upon the soldiers. At the old battlefield below New Orleans, Where many of the troops camped, mud and water covered what was below their hoot-tops while mosquitos covered what was above. Going down the river they brightened at the sight of sycamores and live-oaks, draped with Spanish moss, and of the ducks, jays, mocking-birds and Virginia nightingales, that seemed to find life so merry. But soon the lighthouse of the Southwest Pass was gleaming astern, the muddy water became blue, and these landsmen Were on the deep. Sharks, diving porpoises, squadrons of nautili and shoals of little flying-fish gave them some pleasure; but the motion, especially to men packed like sardines in the dirty holds of schooners and small brigs or lying spoon-fashion fit there was even room to do that—on deck, seemed horrible. On the slow voyage the water, which was often impure, fermented sometimes, and ten cents was the price of a wholesome drink.[1]
And then the Gulf storms! The wind howled; the sea opened its jaws; the heavens were now like ink, and now one burst of flame; thunders rolled; ropes hissed and shrieked; spars cracked, snapped and were swept away; the vessel tossed from beam-end to beam-end; the maddened horses almost kicked the planking from the ribs, and the men cursed, prayed or stolidly awaited their fate. But sooner or later nearly all of them perceived on the horizon a line of sandy beach spotted with tents. It was Brazos Island 0H Point Isabel, and they anchored about four miles from it in the open sea. Meanwhile Brevet Major General Gaines, commanding the military department of the West, had begun on May 3 at his own instance to requisition troops for the relief of Taylor, and a considerable number of these men also set out for the Point.[2]
The question of a commander now had to be decided Polk felt little confidence in Taylor. The Generals separating his army so far from his base and exposing both to imminent peril seemed inexcusable; and furthermore General Scott, not only the head of the army but the famous hero of Lundy's Lane, was the natural chief of the large forces now called out. Certain facts, however, injured Scott's chances. He was now-almost exactly sixty years old, and many thought him,
