Asa Moore Suttenfield and the Mexican-American War

 Asa Moore and the First Indiana Volunteer Infantry, Co. B - Mexican-American War

     For a young man from a small Indiana town, signing up to go off to war in Mexico probably sounded exciting, exotic and grand. Many a Hoosier must have had visions of palm trees and senoritas, old Spanish cathedrals, adobe villages with red tiled roofs, the Halls of the Montezumas, and dreams of honor and glory. That was so far from the reality of what Asa Moore Suttenfield experienced as to be ludicrous. 

    Asa Moore was born in 1823 in Fort Wayne, Indiana, the son of William Suttenfield, a low-ranking soldier in the U.S. Army-turned-tavern keeper, and Laura Taylor. He was named after Colonel Asa Moore, who surveyed the Wabash and Maumee Rivers. He was just seven when his father died, and his mother struggled to support the children remaining at home. There was Ann, 15; Walker, 11; Asa Moore and little Mary Frances, who was only four. Laura also had a 19-year old married daughter, Jane, who lived in town, and another, Sophia, 21, who lived in Texas. 

     Laura said much later that her life had been one of “unremitting hardship.” Most of her life, she lived with her daughter Ann and later Jane, supported by her sons-in-law. After his sister Ann married Ochmig Bird in 1838, Asa Moore grew up in Ochmig’s house.(1)  Asa would later name a son Bird.

     There aren’t any records about what Asa Moore had been doing from the age of 12 or so when he would’ve been considered more than old enough to go to work. But there he was at 22, one of the first Hoosiers to enlist in the Mexican-American War. 

     On May 22, 1846 Governor James Whitcomb issued a call for volunteers. It had been a long time since anyone had gone to war, stretching back to the War of 1812. Indiana was caught unprepared, with an adjutant general who was a titleholder, receiving a salary of $100 annually, who paid his own fuel, stationary and travel expenses. He had never served in the military and at first didn’t fully understand his job responsibilities. The state had no organized militia or equipment.(2)  

     But the men of Indiana responded with stirring mass meetings at courthouses and pledges to rally around the flag. Suddenly Hoosiers were reading newspaper accounts of the history of Mexico, descriptions of the Halls of Montezuma, and seeing names of far-away places they probably hadn't encountered much before: Brazos, Monterey, Matamoras, Tampico. The Evansville newspaper printed a pronunciation guide to names of Mexican military leaders, such as Generals Arista, Ampudio, Mejia and Colonels Carrasco and Carabajal.

     The women responded too, rapidly sewing uniforms and the silk banners that regiments carried off at departure. “More than one would-be hero found it easier to go to war because it was expected of him, and he more or less correctly surmised that a military reputation would weigh heavily in his favor,” wrote R.C. Buley, who wrote the best early account of Hoosiers’ participation in the war. Indiana quickly filled her quota of three regiments. By June 10th the state quota was met and seventeen additional companies that organized had to be turned down.

     Mid-June the editor of the Evansville newspaper wrote that, “Our exchanges are filled almost entirely with war items, recruiting of volunteers, mustering them into service, presentation of flags and the speeches of ladies, and the responses of officers on such occasions. We doubt not that a majority of our readers are growing tired of reading this news, and in fact we are tired of copying such news.”

     There was a “frolic and picnic-like gaiety” at the departure of the young men from their small home towns. In Fort Wayne, there was a gathering at the Wabash and Erie Canal landing. Asa Moore departed on a slow-moving packet boat and arrived in New Albany. He was inspected by Colonel Samuel Churchill, and was mustered on June 22, 1846 with the rank of corporal, exactly a month after the governor’s call to arms. Private’s pay was $7 a month, a bit more for a corporal. Enlistment was for a year – and supply your own clothes. The adjutant general suggested a cloth or forage hat, frock coat of gray or sky blue, and “pantaloons” with no stripe. Fortunately, the ladies back home had been sewing up a storm to supply the men.

     The volunteer companies were sent to Camp Clark about midway between Jeffersonville and New Albany. There, “the romance and attractiveness of war first began to dim.”(3) The weather was hot and the only water was dirty river water. They were well-fed, however, which made a difference. They spent two weeks being drilled. When the men were told they would leave camp for Matamoras on July 5th, “the air was rent with the deafening shouts of the volunteers. Every countenance wore a smile, and their actions showed that…[they were] not only ready but anxious to serve their country.” (4)

     They awoke early on the 5th and rolled up their tents. Two earnest Christians presented each soldier with the New Testament as they left camp. They boarded two steamboats in New Albany, the Cincinnati and the Grace Darling, to the jaunty tune of “Yankee Doodle.” The Adjutant General David Reynolds accompanied them and described the parting scene. “The wharf and bank were thronged with many an anxious spectator; and when the vessel turned from the shore and the cannon poured her thunders over the waters, and our volunteers turned a wistful eye to the land they were leaving; they waved their caps and shouted a parting blessing to Indiana, which was responded to with cheers and shouts from the dense throng on the shore.” Women waved handkerchiefs from, “every garden, window and portico in the vicinity,” until the steamboats rounded a bend in the Ohio River and were out of sight.

     The men were in good spirits on the trip down river. At last they were on their way, real soldiers now, mustered and trained. This was exciting, a lark, an adventure. They entertained themselves with music and dancing as they moved down the Mississippi. 

     At New Orleans they landed below the city and waited for ships to carry them across the Gulf. “Here,” historian Buley said, “the men were introduced to the soldier’s life without the thrills.” According to Buley, due to mismanagement on the part of officers, there wasn’t enough dry land for a bed, nor straw to buffer the muck. The men had to pitch tents on a “blubbery slime” that went right through an army blanket. 

     On July 17 and 18 after four days of waiting, the ships arrived. The troops were packed on board like cattle. In one ship 200 men were stowed in a hold four and a half feet deep. There wasn’t enough room for everyone to lay down to sleep. The fare was rough; they’d been used to good food. Their chief ration was, “Some stuff called smoked meat, that was a side of hog, half liquid and half solid.” When a piece was picked up an oily substance oozed out. (6) There were only two cooking fires for five companies. To make things worse, the seas were rough and it rained. “Half the men were seasick and spewing all about you; sometime you would find yourself eating and someone close by would let slip on your dinner and on your clothes,” one man reported.(5) 

     But the weather cleared and things settled down. The men passed time reading Shakespeare aloud and a book about Napoleon; started a debate society and made speeches. A large sea turtle was captured and eaten by officers. 

     July 26th they landed on the barrier island of Brazo Santiago, a “wasteland” of sand dunes about three and a half miles wide. They pitched their tents, ate supper and went to bathe in the ocean. Today Brazo Santiago is a state park in Cameron County, Texas. It is still undeveloped. For the 5,000 troops camped there it was challenging, without a building, grass or tree. “Over it the wind sweeps without obstruction, sprinkling food, eyes, ears, etc. with sand,” Lew Wallace, officer, wrote in a letter to a newspaper back home. By agreement they abandoned shaving. Diarrhea and measles broke out. Their schedule was awakening to Reveille and two hours of drill after breakfast. They drilled again at 4:00. In between, they gathered firewood, washed, cooked, tended to the camp, and organized hunting and fishing parties, cooking what they caught. They made bean soup, boiled crabs, deep-fried fritters and fresh oysters. There were fights and foot races. 

     In spite of the novelties life by the ocean offered, no doubt they were happy to leave. July 30 the First Regiment left for the mouth of the Rio Grande eight miles away.

     On August 1st they arrived near Barrita, expecting to go on to Monterey. Instead, they were sent back to the mouth of Rio Grande, past cotton and sugar cane fields they were probably seeing for the first time. Their job was to guard the rear, a crushing disappointment. Instead of the chance to be a hero in battle, they experienced the nerve wracking monotony of being in a place where nothing was happening and they had little to do. The former Indianapolis Sentinel reporter sent back a dispatch describing the location. “I am ready to admit that it is a place far from inviting to many, save a wrecked seaman seeking for a spot of ground to set foot on to avoid the sand and surf of the raging gulf…” he said. There was much sickness in camp but, he was a bit philosophical about that. “If you take the most perfect spot in Indiana and camp in a tent and survive on salt pork and hard crackers, then you would “rage with sickness,” he said. The wind blew water from lagoons (the estuary) into the Rio Grande making it salty, and “constant blowing sand meant one swallowed as much sand as food or drink.” 

     And about that food and drink…The rations they received three times a week were beans, coffee, sugar, pickled pork, and a hardtack-like biscuit crawling with brown bugs. 

     Unsurprisingly given the biscuit, river water and spoiled meat, there was outbreak after outbreak of diarrhea. The death march with fife and drum became a daily occurrence. After lumber for coffins was gone, wood from barrels and cracker boxes was used until it too was gone. Then the men were buried in their army blanket. A final indignity was that wind blew over the graves exposing the corpses. On top of everything else, September was broiling with temperatures reaching 110 degrees, and heat stroke was common. 

     Finally they received orders to go to Camargo, Chihuahua 210 miles away and eagerly boarded the J.E. Roberts and Rough & Ready. Inauspiciously, a man fell overboard and drowned before they even left. They arrived at Camargo on December 14th and 15th to find a dilapidated town on the banks of the Rio Grande. To the Hoosiers, the dwellings looked more like hog pens and cow shacks than houses. Tarantulas, ants and biting insects infested the area. In all, about 1,500 men died in Camargo and another 1,400 became incapacitated.(7) It was not a good choice of places to house nearly 15,000 troops that were amassed there at its peak. The men of the Indiana First were put to work breaking mules. 

     On Dec 19th the men rose early to march through the Chihuahuan desert. The road was ankle deep in dust that rose in choking clouds such that they could not see in front of them. The next day after a 20 mile march their noses were so sore from blowing, and their lips swollen and blistered. The heat, dust and salt pork produced such thirst that they desperately drank pond water thickly covered in green scum. After five days of misery, they were halfway to their destination when orders came to return to the mouth of the Rio Grande. Their officer was so upset he couldn't read the orders aloud and got one of the men to do so. They felt punished for reasons they did not know. Now they had all those miles to return to. Back they started, when a few days later orders changed again. Turn around and head to Matamoras.

     After more days of marching, at last they arrived in Matamoras, where they rested, and slept under a roof for the first time in eight months, Asa Moore in barracks at the lower plaza. They were given a little break, and there were social functions where they danced with Mexican women. Some men went sightseeing among the narrow streets of town and the cathedral. Yet, for the newspaper reporter-turned-soldier, it was hardly a paradise. “I have been in dusty towns before but was never in a town where the dust came so near to suffocating people – it was nothing but one cloud of dust from one end of town to the other,” he wrote. He couldn't sleep for dogs barking till 3:00 a.m. when the “braying of asses and crowing of cocks” started up. 

     They barely settled in when they were ordered to Monterey, nearly a 200-mile march. The Mexican Army had surrendered Monterey in September. 

     There, General Zachary Taylor was faced with the challenge of an influx of thousands of state militiamen and volunteers who arrived without rudimentary supplies, even without arms, when he could barely feed his four thousand Regular Army soldiers. The lack of supplies, the monotony of camp, the strictness of army life and a high incidence of illness created friction. Drunkenness flourished because alcohol provided an escape for volunteers who signed up to fight, not to suffer insufficient provisions in the sweltering heat.(8)      

     The Indiana troops were sent to an encampment three miles outside of Monterey. It was an ideal camp with a natural spring, towering peaks, and well shaded with oak and pecan trees. It was Bosque de San Domingo but the Americans called it Walnut Springs. Asa Moore’s journey ended there. He was sent home in March on surgeon’s orders. It would be interesting to know how he traveled back through Mexico to the United States. In late May, the Indiana regiments started for home. The Second and Third Indiana Regiments saw battle, but the First never did. It was commented upon in the Indianapolis Sentinel. 

     For eight months, Asa Moore’s home was a tent, a few nights in a steamboat, a few in a sailing ship, and a very few in a barracks. Arguably the biggest adventure of his life was over. In 1850 he married Louisa Bennett and moved to Missouri. They lived there and in Benton County, Arkansas where her family moved. They had four children, the youngest of whom was Bird Suttenfield, who I wrote about in “Bird Suttenfield, Ella and the Foundling.” Sometime in the 1870s, they returned to Fort Wayne where Asa Moore worked as a teamster and they lived for the rest of their lives. He died in 1901 at age 78; Louisa lived to be 92 and died in 1920. Both were buried at Lindenwood Cemetery. 

Family Note: Asa Moore Suttenfield was the brother of my great-great-great grandmother, Jane Suttenfield. He was the uncle of my great-great grandfather, Myron Cassius Barbour. 

Notes:

1. A profile of Ochmig Bird mentions that he “became especially fond of Ann Suttenfield, perhaps after assisting the family after William’s death.” (Canawlers At Rest).

2. Buley. 

3. Ibid.

4.  “Sketches in Camp No. 1,” Sentinel, 11 July 1846.   

5. Buley. 

6. Ibid.

7. Gateway South. 

8. Ibid.

Sources:

     Buley, R.C. “Indiana In the Mexican War,” Indiana Magazine of History, Vol. 15, No. 3 (Sept. 1919), 260-292. 

     “Gateway South: The Campaign For Monterey,” The U.S. Army Campaigns For the Mexican War, https://history.army.mil/brochures/the%20campaign%20for%20monterrey/the%20campaign%20for%20monterrey.htm

     “Oehmig Bird,” Canawlers At Rest, The Hoosier Packet, February 2012, https://indcanal.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/oehmig-bird.pdf

     

Newspapers:

     Pronunciation Guide: The Journal (Evansville, Indiana), 11 June 1846, p. 2.

     Tired of War News: The Journal (Evansville, Indiana), 18 June 1846, p. 2. 

     “Camp Whitcomb,” Indiana State Sentinel (Indianapolis), 11 July 1846, p. 3.

     “Sketches in the Camp No. 1,” Indiana State Sentinel (Indianapolis), 11 July 1846, p. 3.

     “Sketches In the Camp by an Ex-Reporter of the State Sentinel,” Indiana State Sentinel (Indianapolis), 19 Nov 1846, p. 4.

     Never Seeing Battle: Indiana State Sentinel (Indianapolis), 19 Aug 1847, p. 1. 

Copyright by Andrea Auclair  © 2024