Williams asked.

“Why? You thinkin’ ‘bout applyin’, Brightboy?” George Lincoln chided.

“Matter a’ fack,” Brightboy came back, “I’s be thinkin’ ‘bout applyin’ t’ be a teacher at dat dere college, learnin’ dem boys what soldierin’ be like when folks be shootin’ at ya.”

Jordie said, “Some a’ them shave-tails could stand some schoolin’ in that, fer sure.”

“All right, all right, enough a’ that,” I admonished. “You’ll have twenty-three replacements you can impress with your wisdom and skills. Just don’t forget that your first job will be as scouts escorting some of the most valuable cargo that’s been transported by the regiment so far. Remember what happened with our first payroll out here: bushwhackers killed some good men -- black men, red men, and white men. You’ll need to stay alert the whole time.”

“We hear ya, Sarge,” Brightboy said. “Be movin’ real careful this trip.”

When the Forty-first had organized into the three field battalions, Brigade had allowed for the appointment of a major to command each battalion. Each major was allocated a staff of a first lieutenant, a first sergeant, and a private to act as clerk. The Regiment also designated a Headquarters Company, “Company K.” This company included Colonel Mackenzie, Lieutenant Colonel Shafter, Major Schofield, the regiment headquarters staff, and all of the battalion commanders and staff. Company K was simply an administrative designation to keep regimental and battalion personnel distinct from the garrison companies, that is, Companies B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, and J. Company A, as noted previously, would garrison the home base at Baton Rouge and provide recruitment, training, and replacements for the frontier posts. Company A was commanded by a major.

On January second, Major Elliot Bracken, commander of First Battalion at Camp Mackenzie, at Zapata, Texas, arrived at Fort Ringgold. He brought orders from Colonel Mackenzie revising the handling of the payroll. Rather than carry the entire payroll to regimental headquarters at Fort Duncan and distribute it from there, each battalion commander would accompany the paymaster and distribute the payroll at each post. I learned later that it was Captain Eubanks, the regiment’s assistant quartermaster, who had suggested this arrangement to Colonel Mackenzie.

Major Bracken, per the Colonel’s orders, was to command the escort detachment as far as Fort McIntosh, at which time Major Erik Laar, commander of Second Battalion, would assume command. Though Major Adams, the paymaster, had more time in rank than Major Bracken, it made more sense for the detachment to be commanded by an officer familiar with the territory.

And so we set out after breakfast on Monday, January sixth, eighteen sixty-eight with the paymaster’s ambulance, three freight wagons loaded with crated Smith carbines, two freight wagons with crated ammunition, two supply wagons, and two hay wagons in train.

Counting Lieutenant Rochambeau, the initial detail included three officers, an infantry platoon of thirty-two men led by a lieutenant, a sergeant, and a corporal, twenty-three replacement privates, ten cavalrymen, one of whom was a sergeant, ten scouts, two supply wagon drivers, the ambulance driver, seven civilian teamsters, and a hostler, totaling eighty-four foot and mounted Army personnel and eight civilians, plus horses, mules, and bullocks.

Along with the Fort Ringgold garrison, we had all been made familiar with the Smith carbine. A sergeant from Company A had instructed us in its use and care. As to the problem with extracting spent cartridges, a corporal in Company A had come up with a way to deal with the occasional cartridge-sticking problem. The man had used the point on a six-penny nail to get a purchase on any sticking spent rubber cartridge to extract it from the firing chamber. The men of Company A then carried one or two nails stuck between the lathes from which our cartridge boxes were constructed, so that the nails were quickly at hand when needed. The sticking wasn’t wasn’t a common problem and seemed limited to a few batches of cartridges. If a soldier came across a troublesome batch, he could use a length of string to tie the nail to his finger or wrist to be handy while he dealt with the troublesome batch. As a result, a supply of nails and string, compliments of the Baton Rouge garrison, arrived with the carbines.

For the most part, the men liked the carbine. Moreover, even the slowest recruit could fire four aimed shots in sixty seconds, though most could fire six or more aimed shots in that span.

However, only a very few were permitted to demonstrate that skill because of one of the chronic supply deficits of the colored regiments, a limited ammunition supply.

We were carrying sufficient cartridges and percussion caps for one hundred eighty loads for each carbine. Word had it that Springfield held a like number of cartridges in reserve, but would not be manufacturing nor purchasing more. After the ammunition was exhausted, the carbines were to be made available for sale. Considering the magazine-fed repeaters on the market, I was skeptical about the likelihood of the success of such sales. However, I heard some officers speculating that some impoverished country whose military held even more outdated weapons might be a customer.