My Story — A Closer Reading
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My Story — A Closer Reading can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 108,511 words, 7 hr 52 min estimated reading time, and 41 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 23.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Generals -- United States -- Biography,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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They had nine children: Anson, William W., Marietta, Eliza Jane, Emmett, Allen, John, Caroline and Thomas Edwin, seven of whom grew to maturity. (Cuts, 28, 29.)
Thorntown had been a partially civilized Pottawottomi village under French Jesuit control, the seat of their reservation, where corn and other products were cultivated. When their reservation was opened to settlement, the Indians moved to Kansas. The birds carried the hawthorn seed and deposited it on the freshly plowed furrows of the farm land the Indians abandoned, which resulted in a beautiful orchard of hawthorn. Hence the name, Thorntown.
Grandfather Kenworthy purchased a good portion of these fields, including the old Indian burying-ground. He built a store and employed two six-mule teams to carry supplies from Cincinnati. One day, when Grandfather was plowing near this graveyard, a number of chiefs in war-paint came to his house.
After the Indians had smoked awhile, one of them drew a long knife, faced Grandfather and, pointing toward the graveyard, said:
"Kinwot, bimeby you gee-haw; gee-haw cut my brudder!"
Grandfather replied: "No, I will never plow the land under which your dead are buried," and it is today preserved as a graveyard.
Subsequent experiences with Indians led me to realize more than before the seriousness of this interview.
PRIVATIONS OF THE EARLY PIONEERS
My early life was primitive. For instance, there were no machine-made nails in this country. All nails were made by the village blacksmith from nail rods, and I often watched him while he wrought those I was sent to buy. All pins and needles were imported from England, and none of the pins had solid heads. They had wire-wound heads brazed upon the stems.
There were no shoe factories in the country, and no shoe stores in the villages. We were shod by itinerant cobblers, who made their lasts and pegs from maple wood from our wood pile. There were no rights or lefts, but each child had his own last. We children were so curious to handle the cobbler's tools that father authorized him to draw a chalk line around the corner where he worked, and use the knee strap, with which he held the shoe while pegging, to chastise us if we crossed it!
Farmers made their own brooms and axe helves from young hickory trees. We raised the wool and flax required for our clothing, all of which my mother spun, wove and fashioned, as did all other housewives. Stockings and mittens were all knit by hand; there were no knitting machines, sewing machines or cooking stoves. Practically everything necessary for existence was raised or made on the farms, save coffee, spices, tableware, hardware, glass and cutlery, which came from abroad and up the Mississippi by boat. Our nearest market was Cincinnati--two hundred miles away over rough and at times impassable roads.
There was then no Federal currency. Commerce was carried on with Spanish coin, and legal contracts were liquidated in "Spanish milled dollars." There were no postage stamps. Postmasters collected from writer or recipient ten cents for letters east of the Rocky Mountains and twenty-five cents for letters sent elsewhere. There were no envelopes. Letter paper had the fourth page unruled and was folded into an envelope, leaving the unruled page for the address. They were sealed with wax wafers.
There were no matches in general use. A Kentucky flint-lock rifle hung over the mantel, and this, with powder in the pan, was used to start fires by flashing the powder against tow or fine shavings. All farmers' boys became experts with these Kentucky rifles. Squirrels were so numerous that when the corn was maturing they would ruin three or four rows of corn next the fence. Partly to procure fresh meat and partly to protect the corn, it was our business to destroy these squirrels. I remember one Saturday I killed over sixty squirrels.
Carpenters learned their trade by five years' unpaid apprenticeship. A carpenter's chest of tools cost one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and contained approximately one hundred implements.
My father provided me with a carpenter's bench and tools and, without serving an apprenticeship, I became an expert carpenter, repairing farm tools and making furniture, as well as toys for the children. I was put to work "dropping corn" when not over eight years old and, later, hoeing and cultivating, as were all the children of my time. We were healthy and strong. Few children wore glasses and few had bad teeth.
I first went to school about 1840, when I was six. The school was a log house with a puncheon floor. Benches for the smaller scholars were saw-mill slabs, with four legs, without backs. The older boys had their bench facing the wall, with a broad plank on which to write fastened on pins in the logs.
Anson Mills's My Story opens with a detailed table of contents that immediately signals an unusual structure: the narrative is divided into three distinct periods, each grouping chapters by phase of life rather than strict chronology. The first period covers ancestry, early education at Charlotteville Academy and West Point, and initial postings in Texas and El Paso. The second period spans the Civil War and its aftermath, including marriage. The third period ranges from Western travels and the Paris Exposition to later Washington years, street railway consolidation in El Paso, and the Equitable Distribution of the Waters of the Rio Grande. This tripartite framework gives the autobiography a deliberate, almost architectural shape, with each section containing both personal milestones and public affairs.
Recurring Images of Uniform and Insignia
Throughout the excerpts, Mills returns repeatedly to the material symbols of military rank: brevets, medals of honor, uniform insignia. In a long 1892 protest letter reproduced in full, he argues against a Senate bill that would restore brevet "uniform" and "address," proposing instead that officers wear brevet insignia on the coat collar—red ground for gallantry in action, white for meritorious service not in action. He meticulously tallies the distribution of brevet generals among staff and line corps, noting that of 67 field officers holding brevets above their grade, only 24 belong to the line while 43 are staff, and that noncombatant corps "lead in honors." This fixation on the visual and hierarchical markers of recognition recurs in the appendix on his cartridge belt equipment, where detailed illustrations show the belt's construction. The uniform becomes a text in which Mills reads the army's values and his own place within them.
Movement Between Washington and the West
The table of contents reveals a pattern of oscillation between Eastern centers of power and Western frontiers. Chapters such as "Early Days in Texas," "El Paso Experiences," and "Western Experiences" alternate with "In Washington" and "In Washington Again." This back-and-forth is not merely geographic; it reflects a career spent lobbying for military reforms and infrastructure projects while stationed at remote posts. The excerpt from the 1892 letter is written from Fort Walla Walla, Washington, yet addressed to the Adjutant General in Washington, D.C. Mills's later work on the Rio Grande water rights and the Boundary Commission similarly shuttles between local fieldwork in the El Paso region and negotiations in the capital. The autobiography itself enacts this movement, with each Washington chapter serving as a pivot between Western adventures and national policy.
The Cartridge Belt as a Structural Motif
One of the most concrete recurring details is the cartridge belt equipment, to which Mills devotes an entire chapter and multiple illustrations. The index lists eight separate page references for the belt, suggesting it is a leitmotif of the third period. Mills invented a woven cartridge belt that became standard U.S. Army issue, and the autobiography treats this invention as both a technical achievement and a symbol of practical reform. The belt appears alongside other innovations such as the consolidation of the El Paso and Juarez street railways and the equitable distribution of Rio Grande waters—each representing a solution to a tangible problem. By giving the belt its own chapter and extensive visual documentation, Mills elevates a piece of equipment to the same structural importance as battles or diplomatic commissions, reinforcing the autobiography's emphasis on material progress and personal agency.
The Role of Appendices and Documentary Evidence
Mills supplements his narrative with three appendices: a lengthy treatise on the organization and administration of the U.S. Army, an address before the Society of the Army of the Cumberland, and an address before the Order of Indian Wars on the Battle of the Rosebud. These documents extend the autobiography beyond personal recollection into official record and historical argument. The inclusion of the full 1892 protest letter within the main text further blurs the line between memoir and archive. This documentary impulse suggests that Mills saw his story as inseparable from the institutional history of the army and the legal disputes over Western resources. Readers should be prepared for shifts between first-person narrative and reproduced official correspondence, a technique that gives My Story the texture of a collected papers volume as much as a conventional autobiography.
Because the excerpts cover only the table of contents, one extended letter, and the Project Gutenberg boilerplate, the full arc of Mills's life remains partially obscured. The autobiography's three-period structure and its alternation between personal and public chapters, however, are clearly established. Readers interested in military reform, Western infrastructure, or the material culture of the late nineteenth-century army will find Mills's detailed accounts of brevets, cartridge belts, and water rights particularly valuable. The work rewards attention to its documentary layers and to the way Mills uses official correspondence as a narrative device.
I remember when Anson Mills’s memoir first came to my desk, its grave accounting of campaigns and quiet Water Rights reforms. Yet nights later, I held Under England's flag — Themes and Context, and felt the same patient, unsentimental dignity—men shaping duty from harsh soil. Both whisper of loyalty, measured not in cheers, but in slow, deliberate service under distant skies.
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