The Army Mule

by Adrian Rexford

from: American Magazine, vol. 7, no. 4 (April 1888)

Until the war for and against secession gave him an opportunity to demonstrate his powers, the importance of the mule was never fully recognized. He had done his duty in a modest way in Mexico; he had been employed to haul wagon trains across the continent during the Californian gold excitement; and to the old regular army his virtues as well as his vices were intimately known. Necessarily, however, official acquaintance with his manners and customs was limited to comparatively small numbers.

It was about 1861 that the quarter-master's department began seriously to wrestle with the mule problem, as it became evident at an early stage of the great civil war that for the drudgery of hauling provision and ammunition trains the mule was vastly superior to his fleeter and more spirited half-brother — the horse.

Few of us realize what an important factor of army life in its picturesque aspects was afforded by this ungainly, slab-sided creature, with his discordant voice, ready heels and tremendous reserve of energy. Recall any picture of camp or march, and, if your memory is retentive of such details, you will be pretty sure to find a pair of long, pointed ears, and serious, half-discouraged mule- eyes somewhere on the canvas. Elwin Forbes has introduced them to excellent advantage in his admirably etched series of sketches of life in the Grand Army, which he made in the field; and save where actual fighting is in progress they are almost of necessity part and parcel of the scene. Not that the quadruped was indisposed to take his place in the forefront of battle when duty called him there. Not at all; the list of killed, wounded, captured and missing mules is a long one, or would be if it could be completed; and the steed was, as a rule, far more willing to go into action than was his non-combatant driver.

It is a little curious that the mule should be so generally regarded as an inferior animal, when from first to last, as appears from the quartermaster's records, he commanded a higher price than did his relations in the cavalry and artillery. For instance, during the last months of the war, from September 1, 1864, to May 9, 1865, the department purchased 45,921 mules at prices ranging from $170 to $195; while, at the same time, horses cost from $144 to $185.

When the department began to consider the situation as to transportation in 1861, it naturally turned to the census of the preceding year, and found that the mule population of the loyal States at that time was 454,085. Before the close of the fiscal year (June 30, 1862) 83,620 of them had been stamped U. S. on the fore-shoulder, and were undergoing the daily process of harnessing and unharnessing that was so amusing to spectators and so fraught with peril and perplexity to the immediate performers.

During the next fiscal year there were purchased 86,254 mules, and 6,915 were captured from the enemy; which, with 16,899 on hand at the beginning of the year, made a total of 110,068. The condemned, sold, died, lost by capture, destroyed, worn out, etc., numbered 17,170.

The year ending 30th June, 1864, saw about 130,000 mules in the service, of which 82,320 were purchased during the year and 9,013 captured. Purchases for the army ceased May 9, 1865, and by August 2, 1866, 102,954 mules had returned to civil life, netting to the Q. M. D. the very pretty sum of $7,685,225.96, an average of $74.64 apiece. During about the same period, 104,474 cavalry horses were sold, at a price per head of $53.89. To the very end, therefore, the mule maintained his superiority in point of cash value, and was so nearly equal in point of numbers that the difference is not worth mentioning.

For the actual downright hard knocks of a campaign the mule is without a peer. He will live upon food that a starving horse would not look at; he will go without water from sunrise to sunset; and it is quite possible that in mere sportiveness he will kick off his harness at the end of the day's march and gallop cheerfully away into the enemy's lines, if instinct tells him that he can find water when he gets there.

His longevity is proverbial, but not altogether authentic when beyond the memory of living men. The most noteworthy instance of this is found in the case of the hoary-hided mule Mexique, who was honorably retired from active service, on full pay and allowances, in October, 1863, and who died at Mount Vernon Barracks, Alabama, March 18, 1886. The history of this respected animal is as follows: Near the close of the summer of 1883 the War Department office was startled out of its usual equanimity in time of peace, by the discovery of what seemed to the horror-stricken clerk a gross breach of official propriety. The communication was from Lieutenant W. A. Kobbe, of the Third Artillery, then stationed at Mount Vernon Barracks, Alabama. The document set forth the peril at that post of a venerable white mule named Mexique, then under sentence of condemnation from the quartermaster. “The officers of the post," said the lieutenant's despatch, “desire, in view of this mule's long and faithful services in the Army of the United States, to purchase him and care for him at their own expense." Major F. L. Guenther, of the Second Artillery, to whom the petition was referred, reported that the origin of the mule in question was lost in the mists of a remote past, but his authentic history began in 1848, when he was left at Key West by a detachment of United States forces on their way home after the war with Mexico. “During the time that I served at Key West," says Major Guenther, “from 1875 to 1880, the mule did not miss a day's work from any cause. He is very old, and has been worn out by his long service in the quartermaster's department. If there is any way of providing for him I would be glad to have it done, as the expense to the Government would be little or nothing."

The petition, with this endorsement, went through the regular official channels until it reached Quartermaster-General Hollabird, who wrote upon it as follows: “To promote the sentiment of kindness toward animals that are so intimately associated with man, it is recommended in this special case that this mule be kept in the department and left to the care of those whose kindly feelings are so deeply enlisted in its behalf."

(It will be observed that some authorities employ the neuter pronoun while others use the masculine, in referring to this most excellent epicene hybrid.)

General Sherman wrote to the Secretary of War, “I have seen that mule, and— whether true or false— the soldiers believe it was left at Big Spring, where Mount Vernon Barracks now are, at the time General Jackson's army camped there, about 1819-20. Tradition says it was once a sorrel, but it is now white from age. The quartermaster's department will be chargeable with ingratitude if that mule is sold, or the care or maintenance of it thrown on the charitable officers of the post. I advise that it be kept in the department and maintained till death. I think the mule was at Fort Morgan, Mobile Point, when I was there in 1848."

The Secretary of War thereupon made the following order: “Let this mule be kept and well cared for as long as he lives;" and this order was faithfully obeyed by the little garrison at Mount Vernon Barracks; where Mexique quietly lay down and died when his (or her) time came, and was buried with military honors.

Another venerable mule, “Old Goose" by name, is pensioned, and at last accounts still survives, a resident of the Government stock farm, near Oakland, California. “Old Goose " was brought to California, says The Oakland Times, in 1849, by gallant Phil Kearney, then a young lieutenant of infantry. “She has been through flood and field, and has borne some of the bravest heroes on the war-path. Captain D. B. Moore was mounted on “01d Goose” when he was killed at San Pasquale. She has done good service at most of the military posts on this coast, and is well-known by all the old army officers who served on the Pacific slope. General Sherman on a recent visit to the farm recognized his old pack-mule, and said that his faithful servant should be pensioned. She is now retired from service and draws her regular rations." General Sherman deserves to be greeted affectionately by every mule in the service. Twice at least he has used his influence to cheer their declining years.

The official records— such at least as are readily accessible to the public— are singularly barren of details regarding* the mule. From an account given by Mr. Harvey Kiley, formerly in charge of the quartermaster's depot at Washington, we are enabled to give a sketch of one remarkable team: Early in the spring of 1861, a certain group of six met officially as comrades. They had been associated occasionally before in the some- what mixed society of the quartermaster's corral, but now they were regularly must- ered into the service of the United States by Captain, afterward General, Sawtelle, and were hitched up together for the first time at Berryville, Maryland; and one Edward Wesley Williams, a colored teamster, united his fortunes with theirs. He was a good teamster, and at once established those amicable and confidential relations with his animals which are of the highest consequence to the successful negro driver. His trace chains were never so short that the single- trees bsmged about the wheelers' heels. His bits were always of the regulation size, seven-eighths inches round, and full five inches between the rings. His broad harness-straps were always properly adjusted, so that there should be no reasonable ground for the laying back of ears or the letting fly of heels.

The authorities deemed it important that Williams and his mules should be in Washington on the day of Lincoln's inauguration, and they started for the national capital on March 1st, bul history fails to record the exact date of their arrival. Inasmuch as the ceremonies passed off successfully, and without serious interference from the rebels, we may infer that the whole six added the music of their voices to the cheers that went up from in front of the Capitol on that memorable occasion. They remained on duty in and about the defences of Washington until 14th May, 1862, when they were transferred to Fortress Monroe, and reported to General McClellan, or his lawful representatives. They marched up the Peninsula, participated in the siege of Yorktown, the battle of Williamsburg, and the arduous mud-marches of the Chickahominy. At the seven days' fight all six were present for duty, and, with indiscriminate efficiency hauled army supplies or ghastly loads of dead and wounded, until they reached Hannson's Landing with the Army of the Potomac. Thence Williams drove back to Fort Monroe, and was shipped to Washington with his team in time to haul ammunition out to Manassas Junction and take part in what an Irish soldier lad called “our annual bating at Bull Run." They saw the tables turned at Antietam, and turned back again at Fredericksburg, where they were in the ammunition train.

Under General Hooker, the team followed the fortunes of war through the Chancellorsville and Chantilly campaigns, and was with Grant in front of Petersburg. But there, sad to relate, the faithful saddle-mule, on whose back Williams had ridden so many weary miles, was killed by artillery fire from the enemy's works. Her surviving comrades bore up under this affliction and admitted a new incumbent, with their usual grace. The introduction of a stranger was not permitted to interfere with regular duties, and the team worked right along till the fall of Richmond.

In June following (1865) hostilities had ceased, and the team was ordered back to Washington, where it was transferred back to the regular army, and was on duty therewith in August, 1866. There is no evidence forthcoming to show that the faithful Williams is not still cracking his “black snake" over the backs of his historic team at some remote frontier post; but, in the nature of things, the four-footed members of the association must long since have been honorably retired, or perhaps shot, for such is the merciful method of dealings with the superannuated Government mule.

None of these animals was more than fourteen and a half hands high nor weighed more than 900 pounds. They frequently went without hay or grain for four or five days, subsisting on wayside croppings; and several times they were without water for twenty-four hours.

Sometimes the mule is called upon for special service, requiring qualities for which he does not generally receive credit. The lines were tightening about the birthplace of secession when Admiral Dahlgren's fleet began operations in the harbor, and rendered it practicable for the troops on shore to advance with some hope of being able to hold points previously untenable. During the night a detachment of the Tenth Corps dislodged a picket post on the eastern end of Morris Island, and when daylight came had thrown up quite a formidable beginning for a field-work. But the place was within easy range of Fort Sumter and Battery Wagner, and every rebel gun that could be brought to bear began to drop shell into the little earth-work. It was thought that an attempt was about to be made to carry the place by assault, and, while there were men enough to hold it, they were a little short of ammunition. The only practicable road was a mile and a half of hard, smooth sand-beach, commanded from end to end by the rebel batteries.

But there was a combination in the Federal camp that was equal to the emergency: namely, a fleet mule and a plucky driver. The mule is mentioned first, only because he has long since kicked his last kick, but the driver, if he still survives, will acknowledge that without the mule he could not have done what he did. It may be assumed that the mule had a good feed of oats before he was called upon to run the gauntlet, and possibly the driver, too, may then have felt justified in fortifying the inner man. Be that as it may, just before noon a few boxes of ammunition were thrown into the lightest available wagon, and, after looking the harness over carefully, the driver took his seat in the shelter of the sand hills. The mule stood with his extensive ears raking aft and a wicked gleam in his eye, as if the oats were beginning to rise into his brain.

“Good bye, boys! G' up, mule!” and the equipage started down through the dry sand to the hard level of the beach. Mule shook his head and executed a demi-volt when he felt the damp sand under his feet, but Driver soothed him with endearing words. It had not yet dawned upon the rebels that the expedition was intended for the relief of the garrison. But presently the gleam of intelligence was indicated with a rush in the shape of a shell from the south-east angle of Sumter. It struck the water fairly in line, ricocheted, and burst over in the marsh; but it was the signal for action. Up went the whip, and the mule gathered his mighty hind legs under him. For a moment it was uncertain whether he was going to kick or run, but a few remarks from the driver convinced him that there was demand for forward movement, so he “lit out for all he was worth." At least thirty guns commanded that stretch of beach, and they pounded away as fast as they could be fired. Now and then a shell would burst rather too near the mule's ears for comfort, and he would sheer violently and try to make for home. But the gallant driver plied the lash, and held him to his work.

At length a ten-inch shell tore up the beach and exploded so near that the mule was entirely demoralized; but not so his driver. Leaping down from his seat he caught the mule by the head, backed him rapidly round once or twice, and was off again on the keen jump before the gunners could get his range as a fixed object. On he went, and at last dashed into the redoubt; but there was no shelter in it for the mule. His ears waved conspicuously above the low-lying parapet.

The ammunition-boxes were tumbled out unceremoniously, and the mule's nose pointed for home I With the lightened lodd and the prospects of unlimited fodder, he beat the previous record. But the rebel artillerists were on their metal now. They had failed to stop the supplies, but their hearts burned for revenge. Their shots now came more from the rear, and bets were freely offered with no takers, on what the result would be should the mule have a fair chance to kick a ten-inch shell, as it were, “on the fly.” The crescendo scream of shell chasing him up the beach, lent wings to his heels, and he fairly flew toward the sheltering sand-hills. There were only a few rods more to be covered, when some careful gunner made a close calculation as to the lengthening range, and pulled his lanyard almost in the nick of time. The huge mass of iron struck the beach, as it seemed to the anxious spectators, exactly behind the wagon, and the next instant nothing was to be seen there but a cloud of white smoke and brown sand. In an instant, however, this floated away, and the mule was seen vig-orously reducing to kindling-wood what was left of the quarter-master's wagon.

And the driver, where is he? Well, he was apparently knocked over by the explosion, but he got on his feet in a moment, and, having cut the traces, was on the mule's back in another, waving his hat in response to the cheers that rolled across the water from Yankee blue-jackets, from Confederate garrisons, and from the dark blue masses that crowned the distant sand dunes.

It is a pity that the driver's name has not been preserved, for his daring act certainly deserved recognition and reward. Perhaps he received both, but the writer has been unable to find mention of the fact.

Not infrequently, under stress of circumstances, the mule was transferred to the commissariat and besieged garrisons, especially among the Confederates. Federal garrisons were rarely reduced to such straits. Mule meat was not at all times unacceptable. In Confederate prisons it is said to have been served out in lieu of better fare; and at Vicksburg and Port Hudson, it Was one of the luxuries of the period. After the surrender of Vicksburg, Surgeon J. H. Early, of the Seventeenth Iowa Regiment, found the following bill of fare in one of the rebel camps. It goes far to show that the besieged garrison made the best of the situation:

HOTEL DE VICKSBURG.

BILL OF FARE FOR JULY, 1868.

Soup— Mule-tail.

Boiled— Mule bacon, with poke greens.

Mule ham, canvafied.

Roast— Mule sirloin.

Mule rump, stuffed with rice.

VEGETABLES- Peas and rice.

Entrees— Mule head, stuffed a la mode.

Mulebeef, jerked Ala Mexicana.

Mule ears, fricasseed A la gotch.

Mule side, stewed (new style).

Mule spare-ribs, plain.

Mule liver, hashed.

Side Dishes— Mule salad.

Mule hoof, soused.

Mule brains, A la omelette.

Mule kidney, stuffed.

Mule tripe, fried in pea-meal butter.

Meal tontffue, A la bray.

Jbllibs— Mule foot.

Pastbt— Pea-meal pudding, blackberry sauce.

Cottonwood-berry jrfes.

China-berry tart.

Dessert— White-oak acorns, Beech nuts.

Blackberry-leaf tea.

Genuine Confederate coffee.

Liquors— Mississippi water, vintage 1492, superior, $8. Limestone water,fine, $2.76.

Spring water, Vicksburg brand, $1.10.

Meals at all hours. Gentlemen to wait upon themselves. Any inattention on the part of servants will be promptly reported at the office.

Jeff Davis & Co., Proprietors.

In conclusion we can do no better than to call the attention of comrades before it is too late, to the fact that no monument has as yet been erected to honor the memory of the American mule. He is not a bad subject for treatment in bronze. His colossal ears, huge frame and expressive countenance would make up extremely well for — let us say — a pedestal in front of the War Department; nay, why should not at least one coin of the republic bear his image and superscription, as was suggested in the following eloquent passage from the Fourth of July oration of Mr. (George W. Peck, delivered at La Crosse, Wisconsin, in 1878:

“The bird that should have been selected as the emblem of our country: the bird of patience, forbearance, and perseverance, and the bird of terror when aroused, is the mule. There is no bird that combines more virtues to the square foot than the mule. With the mule emblazoned on our banners we should be a terror to the foe. We are a nation of uncomplaining, hard workers. We mean to do the fair thing by everybody. We plod along, doing as we would be done by. So does the mule! We, as a nation, are slow to anger. So is the mule. As a nation we occasionally stick our ears forward and fan flies off our forehead. So does the mule. We allow parties to get on and ride as long as they behave themselves. So does the mule. But when any nation sticks spurs into our flanks and tickles our heels with a straw, we come down stiff-legged in front, our ears look to the beautiful beyond, our voice is cut loose and is still for war, our subsequent heels play the snare-drum on anything within reach, and strike terror to the hearts of all tyrants. So does the mule!"

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