Only three rivers escape from the American Desert—the Columbia, Colorado and Rio Grande. The last of these, the Rio Grande, rises far up amid the mountains of Colorado, close to the Montana line. It was named by the Spaniards Rio Grande del Norte, or Grand River of the North, because of its great length. It was sometimes called Rio Bravo del Norte, “Brave River of the North.” Fighting its way amid mountain gorges, through canyons, cutting channels deep down into rocky defiles, it forces a passage over nature’s fiercest obstacles and drives its currents through New Mexico and Colorado for seven hundred miles. Then turning southwardly, it seeks a resting place in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. For more than eleven hundred miles it is the boundary between Mexico and the United States.

Moved by love of conquest, or desire to spread the gospel, the Spaniards followed the meandering course of the stream for hundreds of miles, overcoming the barriers which nature had placed in the pathway of those who sought to conquer the arid and inhospitable wilderness, through which this great stream passed to its union with the far off sea. Navigable for only four hundred and fifty miles from the ocean, it held out no hope to those who might seek an easy way to its source. The great trail which led from the settlements on the Atlantic to the new-found lands on the Pacific required the travelers to pass the Rio Grande near Santa Fe. There was no chance to start at El Paso and travel northward by the Rio Grande to the heart of New Mexico and thence find an outlet to the Pacific Ocean. The men who pushed from the East to the Golden Gate preferred to mark out a line from the Missouri River, overland from Missouri, Kansas and Colorado, the Indian Territory and New Mexico. A southern trail might have been shorter, but mountains intervened and nature forced men to make their highway for wagon trains by Santa Fe from the East. The pioneer spirit was strongest in the Missouri Valley, and the population on the Mississippi was content to let those farther north pursue the passage to the Pacific by the northern route. A thin line of settlements had been established along the trail, but no large population was willing then to endure the hardships which surrounded those who lived in those isolated regions; and the white men refused to pass southward by the Rio Grande or the Mexican border, for the country was so inhospitable that it held out no inducements to emigration, commerce or settlement.

When the war between the states began to stir the hearts of the people of the South, after a brief delay, Texas, that great empire with more than two hundred and sixty-six thousand square miles, but thinly populated area, caught the patriotic spirit of the hour, and cast herself, body and soul, into the struggle of the Southland for liberty and independence.

In February, 1861, an ordinance of secession was passed, and nine years later Texas was re-admitted to the Union. General H. H. Sibley, a native of Louisiana, resigned from the United States Army and entered the service of the Confederate States. Familiar with the geography of New Mexico, he visited Richmond, Virginia, was commissioned brigadier general and returned to Texas with authority to lead a brigade up the Rio Grande to Santa Fe. Few believed, at that early date, that war would last a year, and one of the reasons impelling this expedition was to possess as much territory as possible, so that when hostilities ceased, the territories of the Confederacy would cover the largest possible space. General Sibley reached San Antonio, where the troops raised to compose his command were being mustered in. A statement of his plans aroused the zeal and enthusiasm of those who were to engage in the adventure.

The conquest of New Mexico appeared feasible and important. It would cut in twain the land route between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, and by reason of its supposed strategic importance, prove of tremendous value to the Confederate states.

The project was bold, daring, but illy considered, and in the end, while sustained by heroism and courage that certainly has no superior in the great story of Southern manhood, yet proved a most unfortunate and distressing failure. From El Paso, on the extreme western boundary of Texas, to Santa Fe, by the route along the Rio Grande, was something like six hundred miles. The Santa Fe railroad of later days has rendered this journey easy and pleasant, but in 1861-62, the route was a vast wilderness, not producing enough food to sustain the sparse number of people who had settled along this trail. Venomous reptiles hid themselves in the recesses of the sandy and rocky ways, or laid in wait for their victims amidst the numerous crevices that marked every mile. The very shrubbery seemed to defy the advance of civilization, and the thorns and thistles that stood out on every bush appeared to enter fierce protests against habitation by man or beast.

In the earlier days of the war, before experience had made men deliberate, and to sit down and count the cost ere entering upon any great military enterprise, it was only necessary for someone to cry “Forward!” and chivalrous patriots were ready to follow wherever any leader might bid them go. The 4th, 5th and 7th Texas mounted regiments were mustered into the Confederate service for three years, or during the Civil War. This enlistment took place October, 1861. Colonel James Riley commanded the 4th. Later, at the head of his regiment, he met a soldier’s death in Louisiana. Thomas Green became colonel of the 5th, and William Steele, colonel of the 7th Regiment. These formed a brigade under the command of Brigadier General H. H. Sibley. Steele did not go with his regiment, which was led by Lieutenant Colonel J. S. Sutton, who died heroically while leading his men at the Battle of Val Verde near Fort Craig. Later, General Thomas Green was promoted to the rank of brigadier general. These regiments reorganized, then became known as Green’s Brigade. When the true story of the war shall be fitly told, the world will realize that no men who marched under the stars and bars did more to win the admiration and applause of the entire Southland than those who composed this wonderful organization.

At this early period of the war, arms were scarce. The fruits of victory had not then given Federal equipments to Texas, and these soldiers were supplied with shotguns and hunting rifles of varying calibre and necessitating the preparation of each man’s ammunition by himself. Many of these volunteers had mingled with the Mexicans and heard their stories of the fiery charges of the Mexican Lancers and of the deadly execution which they made with their shafted spears, and following, unwisely, the suggestions of General Sibley, two companies of the 5th Regiment were induced to exchange their guns for that medieval arm, the Mexican lance.

The troops were enlisted and sworn in at San Antonio, and before beginning the most difficult part of their journey up the Rio Grande, marched from San Antonio to El Paso, seven hundred miles, in broken detachments. At this point, the government had accumulated a small supply of commissary stores. Between San Antonio and Santa Fe, there was not a town or village which could have furnished, from its own storage, a full day’s supply of rations and forage for the command. The settlements were not only few in number, but very far apart, and with small populations. It thus came about that the troops were compelled to carry rations for the whole march. These were very meagre, and were transported in wagons drawn by small Mexican mules. Meat was provided through beeves that were driven on foot. No forage of any kind was to be had other than the grass which grew upon the plains. As if to make the journey still more difficult, water was extremely scarce; and many parts of the journey, both men and beasts were compelled to go on as long as thirty-six hours before relieving their thirst. The men carried a day’s supply in their canteens, but the poor beasts had no provision for quenching the burning of their fevered throats. There was not then living in the entire territory from El Paso to Santa Fe as many as three hundred sincere Southern sympathizers. The great majority of the population were poor, illiterate Mexicans, who had a traditional hatred of all Texans. The secession of Texas from Mexico in 1835, the Santa Fe expedition in 1841 and the war between the United States and Mexico in 1846, had planted in the minds of these rude frontiersmen bitter memories of the Texans.

Almost everywhere, without exception, this brigade, when leaving El Paso and ascending the great river, found itself in a hostile country, a country so devoid of food that it was hardly able to maintain its own people from want, and which with great difficulty supplied them with the bare necessities of life. To make this journey still more difficult for the Confederates, General Canby, then and later on, showing himself to be a wise and sagacious officer, had already, by force or purchase, secured for the support of the Federal troops whatever the needs of these poor people could spare.

Most of the great marches of the war, made by cavalry, were through countries that could at least supply food for a few hours for man and beast. None of them undertook to haul their commissary stores six hundred miles or to rely upon beef driven afoot to satisfy their hunger. The great passion of the brigade was to be led forward. They had gone too far to return without a fight and were anxious to find somebody to engage in conflict. Practically no preparations had been made to arrange for the wants of the soldiers. No foresight had provided stores where food might be garnered, nor wells dug, from which water, that greatest essential of long marches, might be supplied. The brigade finally composing this expedition consisted of the 4th and 5th and part of the 7th Texas mounted infantry, five companies of Baylor’s Regiment, Tool’s light battery and Coopwood’s independent company, aggregating twenty-five hundred men. One-sixth of all these men were required for the protection of the supply train and herd of beeves, and therefore could not be relied upon in case of battle.

General Canby, through couriers, had full notice of the coming expedition and its purpose, and he was not slow to avail himself of the topographical as well as the physical condition of the country in preparing for the emergency. About a hundred and fifty miles north of El Paso, on the river, Fort Craig had been constructed, years before, by the United States Government. The fortification was situated on the west bank of the stream and within musket range of the only road leading from El Paso to Santa Fe. Here General Canby had concentrated over four thousand troops, regulars and volunteers, including infantry, artillery and cavalry, with supplies of every kind in abundance. As the Confederates could travel only one road, the Federal general had only to sit down and wait and prepare for their coming and had ample time to obstruct the narrow pathway along which they must reach Santa Fe. This march was undertaken in the midst of winter. Those who led and those who followed seemed to feel that an hour’s time was of the most tremendous importance, and neither want of preparation or danger could deter them from pushing on to some point where they might meet a foe. Zeal and haste to fight was universal with the southern soldiers in the earlier days of the struggle. Without any disparagement of their splendid courage under all conditions, it may be safely said that a few months’ experience greatly lessened the intensity of this feeling.

Beyond Santa Fe, in the northeastern part of the territory, another fortification, called Fort Union, had been built before the war. This Post had been reconstructed and manned, and here again were established large depots of supplies. Troops had come down from Colorado, and the United States regulars had been hurried hither, and still farther, from the West, the war-trumpets had called volunteers from California who were hastening en route to the scene of hostilities.

A march so carelessly considered and so inadequately provided for, with weather becoming cold, demanded most strenuous sacrifices from the devoted Texans who were engaged in this hazardous task. The Confederates had no tents, their clothing supply was confined to the uniforms that each wore, there was no covering at night except their saddle blankets, and yet, while the fierceness of the climate and the illy provided commissary spread disease and death among them, these gallant Confederates went pushing forward with what would seem to thinking men but little hope, yet without fear. It was not long until disease began to grapple with its gaunt fingers numbers of these chivalrous men. Pneumonia attacked many of the advancing heroes, and under such conditions rarely allowed any of its victims to escape with life.

By the 10th of February, 1862, the command came in sight of Fort Craig. Surveys and reconnaissance soon convinced even the inexperienced that the capture of the Fort by direct assault would be practically impossible, and that it would be equally impossible to follow the road which the Fort commanded, and to run such a gauntlet simply meant great decimation, if not destruction of the entire command. A council of war determined that the wise thing was to turn the Fort by crossing to the east bank of the Rio Grande and to march by it to a point called Val Verde (Green Valley), some nine miles above Fort Craig. To carry out this plan required a tremendous amount of courage and endurance, for there was no road nor even a broken trail, and this way was almost impassable for wagons. It had never been traveled, but lay across deep and wide gulleys and over steep sand hills. There was not a single foot of made highway and men and animals, beset by poisonous thorns, which infested well-nigh every vegetable growth, and tramping over loose stones which rendered almost every resting place for their feet insecure, struggled, stumbled and toiled over the arduous way that the exigencies of the hour forced them to follow. After such laborious, depressing and dangerous effort, two days later, on the evening of the 20th, the command had reached a point nearly opposite Fort Craig, only seven miles from their starting place on the 19th. Here the weary troopers, wearier mules and the thirsty cattle were encamped for the night. The beasts had no water; the men only such as their canteens contained. The conditions were enough to cower the hearts of any soldiers and to dampen the ardor of any patriot, but everybody realized that the very desperate conditions must be met by supreme valor.

Long before the sun had risen above the mountain tops to illuminate and brighten the plains with its cheering beams, the march was begun, so as to reach, at the earliest moment possible, the river, at some point above Fort Craig, and begin the advance again upon the traveled highway, which, while rough, was delightful in comparison to the two days’ march along the inhospitable ground over which these brave soldiers had, with uncomplaining fortitude, forced their way during the past forty-eight hours. The Federal commander did not sit still in the fort. Thoroughly advised of this movement on the part of the Confederates, he pushed his forces north along the road and when the advance guard of the Confederates reached the river, their enemy was there to dispute its passage. To provide against loss of the cattle driven on foot, upon which they depended for meat, and for the protection of the commissary train, a considerable portion of the Confederate force was detailed. The very desperation of the situation stirred the hearts of the Confederates with the noblest courage. Only about two thousand fighting men were left available, after details were provided for the protection of the cattle and the train. These had been left behind at the camp from which they had marched out in the morning to force the battle. There was nothing for the Confederates to do but to win. The Federals were not averse to fighting, and so they crossed the river with thirty-eight hundred men, including a battery of six-pounders and two twenty-pounders. A force sufficiently large to protect Fort Craig against the assault had been left within its walls. These two thousand Confederates, hungry and thirsty, were to oppose, in a position chosen by the Federal commander, a force nearly twice as large as their own. With a fierceness born of difficulty and of courage quickened by the unpropitious surroundings, the conflict was short, sharp and decisive. The Federals were driven back into the fort, with considerable loss of officers and men, and their six-gun battery was captured by the Confederates. The casualties on the Confederate side in this Battle of Val Verde were less than those of the Federals, but it included in the list several of the most promising and prominent officers, who, at this time, were sorely needed. Colonel Green, who commanded the 5th Regiment, owing to the illness of General Sibley, was in immediate charge of the forces. He was a cheerful and experienced soldier, and was later to demonstrate such great genius as a commander, that when he died in April, 1864, at Blair’s Landing, La., it was said of him by the Federal generals that the ablest man west of the Mississippi had been lost to the Southern cause.

While the battle had been won and the enemy driven back to the fort, it was not decisive; the Federals were safe in the fort, and the Confederates, with their small number of fighting men, were not sufficiently strong, nor did they have the necessary ammunition to carry the fort by assault. The little Confederate army was not in condition to sit down and hesitate and argue or even to delay action, and a council of war determined that the wisest thing to do was to push on to Santa Fe, in the hope of inducing the enemy at Fort Craig to follow along the trail, come out into the open and risk the issue of another contact.

The desperate condition of the Confederates was apparent to any well-informed military man, and General Canby, with an army at Fort Craig twice as large as that of the Confederates, with a still larger force at Fort Union, northeast from Santa Fe, all well supplied with food and ammunition, decided that he had only to bide his time and wait. He perfectly understood the character of the country, the antagonism of the people to the Confederate cause, and the limited resources for providing maintenance for man or beast. He knew the exact number of the Confederate command. He understood they would be unable to carry out the Confederate plan and closely calculated the difficulties which awaited these brave men, who seemingly violating the laws of prudence and ignoring caution, were pushing themselves forward without support, apparently indifferent to consequences.

In possession of Fort Craig, south of Santa Fe, and Fort Union, north of Santa Fe, defending the well-known and traveled north and south roads, which were the only passable exits from the territory, with troops which largely outnumbered his foes, half of whom were regulars, tried, well equipped and exceeding Confederates four thousand in numbers, the Federal commander foresaw that the end could not be very far off and that waiting was the wise and sagacious course to pursue. No one needed to tell him that the Confederates could have no hope of reinforcements. His spies had already assured him of their meager supplies, the vast number of sick and of the many graves along the road of the Confederate march. These told him that disease and hunger would be efficient allies, and that only a few weeks could possibly intervene before the Confederates would be compelled to abandon the territory, and most probably be forced by want and starvation to surrender as prisoners of war. With a force twice as large as their own behind them and with a force twice as large in front of them, with only one traveled route along which they could pass, and that totally inadequate for the supply of food for the invading Confederates, the condition of these brave men became almost desperate. Though the conditions were so discouraging, General Sibley and his subordinates advanced to Albuquerque and Santa Fe and took possession of the immediate towns and villages.

On the 20th day of March, about sixteen miles north of Santa Fe, a second battle occurred in Glorietta Canyon. Here the worn Confederates came in contact with Federal troops which had been sent forward from Fort Union. The Confederates held possession of the field of battle, but something worse than loss of men had occurred. On account of the smallness of the force, a sufficient rear guard had not been detailed for the protection of the wagon train, and their entire supplies had been captured by an attack of the Federal forces. While the Federal soldiers had been defeated and fell back to Fort Union, and the Confederates returned to Santa Fe, hunger was now staring these brave invaders in the face. They were not afraid of their enemies, but lack of food, ammunition and other necessities, oftentimes more terrible than bullets, rarely fails to strike terror into the hearts of the bravest soldiers.

The situation had been thoroughly tried out, the Confederates had now been reduced to less than two thousand men. They were practically destitute of provisions and ammunition. One regiment had been dismounted, its horses were reduced, not only in flesh but in number, and so, some walking and some riding, but all still stout at heart, these Confederates now prepared to abandon the territory for which they had risked and suffered so much. In a few days, the retreat to El Paso was begun. Leaving strong forces at Fort Union and Craig to protect them from any possible force the Confederates could bring to their assault, all available Union soldiers were rushed forward to contest the retreat of General Sibley and his men, and to cut off every avenue of escape. The only thing General Canby failed to fully comprehend was the supreme courage and valor of his foes, the intrepidity and skill of their leaders, and the capacity of men and officers for fatigue and their readiness, if needs be, to die, rather than surrender as prisoners of war to their enemies.

Officers and men all understood the gravity of the situation. They realized that safety lay not only in retreat, but to escape at all necessitated the co-operation and courage of every survivor of the depleted command.

At Peralto, a small town on the Rio Grande, below Albuquerque, the Confederates occupied the town, but before them in battle array were six thousand Federals, well armed, and this was the numerical problem that faced the tired, half-clad and brave men of the South. There was not the slightest disposition to yield or run away, and so all day long the Confederates, with their ill-equipped forces, calmly awaited the attack of the Federals. But there was something the men who were following the stars and bars feared more than the men in blue—starvation. This was now their most dreaded enemy, and this, accompanied by the weather conditions, made a combination that would strike terror into the heart of any ordinary man.

Along the Rio Grande River, the temperature arises during the day to a hundred degrees and then by midnight, it has dropped sixty degrees, alternating between summer’s heat and winter’s frost. These climatic changes shatter even the rocks that so greatly abound in this dreary region and accompanied by lack of warm and necessary clothing, depleted the energies of the Confederates, but at the same time it stirred them to renewed activities.

There was only one feasible route open to the retreating invaders. This was down the Rio Grande, and across this single path was a Union army numbering more than three times those who essayed to escape. The Confederates forded from the east bank to the west side of the river, and for several days, both forces, Union and Confederate, marched southward along the stream on opposite sides. Now and then they exchanged shots. It was soon discovered that to avoid an engagement, which the Confederates were not prepared to risk, something must be done to escape the presence of the enemy, so superior in numbers, food and equipments. The thought of capture aroused the hearts of all the men to heroic resolve to do and dare all that was possible to avoid the humiliation and misfortune of a surrender.

From out of the conflict one thing had been brought, and these brave men were desirous of bearing this back to Texas so that the great march should not be without one trophy, and like grim death they hung to the six-gun battery of twelve-pounders that they had captured at Val Verde, a short while before. They were to haul these cannon over the wilds safety had forced them to traverse. They were to push and pull them to the crest of hills to find that they could only be lowered with ropes to the depths below, and each hour of suffering and companionship with the mute and inanimate guns would add renewed purpose to save them, if their saving was to be compassed by human determination and indomitable will.

In this campaign Joseph D. Sayers came to the front. He was destined to play a distinguished part in the war, and later in the history of Texas.

When the battery was captured at Val Verde, young Sayers was not twenty-one years of age. His cheerfulness under trial, his valor and dauntless courage attracted the attention of the leaders, and he was designated by common consent captain of the battery which held so dear a place in the hearts of all who survived this expedition. He had enjoyed a brief season at a military school, but he was a born soldier. He was authorized to select the members for the battery and with them he clung to the guns with bulldog tenacity, and brought them safely through the dangers that ever loomed up on the homeward march.

Captain Sayers, while in command of the battery, was severely wounded at Bisland, Louisiana; and also at Mansfield, Louisiana, while serving on General Green’s staff with the rank of major. At General Green’s death the young officer crossed the Mississippi River with General Dick Taylor, upon whose staff he served until his surrender in Mississippi in April, 1865.

On every field and in every sphere he met the highest calls of a patriotic service and when paroled had won the commendation and admiration of those who fought with him. His war experiences fitted him for a splendid civil career. He became lieutenant governor, and later governor of Texas. He served fourteen years in Congress, and when he voluntarily retired, his associates in the House of Representatives passed a resolution declaring that his leaving Congress was a national rather than a party calamity. Amongst Confederates, his career in the trans-Mississippi, and later in the cis-Mississippi armies, gave him universal respect, and the good opinion of the great state of Texas was manifested in the bestowal of every honor to which he aspired.

He still lives, in 1914, at Austin, and there is no one who loves the South but that hopes for lengthened years to the hero of Val Verde.

Councils of war were called, and it was resolved to leave the river, march inland, over mountains and canyons and through forests that had never been trodden by civilized man. The Spaniard, whether stirred by religion or love of gold or gain, had never ventured to traverse the country through which General Green and his men now undertook to march. Half-clad, nearly starved, footsore, with both nature and men rising up to oppose their escape, without water sometimes for two days, except what was carried in their canteens, they hazarded this perilous journey. Trees and vines and shrubbery with poisonous thorns stood in their pathway. With axes and knives, they hewed them down, and boldly and fearlessly plunged into the wilderness to escape their pursuing and aggressive foes. Over this rough, thorny road they traveled for one hundred and fifty miles; and then, guided largely by the sun, moon and stars, and nature’s landmarks, they reached the river highway along which they had marched in the early winter and struck the Rio Grande, some distance below Fort Craig. With exuberant joy, they realized that they had left their enemies behind. Nine long and dreary days had been consumed in this horrible journey. Man and beast alike had suffered to the very extreme of endurance. The average distance for each twenty-four hours was sixteen and two-thirds miles. Where the intrepid and exhausted column would emerge, even the experienced and stout-hearted guide, Major Coopwood, did not know. West, south, east, the gallant band must search for a path, and down canyons, over precipitous cliffs, where the eye of white men had never penetrated, these gallant Texans, half starved and consumed for many hours with the fierce and debilitating burnings of thirst, hunted for a path which would enable them to leave their enemies behind and miles below emerge into the Rio Grande Valley, at a point from which they could, unmolested, pursue their march to El Paso.

One-fifth of their number had died in battle or from wounds and sickness, and three-fourths of the survivors marched into San Antonio on foot. Eight months had passed since the journey was begun. More than three men each day, from either wounds or on the battle field or through disease, had gone down to death, and along the march of twelve hundred miles, on an average of every four miles beside this devious and suffering road, was the grave of some comrade, to tell of the ravages and sorrows of war.

Barring the battery which had been captured in the earlier periods of the expedition, the brigade came back empty handed, but the men who composed it brought with them a spirit of courage, a quickened patriotism, a self-reliance, a steadiness of purpose, and a conception of war that was to make them one of the most distinguished and successful organizations of the world’s greatest war; and trained for future services and succeeding triumphs and victories that would endear them not only to the hearts of the people of Texas, but to all who loved or fought for the independence of the South.

After a few months of rest, remounted and recruited, this splendid command entered upon a new career of active service, and through the campaigns of 1863 and 1864, they were to make honorable records for themselves; at Bisland, Fordocho, Bortrich Bay, Lafourche, Fort Butler, Donaldsville, Bourbeau; Opelousas, Mansfield, Pleasant Hill, Blair’s Landing and Yellow Bayou. At Blair’s Landing, General Green met the fate of a chivalrous, patriotic commander, dying as he had fought, with his face to the foe. He and his command were second to no horsemen who were enlisted on the Southern side. The sad and unfortunate experiences of the march into New Mexico proved a great education for these valiant and gallant soldiers. They have been less fortunate than the cavalry commands east of the Mississippi in having chroniclers to exploit their heroism, yet in their splendid career they were never surpassed in the best elements of the cavalry soldier, by any of those whose fame as champions of the Southland and defenders of its glory and its honor has gone out into the whole world.