USA > New York > The first hundred years : records and reminiscences of a century of Company I, Seventh Regiment, N.G.N.Y., 1838-1938 > Part 27
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MEXICANS AND TEXANS
The camp of the 7th New York was a few minutes' walk from the so-called bustling city of McAllen where we were wont to spend our time off. McAllen was known as an American town in a district inhabited mostly by Mexicans, that is, McAllen had a population of three hundred Americans and eight hun- dred Mexicans whereas, with a few other exceptions, most of the surrounding villages had only one or two Americans or none at all. It was the center of McAllen that was American and there we used to go to celebrate our liberty at Helen's Palm Garden, or Jack's, or some of the less pretentious restaurants. But McAllen was not well supplied with amusements and, being only five years old, was raw and ugly in appearance with the hot sun beating down on its shadeless streets.
Nearer camp was the Mexican quarter with its hovels and shops and the saloons which we were not allowed to enter but which were all the more interesting on that account. Some of these saloons reminded one of a western movie. Large wooden shacks outside of which were usually tied a few cow ponies while the strains of Spanish music rendered by mandolins, guitars, and flutes floated through the doors and windows out of which gaily dressed senoritas sometimes looked hospitably at us.
The main street from camp to McAllen passed many of the Mexican homes -dirty little one-room cottages in which the whole family life was visible through the open door, or out in front where the many little naked children were playing. These were of the poorer class or peons and appeared to be almost wholly Indian. The better class lived more like Americans and were of Spanish type.
Several Mexican boys made daily trips to camp with the newspapers on which we relied for information as to what was going on along the Border. For dos centavos we could get a fairly recent issue of the San Antonio Light. For several extra centavos we could get a New York "Erould" five or six days old.
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Then there were the two small shoe polishers. We called the fat muchacho (boy) Carranza, after the President of Mexico, and the thin one Villa, after the most prominent bandit. Both disliked their names, particularly Villa, but Carranza and Villa they remained as long as the Ninth Company was at McAllen.
The Texas cow ponies were also objects of interest and sometimes we would try our luck on one hired from a neighboring rancher. One Ninth Company man returning from the new showers (dressed in a towel) discovered Sam Peters astride of a horse which appeared rooted to the ground in spite of Sam's arguments in favor of motion. The bather, thinking that he knew something about horses, undertook to get the beast started and was entirely successful but could neither stop him nor guide him, and in a few seconds had visited all parts of the Regimental Camp where his costume, so nearly resembling that of Lady Godiva, caused considerable comment. Fortunately the horse went too fast for the rider to be recognized.
But our time was not entirely devoted to bathing, visiting McAllen, or riding horses. We were worked as hard as our bodies would stand it in the heat. Up every morning before daylight, drill from 5:30 to 6 a.m., then back to camp for breakfast after which, as before said, we built roads, dug ditches, and did special jobs such as burning dead mules (and they had been dead some time) until 6 p.m., when we had more drilling and finally got to bed at 10 o'clock. During the hottest part of the day when it would have killed us to work, we had a little time to ourselves. The monotony was varied by an occasional review to some distinguished visitor or a manoeuver on a large or small scale.
THE SHORT HIKE
After we had been well broken in, we began to have march tests. The first was the so-called "Short Hike" which the Company took by itself.
Wearing full equipment, Company I left camp on July 21 and hiked over the road to Mission. About half way there a sandstorm swept down on us, the sharp grains of sand stinging like wasps and making a halt necessary as we could not open our eyes sufficiently to see where we were going. Besides, it was difficult to breathe though we all had handkerchiefs tied over our faces to keep the dust and sand out of our noses. Most of us wore big bandanas tied around our necks when hiking and they were useful at a time like that. This storm being safely weathered, we continued to Mission where we ran into a deluge. A Regular Army outfit, quartered there, allowed us to use some empty barracks to save us from camping in a field running with water and we spent a dry, albeit a very uncomfortable, night. The floors were hard and there were too many of us for the available space. The regulars were not exactly cordial to our National Guard Company but they put up with us and we appreciated the loan of quarters.
Leaving Mission, early the following morning, we marched south along a road which was wide enough but far too deep. Along one side ran a railroad track and to keep out of the bottomless, pudding-like mud, we followed the
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Just picking 'em up and putting 'em down!
track in single file, hopping from tie to tie. At first we were happy, talkative and prone to break into song but the heat soon began to get us and before long everyone was plodding along silently, determined to stick it out as long as possible.
The exertion of jumping from tie to tie was almost too much in that furnace- like heat and every few minutes a man would stagger out into the road, prefer- ring to take his natural stride even if it required a battle with the mud. For a while he would wallow along, over his shoes in sticky slime which held him like flypaper. Now and again he stumbled into a deep spot where the mud and water were above his knees, then he would struggle back to the track and proceed again by a series of little jumps from tie to tie. It was a queer-looking railroad line, on one side of the road, here under water, there overgrown with high weeds. It may have had some use but none was apparent to us.
At Madero City, a squalid settlement of two or three Mexican huts and saloons, the railroad stopped and we went slopping along the country road without ties to help us. We had ten to twenty minutes' rest after every half-hour or so of marching but the heat was so overwhelming that it took all the strength and determination of the strongest to keep going for the half-hour between rests. At the welcome command to halt and fall out, every man dropped exhausted by the roadside, stretched out at full length and then immediately sat up again to get air. Lying flat, we lost a very slight breeze that was blowing and without it we could hardly breathe.
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At one rest we halted just below the slight rise on which stood the monastery or mission of Madero. Men sat along both sides of the road leaning against fences, or using their blanket rolls for a support.
At the rear of the column was the wagon with its four panting mules. Behind that, one man was rolling about in the gutter, groaning while two privates of the Sanitary Detachment, detailed to accompany us, tried to bring him to. A couple of us went to the monastery and borrowed some cold water from the monks who were very kind, the abbot himself coming back with us bringing a tiny piece of ice which was more precious in that country than we realized at the time. We left the heat-struck soldier with the Sanitary men, the abbot and the monks, and pushed on. As we marched away we heard the monks explaining in Spanish to the man (who was too sick to listen) what a very great honor it was to have an abbot with his own hands place a piece of ice on your head.
It was still early in the day when we reached Grande Jeano where we were to bivouack for the night, some of us all in from heat exhaustion and just able to walk on to the field before collapsing, in spite of the fact that the day's march was only seven miles. These heat attacks seldom lasted more than an hour and within that time everyone was loafing about the Company street in shirt, draw- ers and army shoes, the discomforts of the day forgotten. Even the soldier left behind with the monks and medical men showed up in time, apparently none the worse for his experience. In mid-afternoon, ten grains of quinine were issued to each man to stave off malaria,
The camp was laid out in two rows of pup tents in a field close by the Rio Grande to which a short path led. Three Mexican shacks along the high- way made up the town of Grande Jeano and so suspicious was it in appearance and so close was Mexico that we put on a guard and slept with our rifles beside us. Nothing happened, however, and early the next morning each pair of sol- diers unbuttoned their shelter tent, each soldier rolled his half with one pole and five pegs and a blanket into a horseshoe-shaped bundle, slung it over the left shoulder and under the right arm, and again the little column took to the highway.
The road was now much drier and the heat, while intense, was not so bad as on the day before. Marching south, then east, then south again, we came, towards noon, to the city of Hidalgo. Every settlement is a city in Texas even though it has only half a dozen houses. But Hidalgo was a fair-sized village with several streets lined with picturesque little Mexican houses and shops. It stood on a bluff overlooking the Rio Grande. Across the river and a little way above we could see the roofs of Reynosa, a Mexican town connected with Hidalgo by a chain ferry, a primitive scow which pulled itself back and forth across the river. Hidalgo had once been the county seat of Hidalgo County but the only Ameri- cans we found there were members of a little guard of regulars who watched over the Mexican population and kept an eye on the opposite river bank.
We marched through the town and camped in an open space, beyond which were thickets of cactus. Camp was quickly made, the kitchen set up and holes dug for latrines and others for kitchen waste. Then we roamed about the town. Some went to the now deserted town hall, climbed to the roof and looked across
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at Mexico. Others discovered a saloon where beer could be bought and still others explored the town. One group, following about a hundred yards behind another small group, saw a wild-eyed Mexican woman run out of a house, carrying a large revolver, slink along after the leading group and then, seeing the other following, dash back into the house. The Mexican population never forget that this part of the country was once Mexico and none of them appeared particularly friendly, but this was the first time we had seen any of them do more than sulk.
In camp there was a guard detail, a detail to gather wood and a detail to get water for the cooks. We were not allowed to use any water until it had been passed upon by the medical men. Towards evening another company from the 7th came in and camped beside us. They were swinging around the loop in the opposite direction.
On the fourth and last day of the hike, we made another early start and followed the nearly straight road which led to McAllen, five miles away. It was still very hot and the center of the road was impassable to foot soldiers owing to the bottomless mud. We marched in single file behind Captain Hayes, some- times on one side of the road, sometimes on the other while, in the rear, the mules struggled through the mud with the combat wagon. Last of all came the two medical privates in a continuous argument as to whose turn it was to ride their single horse. We were a bedraggled-looking lot, tired, hot and about as dirty as a human being could get. Our O.D. cotton breeches and woollen shirts were black with mud and perspiration, our faces drawn and bodies thin from the long battle with the Texas climate.
It was the heat and the mud and heavy equipment that exhausted us, and not the distance covered. It was almost incredible to us that so much effort was required to go such an insignificant distance. It is easier to walk thirty miles in the north than five in that torrid southern corner of Texas. In spite of it all, the men were surprisingly cheerful. We had our own songs, old tunes to be sure, but with new words composed by ourselves, and we sang as we marched and were always on the watch for humorous incidents and jokes on each other. The Irish song, "A Little Bit of Heaven," made over into "A Little Bit of Hell" was very popular. The fact that the Texans considered it insulting added greatly to its popularity and we used to roar the following and other stanzas as we marched along the road :
Have you ever heard the story of how Texas got its name? If I'd been asked, the name I'd give it sure would be a shame. It's no wonder that we always dream of dear old New York Town, Here's a few good reasons why we nearly always wear a frown.
CHORUS
Sure, when Satan finished making Hell, he had a bit to spare, Which he scooped upon a shovel just to toss most anywhere, And when he threw and turned around and saw what he had done, He said, "By Gosh ! I've almost put the U.S. on the bum."
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And then the pests he sent here take the joy right out of life; Why the water isn't fit to hand your father-in-law's bossy wife. Then he made the sunshine hotter, yes at times it's hot as-well, If I had my way, the name I'd give to Texas would be Hell.
We soon began to pass the camps of other units of the New York Division and the dead monotony of a march in that country was broken by a chance to compare these camps with our own, poke fun at the occupants and reply to the fun poked at ourselves. We were now elosed up and marching along as though we never had a care in the world. Captain Hayes was a born soldier and a real leader and, following Ninth Company tradition, he marched us into our home camp at McAllen, covered with mud to be sure, but marching as if on parade while other companies, yet to go out, watched to see how we had stood the test. A few minutes later a line of naked soldiers was waiting for a turn at the baths and in half an hour, every man was lounging about in clean clothes and, except for the tired look in every eye and the dirt-begrimed clothes hanging from the guy ropes of every tent, the Company street looked as it had for months past.
THE FIRST HURRICANE
After the short hike, which ended July 23, life was more or less uneventful until August 5 when we had our first but not our last experience with a West Indian hurricane. Word came from the Signal Corps that a wind of hurricane force was speeding in our direction and that we had better prepare. We asked each other how one prepared for a hurricane but no one had had any experience except the Texans who called them northers and did not seem particularly concerned over the coming storm. As we were not particularly friendly with the Texans we set about preparing in our own way.
The different squads rushed to town and purchased rope of all sizes from clothes line to ship's cable. Posts were sunk in the ground and tents and tent poles were guyed in every direction according to the best judgment of the squad leader who had no idea what he was preparing for. The hurricane came up to all our expectations which were great. It was as though one was hit by a Kansas cyclone while standing under Niagara Falls. The wind shrieked and howled, the windward side of the tent bellied in until it seemed as though it would bring up against the opposite side. And it rained. We did not know there was so much water in the world. The noise of the wind was sometimes augmented by the shouts of some squad whose tent threatened to depart or had already done so.
We were stormbound for twenty-four hours. The hospital tent was blown down and we were called out to salvage that. No food could be cooked and we had to rely on hardtack and the contents of boxes which members of the squad had received from home. At the moment the storm broke, the temperature fell and kept on falling and we who had become accustomed to intense heat began to shake with the cold. Hunger and cold inspired one squad to try for a hot course in their simple meal. Jimmie Kerr had a canned pudding which had not yet been opened. Someone else had a sort of stove using solidified alcohol. The directions on the pudding can said to heat in boiling water before removing from can. It sounded simple. A wash basin was filled with water, brought to a boil
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Corporal Floyd's squad, McAllen, Texas, 1916
and the can of pudding dropped in. Then came a long wait followed by a loud explosion. Boiling water fled in every direction and when the excitement was over the pudding was found smeared all over the inside of the tent but the can was empty. A voice from the next tent shouted : "Why, you poor fools, you ought to have made a hole in the can to let out the steam."
THE ELEVEN-DAY HIKE
In late August came the "Eleven-Day Hike," so called. The schedule was laid out so that each infantry regiment went over the same route, following each other one day apart. It was excellent training for the Quartermaster's Depart- ment but hell for the Infantry. On the earlier hike, Company I had gone alone and could regulate its speed and its rest periods according to the needs of the Company. Now we had to keep our place in the regimental column. On the other hand, we were now accustomed to heat and hard work which helped a lot.
The first day's march was very short, about six miles, very hot and very dusty. We hiked along the flat, uninteresting road from McAllen to Mission, the alkaline dust of the desert country filling our noses, throats and eyes and cover- ing our clothes. The sweat, running from every pore, mingled with the dust, converting our clothes into black, muddy rags. The old-fashioned blanket roll, over the left shoulder and under the right arm, great thick rolls of wool around our hot bodies, pressed against our chests and made breathing more difficult. Our whole equipment weighed sixty pounds when dry and more when early morning dew or rain was added.
Several men fell out and were picked up by the ambulances which followed the column but the march was soon over and the pup tents pitched in a field at Mission. The squad intrenching tools were passed around and each man en-
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deavored to carve, in the hard adobe ground, a hole which would just fit his reclining body when it came time to sleep. That distributed his weight over the ground instead of putting it all on hip and shoulder with resulting lame spots in those two places. On the highway in front of camp, a Texas Ranger was seizing the small donkey of a Mexican peon who had been passing by. After getting the peon into a high state of excitement and affording himself much
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Lieutenant George P. Nichols McAllen, 1916
amusement, the ranger returned the donkey and mounting his horse, rode off, all decked out in guns, cartridge belt and chaps.
The second day, we had another short hike to the city of Alton, along a high- way which also served as a right of way for a railroad, a single-track road over which, once a day, an antique engine pulled a train made up of one or two freight cars and a dilapidated day coach. The city of Alton consisted, so far as
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we could see, of a schoolhouse surrounded by a few small ranches, and the population seemed hardly large enough to furnish the necessary officials of a city government.
From Alton to Sterling's Ranch on the third day, we marched through a country part of which had not been irrigated, a country known locally as a desert with queer-looking cacti growing in forests along the road. Tall, green columns covered with thorns, great clumps of flat, green, spiny discs, trees with every kind of shape which a tree ought not to have, a sort of Dante's Inferno, which made you feel as though you were in a new world.
Sterling's Ranch was probably the largest of any in the immediate vicinity and the Sterling family was correspondingly important. While there we were visited by a young Texan in all the regalia of a picture-book cow puncher, who entertained us with stories of adventure and shooting affrays in all of which he was very much of a hero. We gathered from him that the shooting of an American is frowned upon but it is no crime to shoot a Mexican. On the con- trary, it is something to boast about.
The ranch was very complete and had, among other equipment, a large tank supplied with water from artesian wells. A long eight-inch pipe, running horizontally about twelve feet from the ground, had been perforated with holes and connected with this tank, making a very good shower bath. The space over which the pipe extended was surrounded by a fence and, in view of the fact that we had come down to Texas to protect the ranchers, we were allowed to enter the enclosure and stand under the shower, provided we paid a generous admis- sion fee.
The "Dandy Seventh," caked with the dust and sweat of three days' hiking, was in a state which can be better imagined than described and in less time than it takes to tell it the enclosure was packed like a New York subway in the rush hour, with a mass of naked men, covered with soap and struggling to get under the pipe. Each company was allowed twenty minutes and then the enclosure was cleared for the next rush.
The following day's march was to La Gloria, a name which Harry Durham, our Spanish expert, told us meant Heaven. This was a deserted ranch and former hangout of Mexican bandits. There was no water at La Gloria and we had to rely on our canteens which held about a quart. In the intense heat of southern Texas, water is the most important thing in life and we drank from our canteens a few drops at a time while our mouths and throats seemed to be made of absorbent cotton and had a fiery craving for a deluge. It was only three miles to Heaven but the road had long been abandoned and it was a continuous struggle with the thorny, inhospitable shrubbery. The thermometer registered 132 degrees in the shade.
Each Corporal carried a loaf of bread for the use of his squad but dry bread and a parched throat do not go together and the men would not touch it. At least one Corporal used the bread as a pillow and found it far ahead of the usual pair of shoes wrapped in a shirt, and slept so well that he hardly noticed the pack of coyotes which yelped about the camp all night. The shortage of water, as it happened, did not create quite so much discomfort as we expected. An
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enterprising huckster managed to drive a cart over the trail which we had broken out and we had not been long in Heaven before we had a chance to buy a cheap brand of soda pop at the price of the best imported varieties, a price, however, which was well earned in the struggle to get the cart through. Still, a small cart load to a whole regiment did not go far and many got nothing and none got enough.
On the fifth day we returned from La Gloria to Sterling's and the following day hiked ten miles to Laguna Seca, ten miles of deep sand which gripped and held our feet with, here and there, stretches of sticky mud or pools of water in the road which forced us to detour through the thorny underbrush. The wetness of the ground made a difference with the growing things and, instead of cactus on each side, the trail was flanked with a thick growth of mesquite and trees and bushes unknown to us, which met over the road, excluding the sun but also excluding any breath of air that might be stirring.
Close beside our camp at Laguna Seca (Dry Lake) was a little hut in which an old woman was baking tortillas. It was a typical Mexican shack made of sticks, plastered with mud and with a sort of porch covered with a thatch roof and having a dirt floor. The porch was nearly as large as the rest of the house and served as a kitchen and outdoor living-room. Everything was very primitive and dirty but we had not been there long before the old woman and all her family were hard at work trying to supply the demand for tortillas which sud- denly developed in Company I. These tortillas were a sort of bun filled with what appeared to be squash and were a welcome change from the tiresome Army fare.
The following day we hiked to Young's Ranch where most of us acquired a few of those little creatures known to us as chiggers or jiggers, small bugs which burrow under the skin; travelling around your body leaving a long welt- like ridge behind, which itched like a row of mosquito bites. One man took a bath in the cattle pool and got so many chiggers that his back looked like a relief map of Mars, and in spite of all the surgeons could do, the effects were not entirely gone when we left for home three months later. An injection of iodine into the burrow usually finished the chiggers but the iodine was more uncom- fortable than the chiggers.
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