This journey was made by stage coach via Santa Fe as far as Kansas City, thirteen hundred miles, in midwinter, and was not without interesting incidents, one of which I will relate. We left Santa Fe with six passengers, Judge S. Watts, two young ladies, two merchants and myself. There was also the stage driver and the driver of a wagon which carried our provisions and baggage. The weather, for the greater portion of the time, was intensely cold, the ground being covered with snow. We slept under a roof only twice during the journey of twelve days.

My brother, Anson Mills, was then a cavalry captain in the army, but I had not heard from him for many months, and had not the slightest idea in what part of the country he might be. One very cold day, about noon, when approaching the Arkansas River, we met a train of wagons bound for Santa Fe, and the wagonmaster informed us that he had the day before been attacked by a party of Indians at the crossing of the Arkansas, but had stood them off, and had moved on, uninjured. He advised us to return to Santa Fe, but, incredible as it may seem, we decided to proceed on our journey. I do not call this courage; to me, after so many years, it appears more like foolhardiness!

Nearing the river, but before we could see down into the valley, we saw, far to our right, and apparently flanking us, two men with rifles, whom we supposed might be Indians.

The coach was halted, we four male passengers, with our arms, moved toward the strangers and beckoned them to approach. They did so, and I soon recognized the familiar uniform of United States soldiers! I asked, “Where are you camped?” Reply: “Down yonder at the crossing.” “Who is in command?” “Captain Mills.” “What Mills?” “Captain Anson Mills.”

The ladies slept that night in the captain’s tent and we brothers, by the camp fire, told each other our adventures since we had separated at El Paso, five years before, each to take his chances in the desperate game of war.

Captain Mills gave me his application for promotion to present at Washington, and after the stage had started he called to me: “Get me a leave of absence, and I will go to Washington and return your visit.”

Arrived in Washington, I presented the application for promotion to Gen. John B. Steedman, who indorsed it thus: “Captain Mills served on my staff for three years. He is the best officer of his rank I ever knew; intelligent, efficient and fearless. I recommend him for promotion.”

A few days later I went with some New Mexican friends to call on General Grant, who was then Secretary of war. I told the General about meeting my brother, and asked a leave of absence for him. The General replied that such applications must come through the regular channels. I showed the Secretary the application for promotion, with Steedman’s indorsement, and told him something of our troubles at El Paso at the outbreak of the Rebellion. He read the papers and seemed pleased, but continued talking with my friends and dispatching business. On rising to take our leave, I told General Grant that I was sorry not to meet my brother at Washington, but I could not complain, as I saw good reasons for the refusal. To which he replied: “The telegram has gone, sir; your brother will be here in a few days.”

He came, and got his promotion also.

Soon after this I was summoned to the State Department for an interview with the Secretary, William H. Seward. He asked many questions about President Juarez and his cause, and about the real sentiment of the Mexican people, and about their probable ability to drive Maximilian and the French out of Mexico “without assistance.”

Mr. Seward asked me about our consul at Juarez, Henry J. Cuniffe. I replied that he was an able and patriotic gentleman.

The Secretary then said that in the absence of the United States Minister, our consul ought to have an extra allowance of money for expenses during the Mexican President’s stay at Juarez, and asked me what amount I thought would be sufficient.

I replied $2,500 a quarter, and the Secretary said that would not be too much, and if the consul would make requisitions they would be honored.

I wrote my friend Cuniffe immediately.

This was before the days of “Retrenchment and Reform.”

Now came one of my hardest battles. My term of four years as collector of customs at El Paso, under Lincoln, was about to expire, and there was objection to my reappointment—there always is—but in this case there was a serious charge of misconduct in office to the effect that I had permitted the exportation of large quantities of arms and ammunition from my district into Mexico to be used against the French, in violation of the instructions from my own Government and the neutrality laws; and “on the face of the returns” the charge appeared to be true, and my enemies believed my defeat certain.

Andrew Johnson was President. When I called on him, with some friends, to make my formal application, we met, by an awkward accident, a delegation of my enemies, and we “had it out” then and there. I stated my own case, and though the President was noncommittal, I felt sure of reappointment, though my friends did not. A few days afterward, when Judge Watts was talking to the President on other subjects, the President said: “Judge, where is your young friend from Texas? Is this his appointment which I signed to-day?” When told that it was, he said: “I intended from the first to appoint him. I like that young man.”

In the Senate there was opposition to my confirmation. Senator Conness of California made a sensational speech against me in executive session, and presented what he called “proof.” I saw the Senator personally and made some explanations, which it is not necessary, or proper, to repeat here, and he withdrew his opposition and moved my confirmation, and I was unanimously confirmed.

In May, 1866, the President’s private secretary, Col. Henry Cooper, asked the Texas Republicans then in Washington to agree upon some Texan to be appointed “Visitor to West Point.”

These appointments are strictly Presidential, not requiring confirmation by the Senate, and are much desired and sought after, being considered a high honor and a special favor from the chief executive of the nation. We met and selected a very distinguished Texan, Judge George W. Paschal, and sent up his name.

A few days later Colonel Cooper said to one of our friends: “The President does not like the selection of Paschal. He says he is going to appoint Mills. Tell Mills to come and see him.” I called and thanked the President, and had some conversation with him, but later gave my brother, Capt. Anson Mills, a letter to the President, requesting him to substitute his name for mine, which was done.

I have known and conversed with four Presidents—Lincoln, Johnson, Grant and McKinley—and have held office under all of them; but I knew Andy Johnson best, and I liked the rugged, stubborn Southerner, who had stood firm as a rock against rebellion in his own section. If I had been older, or bolder, I am vain enough to believe I might possibly have been of service to him. He had inherited his Cabinet from Mr. Lincoln, and some of them were, from the start, not very devoted to him personally. He was being flattered and cajoled by his late enemies, and he had been fretted and angered by certain Republican leaders, “wise men of the East,” who believed that no good could come out of Nazareth, and he was about to make the mistake of his life—the break with his party. I was pleased when, years later, he came to the United States Senate, supported by the votes of his best and truest friends—the Union people of Tennessee.