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Title: My life on the plains
Personal experiences with Indians
Author: George A. Custer
Release date: April 30, 2024 [eBook #73498]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Sheldon and Company, 1874
Credits: Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS ***
Transcriber’s Note: Italics are enclosed in _underscores_. The
transcriber added the Table of Contents directly below. Additional
notes will be found near the end of this ebook.
CONTENTS
I. 5
II. 13
III. 20
IV. 31
V. 40
VI. 48
VII. 55
VIII. 69
IX. 79
X. 86
XI. 99
XII. 113
XIII. 124
XIV. 139
XV. 154
XVI. 170
XVII. 184
XVIII. 193
XIX. 202
XX. 215
[Illustration:
_Truly yours
G. A. Custer_
]
MY LIFE ON THE PLAINS.
OR,
PERSONAL EXPERIENCES WITH INDIANS.
BY
GEN. G. A. CUSTER, U. S. A.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
SHELDON AND COMPANY,
677 BROADWAY, AND 214 & 216 MERCER STREET,
UNDER GRAND CENTRAL HOTEL.
1874.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by
SHELDON & Co.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Electrotyped by SMITH & MCDOUGAL, 82 Beekman St., N. Y.
LIFE ON THE PLAINS.
I
As a fitting introduction to some of the personal incidents and
sketches which I shall hereafter present to the readers of “The
Galaxy,” a brief description of the country in which these events
transpired may not be deemed inappropriate.
It is but a few years ago that every schoolboy, supposed to possess
the rudiments of a knowledge of the geography of the United States,
could give the boundaries and a general description of the “Great
American Desert.” As to the boundary the knowledge seemed to be quite
explicit: on the north bounded by the Upper Missouri, on the east by
the Lower Missouri and Mississippi, on the south by Texas, and on
the west by the Rocky Mountains. The boundaries on the northwest and
south remained undisturbed, while on the east civilization, propelled
and directed by Yankee enterprise, adopted the motto, “Westward the
star of empire takes its way.” Countless throngs of emigrants crossed
the Mississippi and Missouri rivers, selecting homes in the rich and
fertile territories lying beyond. Each year this tide of emigration,
strengthened and increased by the flow from foreign shores, advanced
toward the setting sun, slowly but surely narrowing the preconceived
limits of the “Great American Desert,” and correspondingly enlarging
the limits of civilization. At last the geographical myth was
dispelled. It was gradually discerned that the Great American Desert
did not exist, that it had no abiding place, but that within its
supposed limits, and instead of what had been regarded as a sterile
and unfruitful tract of land, incapable of sustaining either man or
beast, there existed the fairest and richest portion of the national
domain, blessed with a climate pure, bracing, and healthful, while its
undeveloped soil rivalled if it did not surpass the most productive
portions of the Eastern, Middle, or Southern States.
Discarding the name “Great American Desert,” this immense tract of
country, with its eastern boundary moved back by civilization to a
distance of nearly three hundred miles west of the Missouri river, is
now known as “The Plains,” and by this more appropriate title it shall
be called when reference to it is necessary. The Indian tribes which
have caused the Government most anxiety and whose depredations have
been most serious against our frontier settlements and prominent lines
of travel across the Plains, infest that portion of the Plains bounded
on the north by the valley of the Platte river and its tributaries,
on the east by a line running north and south between the 97th and
98th meridians, on the south by the valley of the Arkansas river, and
west by the Rocky Mountains--although by treaty stipulations almost
every tribe with which the Government has recently been at war is
particularly debarred from entering or occupying any portion of this
tract of country.
Of the many persons whom I have met on the Plains as transient visitors
from the States or from Europe, there are few who have not expressed
surprise that their original ideas concerning the appearance and
characteristics of the country were so far from correct, or that the
Plains in imagination, as described in books, tourists’ letters, or
reports of isolated scientific parties, differed so widely from the
Plains as they actually exist and appear to the eye. Travellers,
writers of fiction, and journalists have spoken and written a great
deal concerning this immense territory, so unlike in all its qualities
and characteristics to the settled and cultivated portion of the United
States; but to a person familiar with the country the conclusion is
forced, upon reading these published descriptions, either that the
writers never visited but a limited portion of the country they aim to
describe, or, as is most commonly the case at the present day, that the
journey was made in a stage-coach or Pullman car, half of the distance
travelled in the night time, and but occasional glimpses taken during
the day. A journey by rail across the Plains is at best but ill adapted
to a thorough or satisfactory examination of the general character of
the country, for the reason that in selecting the route for railroads
the valley of some stream is, if practicable, usually chosen to contain
the road-bed. The valley being considerably lower than the adjacent
country, the view of the tourist is correspondingly limited. Moreover,
the vastness and varied character of this immense tract could not
fairly be determined or judged of by a flying trip across one portion
of it. One would scarcely expect an accurate opinion to be formed of
the swamps of Florida from a railroad journey from New York to Niagara.
After indulging in criticisms on the written descriptions of the
Plains, I might reasonably be expected to enter into what I conceive a
correct description, but I forbear. Beyond a general outline embracing
some of the peculiarities of this slightly known portion of our
country, the limits and character of these sketches of Western life
will not permit me to go.
The idea entertained by the greater number of people regarding the
appearance of the Plains, while it is very incorrect so far as the
latter are concerned, is quite accurate and truthful if applied to
the prairies of the Western States. It is probable, too, that romance
writers, and even tourists at an earlier day, mistook the prairies
for the Plains, and in describing one imagined they were describing
the other; whereas the two have little in common to the eye of the
beholder, save the general absence of trees.
In proceeding from the Missouri river to the base of the Rocky
Mountains, the ascent, although gradual, is quite rapid. For example,
at Fort Riley, Kansas, the bed of the Kansas river is upward of 1,000
feet above the level of the sea, while Fort Hays, at a distance of
nearly 150 miles further west, is about 1,500 feet above the level of
the sea. Starting from almost any point near the central portion of the
Plains, and moving in any direction, one seems to encounter a series
of undulations at a more or less remote distance from each other, but
constantly in view. Comparing the surface of the country to that of
the ocean, a comparison often indulged in by those who have seen both,
it does not require a very great stretch of the imagination, when
viewing this boundless ocean of beautiful living verdure, to picture
these successive undulations as gigantic waves, not wildly chasing each
other to or from the shore, but standing silent and immovable, and by
their silent immobility adding to the impressive grandeur of the scene.
These undulations, varying in height from fifty to five hundred feet,
are sometimes formed of a light sandy soil, but often of different
varieties of rock, producing at a distance the most picturesque effect.
The constant recurrence of these waves, if they may be so termed, is
quite puzzling to the inexperienced plainsman. He imagines, and very
naturally too, judging from appearances, that when he ascends to the
crest he can overlook all the surrounding country. After a weary walk
or ride of perhaps several miles, which appeared at starting not more
than one or two, he finds himself at the desired point, but discovers
that directly beyond, in the direction he desires to go, rises a
second wave, but slightly higher than the first, and from the crest
of which he must certainly be able to scan the country as far as the
eye can reach. Thither he pursues his course, and after a ride of from
five to ten miles, although the distance did not seem half so great
before starting, he finds himself on the crest, or, as it is invariably
termed, the “divide,” but again only to discover that another and
apparently a higher divide rises in his front, and at about the same
distance. Hundreds, yes, thousands of miles may be journeyed over, and
this same effect witnessed every few hours.
As you proceed toward the west from the Missouri, the size of the trees
diminishes as well as the number of kinds. As you penetrate the borders
of the Indian country, leaving civilization behind you, the sight of
forests is no longer enjoyed, the only trees to be seen being scattered
along the banks of the streams, these becoming smaller and more rare,
finally disappearing altogether and giving place to a few scattering
willows and osiers. The greater portion of the Plains may be said to be
without timber of any kind. As to the cause of this absence scientific
men disagree, some claiming that the high winds which prevail in
unobstructed force prevent the growth and existence of not only trees
but even the taller grasses. This theory is well supported by facts,
as, unlike the Western prairies, where the grass often attains a height
sufficient to conceal a man on horseback, the Plains are covered by a
grass which rarely, and only under favorable circumstances, exceeds
three inches in height. Another theory, also somewhat plausible, is
that the entire Plains were at one time covered with timber more or
less dense, but this timber, owing to various causes, was destroyed,
and has since been prevented from growing or spreading over the Plains
by the annual fires which the Indians regularly create, and which sweep
over the entire country. These fires are built by the Indians in the
fall to burn the dried grass and hasten the growth of the pasturage in
the early spring. Favoring the theory that the Plains were at one time
covered with forests, is the fact that entire trunks of large trees
have been found in a state of petrifaction on elevated portions of the
country, and far removed from streams of water.
While dwarfed specimens of almost all varieties of trees are found
fringing the banks of some of the streams, the prevailing species
are cottonwood and poplar trees (_Populus monilifera_ and _Populus
angulosa_). Intermingled with these are found clumps of osiers (_Salix
longifolia_). In almost any other portion of the country the cottonwood
would be the least desirable of trees; but to the Indian, and, in many
instances which have fallen under my observation, to our troops, the
cottonwood has performed a service for which no other tree has been
found its equal, and that is as forage for horses and mules during
the winter season, when the snow prevents even dried grass from being
obtainable. During the winter campaign of 1868–’69 against the hostile
tribes south of the Arkansas, it not unfrequently happened that my
command while in pursuit of Indians exhausted its supply of forage,
and the horses and mules were subsisted upon the young bark of the
cottonwood tree. In routing the Indians from their winter villages,
we invariably discovered them located upon that point of the stream
promising the greatest supply of cottonwood bark, while the stream
in the vicinity of the village was completely shorn of its supply of
timber, and the village itself was strewn with the white branches of
the cottonwood entirely stripped of their bark. It was somewhat amusing
to observe an Indian pony feeding on cottonwood bark. The limb being
usually cut into pieces about four feet in length and thrown upon the
ground, the pony, accustomed to this kind of “long forage,” would place
one fore foot on the limb in the same manner as a dog secures a bone,
and gnaw the bark from it. Although not affording anything like the
amount of nutriment which either hay or grain does, yet our horses
invariably preferred the bark to either, probably on account of its
freshness.
The herbage to be found on the principal portion of the Plains is
usually sparse and stunted in its growth. Along the banks of the
streams and in the bottom lands there grows generally in rich abundance
a species of grass often found in the States east of the Mississippi;
but on the uplands is produced what is there known as the “buffalo
grass,” indigenous and peculiar in its character, differing in form
and substance from all other grasses. The blade under favorable
circumstances reaches a growth usually of from three to five inches,
but instead of being straight, or approximately so, it assumes a curled
or waving shape, the grass itself becoming densely matted, and giving
to the foot, when walking upon it, a sensation similar to that produced
by stepping upon moss or the most costly of velvet carpets.
Nearly all graminivorous animals inhabiting the Plains, except the
elk and some species of the deer, prefer the buffalo grass to that of
the lowland; and it is probable that even these exceptions would not
prove good if it were not for the timber on the bottom land, which
affords good cover to both the elk and the deer. Both are often found
in large herds grazing upon the uplands, although the grass is far
more luxuriant and plentiful on the lowlands. Our domestic animals
invariably choose the buffalo grass, and experience demonstrates beyond
question that it is the most nutritious of all varieties of wild grass.
The favorite range of the buffalo is contained in a belt of country
running north and south, about two hundred miles wide, and extending
from the Platte river on the north to the valley of the Upper Canadian
on the south. In migrating, if not grazing or alarmed, the buffalo
invariably moves in single file, the column generally being headed by
a patriarch of the herd, who is not only familiar with the topography
of the country, but whose prowess “in the field” entitles him to become
the leader of his herd. He maintains this leadership only so long as
his strength and courage enable him to remain the successful champion
in the innumerable contests which he is called upon to maintain. The
buffalo trails are always objects of interest and inquiry to the
sight-seer on the Plains. These trails made by the herds in their
migrating movements are so regular in their construction and course as
to well excite curiosity. They vary but little from eight to ten inches
in width, and are usually from two to four inches in depth; their
course is almost as unvarying as that of the needle, running north
and south. Of the thousands of buffalo trails which I have seen, I
recollect none of which the general direction was not north and south.
This may seem somewhat surprising at first thought, but it admits of a
simple and satisfactory explanation.
The general direction of all streams, large and small, on the Plains,
is from the west to the east, seeking as they do an entrance to the
Mississippi. The habits of the buffalo incline him to graze and
migrate from one stream to another, moving northward and crossing
each in succession as he follows the young grass in the spring, and
moving southward seeking the milder climate and open grazing in the
fall and winter. Throughout the buffalo country are to be seen what
are termed “buffalo wallows.” The number of those is so great as to
excite surprise; a moderate estimate would give from one to three
to each acre of ground throughout this vast tract of country. These
wallows are about eight feet in diameter and from six to eighteen
inches in depth, and are made by the buffalo bulls in the spring when
challenging a rival to combat for the favor of the opposite sex. The
ground is broken by pawing--if an animal with a hoof can be said to
paw--and if the challenge is accepted, as it usually is, the combat
takes place; after which the one who comes off victorious remains in
possession of the battle-field, and, occupying the “wallow” of fresh
upturned earth, finds it produces a cooling sensation to his hot
and gory sides. Sometimes the victory which gives possession of the
battle-field and drives a hated antagonist away is purchased at a dear
price. The carcass of the victor is often found in the wallow, where
his brief triumph has soon terminated from the effects of his wounds.
In the early spring, during the shedding season, the buffalo resorts
to his “wallow” to aid in removing the old coat. These “wallows” have
proven of no little benefit to man, as well as to animals other than
the buffalo. After a heavy rain they become filled with water, the
soil being of such a compact character as to retain it. It has not
unfrequently been the case when making long marches that the streams
would be found dry, while water in abundance could be obtained from the
“wallows.” True, it was not of the best quality, particularly if it
had been standing long and the buffalo had patronized the wallows as
“summer resorts”; but on the Plains a thirsty man or beast, far from
any streams of water, does not parley long with these considerations.
Wherever water is found on the Plains, particularly if it is standing,
innumerable gadflies and mosquitoes generally abound. To such an
extent do these pests to the animal kingdom exist, that to our
thinly-coated animals, such as the horse and mule, grazing is almost an
impossibility, while the buffalo with his huge shaggy coat can browse
undisturbed. The most sanguinary and determined of these troublesome
insects are the “buffalo flies”; they move in myriads, and so violent
and painful are their assaults upon horses that a herd of the latter
has been known to stampede as the result of an attack from a swarm of
these flies.
But here again is furnished what some reasoners would affirm is
evidence of the “eternal fitness of things.” In most localities where
these flies are found in troublesome numbers, there are also found
flocks of starlings, a species of blackbird; these, more, I presume, to
obtain a livelihood than to become the defender of the helpless, perch
themselves upon the backs of the animals when woe betide the hapless
gadfly who ventures near, only to become a choice morsel for the
starling. In this way I have seen our herds of cavalry horses grazing
undisturbed, each horse of the many hundreds having perched upon his
back from one to dozens of starlings, standing guard over him while he
grazed.
One of the first subjects which addresses itself to the mind of the
stranger on the Plains, particularly if he be of a philosophical or
scientific turn of mind, is the mirage, which is here observed in all
its perfection. Many a weary mile of the traveller has been whiled away
in endeavors to account for the fitful and beautifully changing visions
presented by the mirage. Sometimes the distortions are wonderful, and
so natural as to deceive the most experienced eye. Upon one occasion I
met a young officer who had spent several years on the Plains and in
the Indian country. He was, on the occasion alluded to, in command of
a detachment of cavalry in pursuit of a party of Indians who had been
committing depredations on our frontier. While riding at the head of
his command he suddenly discovered, as he thought, a party of Indians
not more than a mile distant. The latter seemed to be galloping toward
him. The attention of his men was called to them, and they pronounced
them Indians on horseback. The “trot” was sounded, and the column
moved forward to the attack. The distance between the attacking party
and the supposed foe was rapidly diminishing, the Indians appearing
plainer to view each moment. The charge was about to be sounded, when
it was discovered that the supposed party of Indians consisted of the
decayed carcasses of half a dozen slain buffaloes, which number had
been magnified by the mirage, while the peculiar motion imparted by the
latter had given the appearance of Indians on horseback.
I have seen a train of government wagons with white canvas covers
moving through a mirage which, by elevating the wagons to treble their
height and magnifying the size of the covers, presented the appearance
of a line of large sailing vessels under full sail, while the usual
appearance of the mirage gave a correct likeness of an immense lake or
sea. Sometimes the mirage has been the cause of frightful suffering and
death by its deceptive appearance.
Trains of emigrants making their way to California and Oregon have,
while seeking water to quench their thirst and that of their animals,
been induced to depart from their course in the endeavor to reach
the inviting lake of water which the mirage displayed before their
longing eyes. It is usually represented at a distance of from five to
ten miles. Sometimes, if the nature of the ground is favorable, it
is dispelled by advancing toward it; at others it is like an _ignis
fatuus_, hovering in sight, but keeping beyond reach. Here and there
throughout this region are pointed out the graves of those who are said
to have been led astray by the mirage until their bodies were famished
and they succumbed to thirst.
The routes usually chosen for travel across the Plains may be said to
furnish, upon an average, water every fifteen miles. In some instances,
however, and during the hot season of the year, it is necessary in
places to go into what is termed “a dry camp,” that is, to encamp where
there is no water. In such emergencies, with a previous knowledge
of the route, it is practicable to transport from the last camp a
sufficient quantity to satisfy the demands of the people composing the
train, but the dumb brutes must trust to the little moisture obtained
from the night grazing to quench their thirst.
The animals inhabiting the Plains resemble in some respects the
fashionable society of some of our larger cities. During the extreme
heat of the summer they forsake their accustomed haunts and seek a more
delightful retreat. For, although the Plains are drained by streams
of all sizes, from the navigable river to the humblest of brooks, yet
at certain seasons the supply of water in many of them is of the most
uncertain character. The pasturage, from the excessive heat, the lack
of sufficient moisture, and the withering hot winds which sweep across
from the south, becomes dried, withered, and burnt, and is rendered
incapable of sustaining life. Then it is that the animals usually found
on the Plains disappear for a short time, and await the return of a
milder season.
Having briefly grouped the prominent features of the central Plains,
and as some of the incidents connected with my service among the Indian
tribes occurred far to the south of the localities already referred to,
a hurried reference to the country north of Texas, and in which the
Wichita mountains are located, a favorite resort of some of the tribes,
is here made. To describe as one would view it in journeying upon
horseback over this beautiful and romantic country, to picture with
the pen those boundless solitude--so silent that their silence alone
increases their grandeur--to gather inspiration from nature and to
attempt to paint the scene as my eye beheld it, is a task before which
a much readier pen than mine might well hesitate.
It was a beautiful and ever-changing panorama which at one moment
excited the beholder’s highest admiration, at the next impressed him
with speechless veneration. Approaching the Wichita mountains from the
north, and after the eye has perhaps been wearied by the tameness and
monotony of the unbroken Plains, one is gladdened by the relief which
the sight of these picturesque and peculiarly beautiful mountains
affords.
Here are to be seen all the varied colors which Bierstadt and Church
endeavor to represent in their mountain scenery. A journey across and
around them on foot and upon horseback will well repay either the
tourist or artist. The air is pure and fragrant, and as exhilarating
as the purest of wine; the climate entrancingly mild; the sky clear,
and blue as the most beautiful sapphire, with here and there clouds of
rarest loveliness, presenting to the eye the richest commingling of
bright and varied colors; delightful odors are constantly being wafted
by; while the forests, filled with the mocking bird, the colibri, the
humming bird, and the thrush, constantly put forth a joyful chorus,
and all combine to fill the soul with visions of delight and enhance
the perfection and glory of the creation. Strong indeed must be that
unbelief which can here contemplate nature in all her purity and glory,
and, unawed by the sublimity of this closely-connected testimony,
question either the Divine origin or purpose of the beautiful firmament.
Unlike most mountains, the Wichita cannot properly be termed a range or
chain, but more correctly a collection or group, as many of the highest
and most beautiful are detached, and stand on a level plain “solitary
and alone.” They are mainly composed of granite, the huge blocks of
which exhibit numerous shades of beautiful colors, crimson, purple,
yellow, and green predominating. They are conical in shape, and seem to
have but little resemblance to the soil upon which they are founded.
They rise abruptly from a level surface--so level and unobstructed that
it would be an easy matter to drive a carriage to any point of the
circumference at the base; and yet so steep and broken are the sides
that it is only here and there that it is possible to ascend them. From
the foot of almost every mountain pours a stream of limpid water, of
almost icy coldness.
If the character given to the Indian by Cooper and other novelists, as
well as by well-meaning but mistaken philanthropists of a later day,
were the true one; if the Indian were the innocent, simple-minded being
he is represented, more the creature of romance than reality, imbued
only with a deep veneration for the works of nature, freed from the
passions and vices which must accompany a savage nature; if, in other
words, he possessed all the virtues which his admirers and works of
fiction ascribe to him, and were free from all the vices which those
best qualified to judge assign to him, he would be just the character
to complete the picture which is presented by the country embracing the
Wichita mountains. Cooper, to whose writings more than to those of any
other author are the people speaking the English language indebted for
a false and ill-judged estimate of the Indian character, might well
have laid the scenes of his fictitious stories in this beautiful and
romantic country.
It is to be regretted that the character of the Indian as described in
Cooper’s interesting novels is not the true one. But as, in emerging
from childhood into the years of a maturer age, we are often compelled
to cast aside many of our earlier illusions and replace them by beliefs
less inviting but more real, so we, as a people, with opportunities
enlarged and facilities for obtaining knowledge increased, have been
forced by a multiplicity of causes to study and endeavor to comprehend
thoroughly the character of the red man. So intimately has he become
associated with the Government as ward of the nation, and so prominent
a place among the questions of national policy does the much mooted
“Indian question” occupy, that it behooves us no longer to study this
problem from works of fiction, but to deal with it as it exists in
reality. Stripped of the beautiful romance with which we have been so
long willing to envelop him, transferred from the inviting pages of
the novelist to the localities where we are compelled to meet with
him, in his native village, on the war path, and when raiding upon
our frontier settlements and lines of travel, the Indian forfeits his
claim to the appellation of the “_noble_ red man.” We see him as he
is, and, so far as all knowledge goes, as he ever has been, a _savage_
in every sense of the word; not worse, perhaps, than his white brother
would be similarly born and bred, but one whose cruel and ferocious
nature far exceeds that of any wild beast of the desert. That this is
true no one who has been brought into intimate contact with the wild
tribes will deny. Perhaps there are some who, as members of peace
commissions or as wandering agents of some benevolent society, may
have visited these tribes or attended with them at councils held for
some pacific purpose, and who, by passing through the villages of the
Indian while _at peace_, may imagine their opportunities for judging
of the Indian nature all that could be desired. But the Indian, while
he can seldom be accused of indulging in a great variety of wardrobe,
can be said to have a character capable of adapting itself to almost
every occasion. He has one character, perhaps his most serviceable one,
which he preserves carefully, and only airs it when making his appeal
to the Government or its agents for arms, ammunition, and license to
employ them. This character is invariably paraded, and often with
telling effect, when the motive is a peaceful one. Prominent chiefs
invited to visit Washington invariably don this character, and in their
“talks” with the “Great Father” and other less prominent personages
they successfully contrive to exhibit but this one phase. Seeing them
under these or similar circumstances only, it is not surprising that
by many the Indian is looked upon as a simple-minded “son of nature,”
desiring nothing beyond the privilege of roaming and hunting over the
vast unsettled wilds of the West, inheriting and asserting but few
native rights, and never trespassing upon the rights of others. This
view is equally erroneous with that which regards the Indian as a
creature possessing the human form but divested of all other attributes
of humanity, and whose traits of character, habits, modes of life,
disposition, and savage customs disqualify him from the exercise of all
rights and privileges, even those pertaining to life itself. Taking
him as we find him, at peace or at war, at home or abroad, waiving all
prejudices, and laying aside all partiality, we will discover in the
Indian a subject for thoughtful study and investigation. In him we
will find the representative of a race whose origin is, and promises
to be, a subject forever wrapped in mystery; a race incapable of being
judged by the rules or laws applicable to any other known race of
men; one between which and civilization there seems to have existed
from time immemorial a determined and unceasing warfare--a hostility
so deep-seated and inbred with the Indian character, that in the
exceptional instances where the modes and habits of civilization have
been reluctantly adopted, it has been at the sacrifice of power and
influence as a tribe, and the more serious loss of health, vigor, and
courage as individuals.
II.
If the character of the Indian is enveloped in mystery, how much
more so is his origin. From his earliest history to the present time
learned men have striven to unravel this mystery, and to trace the
genealogy of the red man to its original source. But in spite of all
study and the deepest research capable of being brought to bear on
this subject, it is to-day surrounded by a darkness almost as deep
and impenetrable as that which enfolded it centuries ago. Various
writers of ability have attempted to prove that the Indians came from
eastern Asia; others trace them to Africa, others to Phœnicia, while
another class believes them to be autochthones. In favor of each of
these beliefs strong circumstantial evidence can be produced. By
closely studying the customs, costumes, faith, and religious traditions
of the various tribes, a striking homogeneity is seen to exist. At
the same time and from the same sources we are enabled to discover
satisfactory resemblances between certain superstitions and religious
rites practised among the Indian tribes and those which prevailed at
one time among the ancient Persians, the Hebrews, and the Chaldeans.
They who adhere to the belief of disparity of origin may readily adduce
arguments in refutation of an opposite theory. The apparent similarity
found to exist in the customs, dress, and religious rites of different
tribes may be partially accounted for by their long intercourse under
like circumstances, the effect of which would necessarily be an
assimilation in beliefs and usages to a greater or less degree. The
preponderance of facts inclines strongly in favor of that theory which
does not ascribe unity of origin to the Indian tribes. Passing down
the Mississippi to Mexico, and from Mexico to Peru, there once existed
an unbroken chain of tribes, which, either in a peaceful or warlike
manner, maintained a connection and kept up an intercourse with each
other. In various ways proofs have been discovered that at one time
the most northern tribes must have held intercourse with the civilized
nations of Peru and Mexico. These evidences have been seized upon by
certain savants to support the theory that the Indian tribes of North
America are descendants of the Aztecs and other kindred nations of
the south--arriving at this conclusion from the fact of an apparent
similarity in history, psychology, traditions, and customs. But by
studying the migrations and tendencies of ancient nations, and making
allowance for such modifications as climatic influences, intermarriage,
contact with civilization, and an altered mode of living would
necessarily produce upon any branch of the human race--remembering,
too, that in the vast majority of cases relating to our subject we
must be guided by tradition rather than history--it is not difficult
to establish a strong typical likeness between the tribes of American
Indians and some of the nations of most remote antiquity. When or
in what exact manner they first reached this continent is a problem
difficult of solution. This theory necessarily involves the admission
of emigration to this continent centuries before the landing of
Columbus. Upon this point there is much that may be inferred, and not a
little susceptible of strong proof.
When civilization made its first inroads within the borders of this
continent, numerous tribes, each powerful in numbers, were found
inhabiting it. Each tribe had its peculiar customs, whether of war, the
chase, or religion. They exhibited some close resemblances as well as
widely different traits of character. That they sprang from different
nations rather than from a single source seems highly probable. It is
said that when the Spaniards conquered Yucatan a number of intelligent
Indians declared that by traditions from their ancestors they had
learned that their country had been peopled by nations coming from the
east, whom God had delivered from their enemies by opening a road for
them across the sea.
Few persons will deny that the existence of America was believed in
if not positively known centuries before its discovery by Columbus.
Even so far back as the time of Alexander the Great, a historian named
Theopompus, in giving a dialogue that took place between Midas and
Silenus, credits the latter with saying that Europe, Asia, and Africa
were only islands, but that a vast fertile continent existed beyond the
sea. This continent was peopled by a race of powerful men, and gold
and silver were abundant on its surface. Hanno, eight hundred years
before Christ, made a voyage along the coast of Africa, and sailed due
west for thirty days. From the account which he afterward wrote of his
voyage, it is probable that he saw portions of America or some of the
West India islands. Reference is also made by Homer and Horace to the
existence of islands at a long distance west of Europe and Africa.
Diodorus speaks of an immense island many days’ sail to the west of
Africa; immense rivers flowed from its shores; its inhabitants resided
in beautiful mansions; its soil was fruitful and highly cultivated. The
description corresponds with that given of Mexico by the Spaniards who
first discovered it. Aristotle makes mention of it in the following
terms: “It is said that the Carthaginians have discovered beyond
the Pillars of Hercules a very fertile island, but which is without
inhabitants, yet full of forests, of navigable rivers, and abounding
in fruit. It is situated many days’ journey from the mainland.” After
the discovery of America Europeans were surprised to find in villages
in Guatemala inhabitants wearing the Arabian masculine costume and the
Jewish feminine costume. Travellers in South America have discovered
Israelites among the Indians. This discovery strengthens the theory
given by Garcia, a Spanish writer, that the Indians are the descendants
of the tribes of Israel that were led captive into Assyria. Many of
the Indian customs and religious rites closely resemble those of the
Israelites. In many tribes the Indians offer the first fruits of the
earth and of the chase to the Great Spirit. They have also certain
ceremonies at stated periods. Their division of the year corresponds
with the Jewish festivals. In some tribes the brother of a deceased
husband receives the widow into his lodge as his legitimate wife. Some
travellers claim to have seen circumcision practised among certain
tribes. Another analogy between the Jews and the Indians is seen in
their purifications, baths, anointings, fasts, manner of praying, and
abstaining from certain quadrupeds, birds, and reptiles considered
impure. In general Indians are only permitted to marry in their own
tribe. Some tribes are said to carry with them an ark similar to the
one mentioned in Holy Writ. I know that all tribes with which I have
been brought in contact carry with them a mysterious something which
is regarded with the utmost sacredness and veneration, and upon which
the eye of no white man at least is ever permitted to rest. Then again
the “medicine man” of the tribe, who is not, as his name implies, the
physician, but stands in the character of high priest, assumes a dress
and manner corresponding to those of the Jewish high priest. Mr. Adair,
who spent forty years among the various northern tribes, and who holds
to the idea that the Indian is descended from the Hebrew, asserts that
he discovered an unmistakable resemblance between various Indian words
and the Hebrew intended to express the same idea. He further asserts
that he once heard an Indian apply the following expression to a
culprit: “_Tschi kaksit canaha_”--Thou art like unto a Canaanite sinner.
Numerous evidences and various authorities go to prove that prior to
the discovery of America by Columbus a series of voyages had been
made from the old to the new continent. The historical records of the
Scandinavians, describing their migratory expeditions, fix not only the
dates of such excursions, but also the exact points on the American
coast at which landings were made and colonies established. In 1002,
Thorwald Ericsson, following the example of his countrymen, began a
voyage, during which he landed near Cape Cod. He was afterward slain
in an encounter with the natives. Other expeditions were undertaken
by the Scandinavians at subsequent periods down to the early part
of the fifteenth century, when, owing to various causes of decline,
including savage wars and disease, these early explorers lost their
foothold on the American continent and disappeared from its limits.
But from the ninth to the fifteenth century it is easily proved by
their historical records and traditions that the American continent
had been visited and occupied by pioneers from the Scandinavians.
From the great number of inscriptions, antique utensils, arms, bones,
and monuments discovered in the New England States, it is fair to
presume that these adventurers had occupied a larger portion of the
new continent than their manuscripts would lead us to suppose. At the
same time the discoveries in the Western States and territories of
mounds containing human bones, earthen vessels, and weapons whose form
and structure prove that their original owners belonged to a different
people from any with which we are acquainted at the present day, should
be received as evidence strongly confirmatory of the early migrations
claimed to have been made by the Scandinavians and other nations.
Admitting that there are certain physiological attributes common to
nearly all the Indian tribes, sufficiently decided and clear to enable
them to be classed together as one branch of the human family, yet
an intimate study of all the tribes of North America will develop
physical diversities sufficiently ample to justify the belief that the
various tribes may have sprung from different nationalities. We find
them, although generally of a copper color, presenting all shades of
complexion from a deep black to a shade of white. Some tribes are of
powerful stature, others are dwarfed. So marked are these differences
that a person accustomed to meeting the various tribes can at a glance
distinguish the individuals of one from the other. Almost every tribe
possesses a language peculiarly its own, and what seems remarkable is
the fact that no matter how long or how intimately two tribes may be
associated with each other, they each preserve and employ their own
language, and individuals of the one tribe rarely become versed in the
spoken language of the other, all intercommunication being carried
on either by interpreters or in the universal sign language. This is
noticeably true of Cheyennes and Arrapahoes, two tribes which for years
have lived in close proximity to each other, and who are so strongly
bound together, offensively and defensively, as to make common cause
against the enemies of either, particularly against the white man.
These tribes encamp together, hunt together, and make war together,
yet but a comparatively small number of either can speak fluently the
language of the other. I remember to have had an interview at one time
with a number of prominent chiefs belonging to five different tribes,
the Cheyennes, Kiowas, Osages, Kaws, and Apaches. In communicating with
them it was necessary for my language to be interpreted into each of
the five Indian tongues, no representatives of any two of the tribes
being able to understand the language of each other; yet all of these
tribes were accustomed to more or less intimate association. Between
the tribes which inhabited the Eastern States and those originally
found on the Plains a marked difference is seen to exist. They have
but little in common, while a difference equally marked is discovered
between the Indians of the Plains and those of the mountain regions
further west, as well as the tribes of both Old and New Mexico.
Inseparable from the Indian character, wherever he is to be met with,
is his remarkable taciturnity, his deep dissimulation, the perseverance
with which he follows his plans of revenge or conquest, his concealment
and apparent lack of curiosity, his stoical courage when in the power
of his enemies, his cunning, his caution, and last, but not least,
the wonderful power and subtlety of his senses. Of this last I have
had most interesting proof, one instance of which will be noted when
describing the Washita campaign. In studying the Indian character,
while shocked and disgusted by many of his traits and customs, I find
much to be admired, and still more of deep and unvarying interest. To
me Indian life, with its attendant ceremonies, mysteries, and forms,
is a book of unceasing interest. Grant that some of its pages are
frightful, and, if possible, to be avoided, yet the attraction is
none the weaker. Study him, fight him, civilize him if you can, he
remains still the object of your curiosity, a type of man peculiar
and undefined, subjecting himself to no known law of civilization,
contending determinedly against all efforts to win him from his chosen
mode of life. He stands in the group of nations solitary and reserved,
seeking alliance with none, mistrusting and opposing the advances of
all. Civilization may and should do much for him, but it can never
civilize him. A few instances to the contrary may be quoted, but these
are susceptible of explanation. No tribe enjoying its accustomed
freedom has ever been induced to adopt a civilized mode of life,
or, as they express it, to follow the white man’s road. At various
times certain tribes have forsaken the pleasures of the chase and the
excitement of the war-path for the more quiet life to be found on the
“reservation.” Was this course adopted voluntarily and from preference?
Was it because the Indian chose the ways of his white brother rather
than those in which he had been born and bred?
In no single instance has this been true. What then, it may be asked,
have been the reasons which influenced certain tribes to abandon their
predatory, nomadic life, and to-day to influence others to pursue a
similar course? The answer is clear, and as undeniable as it is clear.
The gradual and steady decrease in numbers, strength, and influence,
occasioned by wars both with other tribes and with the white man, as
well as losses brought about by diseases partly attributable to contact
with civilization, have so lowered the standing and diminished the
available fighting force of the tribe as to render it unable to cope
with more powerful neighboring tribes with any prospect of success. The
stronger tribes always assume an overbearing and dominant manner toward
their weaker neighbors, forcing them to join in costly and bloody
wars or themselves to be considered enemies. When a tribe falls from
the position of a leading one, it is at the mercy of every tribe that
chooses to make war, being forced to take sides, and at the termination
of the war is generally sacrificed to the interests of the more
powerful. To avoid these sacrifices, to avail itself of the protection
of civilization and its armed forces, to escape from the ruining
influences of its more warlike and powerful neighbors, it reluctantly
accepts the situation, gives up its accustomed haunts, its wild mode
of life, and nestles down under the protecting arm of its former enemy,
the white man, and tries, however feebly, to adopt his manner of life.
In making this change the Indian has to sacrifice all that is dear
to his heart; he abandons the only mode of life in which he can be a
warrior and win triumphs and honors worthy to be sought after; and
in taking up the pursuits of the white man he does that which he has
always been taught from his earliest infancy to regard as degrading
to his manhood--to labor, to work for his daily bread, an avocation
suitable only for squaws.
To those who advocate the application of the laws of civilization to
the Indian, it might be a profitable study to investigate the effect
which such application produces upon the strength of the tribe as
expressed in numbers. Looking at him as the fearless hunter, the
matchless horseman and warrior of the Plains, where Nature placed him,
and contrasting him with the reservation Indian, who is supposed to be
revelling in the delightful comforts and luxuries of an enlightened
condition, but who in reality is grovelling in beggary, bereft of many
of the qualities which in his wild state tended to render him noble,
and heir to a combination of vices partly his own, partly bequeathed to
him from the pale-face, one is forced, even against desire, to conclude
that there is unending antagonism between the Indian nature and that
with which his well-meaning white brother would endow him. Nature
intended him for a savage state; every instinct, every impulse of his
soul inclines him to it. The white race might fall into a barbarous
state, and afterwards, subjected to the influence of civilization, be
reclaimed and prosper. Not so the Indian. He cannot be himself and be
civilized; he fades away and dies. Cultivation such as the white man
would give him deprives him of his identity. Education, strange as
it may appear, seems to weaken rather than strengthen his intellect.
Where do we find any specimens of educated Indian eloquence comparing
with that of such native, untutored orators as Tecumseh, Osceola, Red
Jacket, and Logan; or, to select from those of more recent fame, Red
Cloud of the Sioux, or Sa-tan-ta of the Kiowas? Unfortunately for the
last-named chief, whose name has been such a terror to our frontier
settlements, he will have to be judged for other qualities than that
of eloquence. Attention has more recently been directed to him by his
arrest by the military authorities near Fort Sill, Indian Territory,
and his transportation to Texas for trial by civil court for various
murders and depredations, alleged to have been committed by him near
the Texas frontier. He has since had his trial, and, if public rumor is
to be credited, has been sentenced to death. Reference will be made to
this noted chief in succeeding pages. His eloquence and able arguments
upon the Indian question in various councils to which he was called won
for him the deserved title of “Orator of the Plains.” In his boasting
harangue before the General of the Army, which furnished the evidence
of his connection with the murders for which he has been tried and
sentenced, he stated as a justification for such outrages, or rather as
the occasion of them, that they were in retaliation for his arrest and
imprisonment by me some three years ago. As there are two sides to most
questions, even if one be wrong, when the proper time arrives a brief
account of Sa-tan-ta’s arrest and imprisonment, with the causes leading
thereto, will be given in these sketches. One of the favorite remarks
of Sa-tan-ta in his orations, and one too which other chiefs often
indulge in, being thrown out as a “glittering generality,” meaning
much or little as they may desire, but most often the latter, was that
he was tired of making war and desired now “to follow the white man’s
road.” It is scarcely to be presumed that he found the gratification
of this oft-expressed desire in recently following the “white man’s
road” to Texas, under strong guard and heavily manacled, with
hanging, to the Indian the most dreaded of all deaths, plainly in the
perspective. Aside, however, from his character for restless barbarity,
and activity in conducting merciless forays against our exposed
frontiers, Sa-tan-ta is a remarkable man--remarkable for his powers of
oratory, his determined warfare against the advances of civilization,
and his opposition to the abandonment of his accustomed mode of life,
and its exchange for the quiet, unexciting, uneventful life of a
reservation Indian. If I were an Indian, I often think that I would
greatly prefer to cast my lot among those of my people who adhered to
the free open plains, rather than submit to the confined limits of
a reservation, there to be the recipient of the blessed benefits of
civilization, with its vices thrown in without stint or measure. The
Indian can never be permitted to view the question in this deliberate
way. He is neither a luxury nor necessary of life. He can hunt, roam,
and camp when and wheresoever he pleases, provided always that in so
doing he does not run contrary to the requirements of civilization in
its advancing tread. When the soil which he has claimed and hunted over
for so long a time is demanded by this to him insatiable monster, there
is no appeal; he must yield, or, like the car of Juggernaut, it will
roll mercilessly over him, destroying as it advances. Destiny seems to
have so willed it, and the world looks on and nods its approval. At
best the history of our Indian tribes, no matter from what standpoint
it is regarded, affords a melancholy picture of loss of life. Two
hundred years ago it required millions to express in numbers the Indian
population, while at the present time less than half the number of
thousands will suffice for the purpose. Where and why have they gone?
Ask the Saxon race, since whose introduction into and occupation of the
country these vast changes have been effected.
But little idea can be formed of the terrible inroads which diseases
before unknown to them have made upon their numbers. War has
contributed its share, it is true, but disease alone has done much to
depopulate many of the Indian tribes. It is stated that the small-pox
was first introduced among them by the white man in 1837, and that in
the short space of one month six tribes lost by this disease alone
twelve thousand persons.
Confusion sometimes arises from the division of the Indians into
nations, tribes, and bands. A nation is generally a confederation of
tribes which have sprung from a common stock or origin. The tribe is
intended to embrace all bands and villages claiming a common name,
and is presided over by a head chief, while each band or village is
presided over by one or more subordinate chiefs, but all acknowledging
a certain allegiance to the head or main village. This division cannot
always be accounted for. It arises sometimes from necessity, where the
entire tribe is a large one, and it is difficult to procure game and
grazing in one locality sufficient for all. In such cases the various
bands are not usually separated by any great distance, but regulate
their movements so as to be able to act in each other’s behalf.
Sometimes a chief more warlike than the others, who favors war and
conquest at all times, and refuses to make peace even when his tribe
assents to it, will separate himself, with those who choose to unite
their fortunes with his, from the remainder of the tribe, and act for
the time independently. Such a character produces endless trouble; his
village becomes a shelter and rendezvous for all the restless spirits
of the tribe. While the latter is or pretends to be at peace, this band
continues to make war, yet when pressed or pursued avails itself of the
protection of those who are supposed to be peaceable.
Having hurriedly sketched the country in which we shall find it
necessary to go, and glanced at certain theories calculated to shed
some light on the origin and destiny of the Indian tribes, the
succeeding pages will be devoted to my personal experience on the
Plains, commencing with the expedition of Major-General Hancock in the
spring of 1867.
III.
“There are two classes of people who are always eager to get up an
Indian war--the army and our frontiersmen.”
I quote from an editorial on the Indian question, which not long
since appeared in the columns of one of the leading New York daily
newspapers. That this statement was honestly made I do not doubt, but
that instead of being true it could not have been further from the
truth I will attempt to show. I assert, and all candid persons familiar
with the subject will sustain the assertion, that of all classes of our
population the army and the people living on the frontier entertain the
greatest dread of an Indian war, and are willing to make the greatest
sacrifices to avoid its horrors. This is a proposition, the assertion
of which almost carries its proof with it.
Under the most auspicious circumstances, and in time of peace with
the Indians, the life of an army officer on the Plains or along our
frontier is at best one involving no little personal discomfort, and
demanding the sacrifice of many of the luxuries and benefits which he
could obtain were he located within the limits of civilization. To many
officers, service in the West amounts almost to social exile. Some can
have their families with or near them. There is a limited opportunity
for social intercourse; travel from the States, to and across the
Plains, either for business or pleasure, is uninterrupted, and mail
facilities with friends and relations in the States are maintained. An
Indian war changes all this. The troops must prepare to take the field.
Provided with but few comforts, necessarily limited in this respect
by the amount of transportation, which on the Plains is narrowed down
to the smallest practicable, the soldier bids adieu--often a final
one--to the dear ones of home, and with his comrades in arms sets out,
no matter how inclement the season, to seek what? fame and glory? How
many military men have reaped laurels from their Indian campaigns?
Does he strive to win the approving smile of his countrymen? That is
indeed, in this particular instance, a difficult task. For let him act
as he may in conducting or assisting in a campaign against the Indians,
if he survives the campaign he can feel assured of this fact, that
one-half of his fellow-citizens at home will revile him for his zeal
and pronounce his success, if he achieves any, a massacre of poor,
defenceless, harmless Indians; while the other half, if his efforts to
chastise the common enemy are not crowned with satisfactory results,
will cry “Down with him. Down with the regular army, and give us brave
volunteers who can serve the Government in other ways besides eating
rations and drawing pay.”
An unsuccessful campaign, under which head nineteen out of twenty may
reasonably be classed, satisfies no portion of the public, and greatly
dissatisfies that portion of the Western population whose knowledge
of the murders and depredations committed by the Indians is, unlike
that of the people of the States further east, of too recent origin
to be swept away by false notions of clemency. During the continuance
of the campaign both officers and soldiers are generally cut off from
all communication with the friends left behind. Couriers, sent as
bearers of a few despatches and letters, are sometimes under cover
of the night enabled to make their way back to the forts; but even
these fail sometimes. I now recollect the circumstance of two trusty
scouts being sent with despatches and a small mail, to make their way
from the southern portion of Kansas to Fort Dodge on the Arkansas.
When we saw them again we beheld their lifeless, mangled remains,
their bodies pierced with numerous arrows, and mutilated almost beyond
recognition--our letters scattered here and there by the savages,
who had torn open the little canvas mail-bag in search of plunder.
The Indians had surrounded these faithful fellows when within about
ten miles of the end of their perilous journey. The numerous empty
cartridge shells which lay around and near the bodies of the two men,
proved how persistently and bravely they had struggled for their lives.
The opening of an Indian campaign is also the signal for the withdrawal
of all privileges and enjoyments, such as leaves of absence, visits
from Eastern friends, hunting and pleasure parties of all kinds. The
reception from the East of all luxuries and delicacies for the table
and of all current literature, such as the numerous railroads being
constructed in the West, particularly the two Pacifics, render easy of
procurement, ceases; and not only the private soldier but the officer
is limited in his mess fare to an indifferent portion of the ordinary
ration. Is it probable or reasonable that these objects and results,
the principal ones generally, so far as the army as individuals is
concerned, would be considered sufficient to render either officers
or soldiers “eager to get up an Indian war”? I have yet to make the
acquaintance of that officer of the army who, in time of undisturbed
peace, desired a war with the Indians. On the contrary, the army is
the Indian’s best friend, so long as the latter desires to maintain
friendship. It is pleasant at all times, and always interesting, to
have a village of peaceable Indians locate their lodges near our
frontier posts or camps. The daily visits of the Indians, from the most
venerable chief to the strapped pappoose, their rude interchange of
civilities, their barterings, races, dances, legends, strange customs,
and fantastic ceremonies, all combine to render them far more agreeable
as friendly neighbors than as crafty, bloodthirsty enemies.
As to the frontiersman, he has everything to lose, even to life, and
nothing to gain by an Indian war. “His object is to procure a fat
contract or a market for his produce,” adds the journal from which the
opening lines of this chapter are quoted. This seems plausible and
likely enough. But does that journal, and do the people who believe on
this question as it does, know that there are two reasons--more are not
required--why its statement is a very great error? First, our frontier
farmers, busily employed as they are in opening up their farms, never
have any produce to dispose of, but consider themselves fortunate if
they have sufficient for their personal wants. They are never brought
in contact with the Indian except when the latter makes a raid or
incursion of at least hundreds of miles, and attacks the settlements.
It is another case of Mohammed and the mountain. The frontiersman
never goes beyond the settlements. The Indian forsakes his accustomed
hunting-grounds when ambitious of obtaining scalps or plunder, and
visits the settlements. The only ground upon which the frontiersman
can be accused of inspiring or inciting a war with the Indian is,
that when applied to by the latter to surrender his life, family, and
property, scalp thrown in, he stoutly refuses, and sometimes employs
force to maintain this refusal. I have shown that this abused class of
the pioneers of civilization have no hand in the fat contracts. Who
are the fortunate parties? With but rare exceptions our most expensive
expeditions against the Indians on the Plains have been supplied by
contracts made with parties far inside the limits of civilization, who
probably never saw a hostile Indian, and who never even visited the
Indian country. The supplies are purchased far from the frontiers, in
the rich and thickly settled portions of the States, then shipped by
rail and boat to the most available military post, from which point
they are generally drawn by huge trains of army wagons, or carried on
pack animals.
Of the many important expeditions organized to operate in the Indian
country, none, perhaps, of late years has excited more general and
unfriendly comment, considering the slight loss of life inflicted
upon the Indians, than the expedition organized and led in person by
Major-General Hancock in the spring of 1867. The clique generally known
as the “Indian ring” were particularly malevolent and bitter in their
denunciations of General Hancock for precipitating, as they expressed
it, an Indian war. This expedition was quite formidable in appearance,
being made up of eight troops of cavalry, seven companies of infantry,
and one battery of light artillery, numbering altogether about 1,400
men. As General Hancock at the time and since has been so often accused
of causelessly bringing on an Indian war, a word in explanation may not
be amiss.
Being in command of the cavalry connected with the expedition, I had
ample and frequent opportunities for learning the true purposes and
objects of the march into the heart of the Indian country. I know no
better mode of explaining these than by quoting the following extract
from letters written by General Hancock to the agents of the various
tribes with which we expected to be brought in contact: “I have the
honor to state for your information that I am at present preparing
an expedition to the Plains, which will soon be ready to move. My
object in doing so at this time is, to convince the Indians within
the limits of this department that we are able to punish any of
them who may molest travellers across the Plains, or who may commit
other hostilities against the whites. We desire to avoid if possible
any troubles with the Indians, and to treat them with justice, and
according to the requirements of our treaties with them; and I wish
especially in my dealings with them to act through the agents of the
Indian Department as far as it is possible so to do.... If you as their
agent can arrange these matters satisfactorily with them, we will be
pleased to defer the whole subject to you. In case of your inability
to do so, I would be pleased to have you accompany me when I visit the
country of your tribes, to show that the officers of the Government are
acting in harmony. I will be pleased to talk with any of the chiefs
whom we may meet.”
Surely there was no hostile intent here expressed. In another
communication to the agents of different tribes, General Hancock, in
referring to certain murders which had been recently committed, and
which had been traced to the tribes in question, said: “These cases
will now be left entirely in the hands of the Indian Department, and
I do not expect to make war against any of the Indians of your agency
unless they commence war against us.”
It may be asked, What had the Indians done to make this incursion
necessary? They had been guilty of numerous thefts and murders during
the preceding summer and fall, for none of which had they been called
to account. They had attacked the stations of the overland mail route,
killed the employees, burned the station, and captured the stock.
Citizens had been murdered in their homes on the frontier of Kansas;
murders had been committed on the Arkansas route. The principal
perpetrators of these acts were the Cheyennes and Sioux. The agent of
the former, if not a party to the murder on the Arkansas, knew who
the guilty persons were, yet took no steps to bring the murderers to
punishment. Such a course would have interfered with his trade and
profits. It was not to punish for these sins of the past that the
expedition was set on foot, but rather by its imposing appearance
and its early presence in the Indian country to check or intimidate
the Indians from a repetition of their late conduct. This was deemed
particularly necessary from the fact that the various tribes from which
we had greatest cause to anticipate trouble had during the winter,
through their leading chiefs and warriors, threatened that as soon as
the grass was up in spring a combined outbreak would take place along
our entire frontier, and especially against the main routes of travel.
To assemble the tribes for the desired council, word was sent early in
March to the agents of those tribes whom it was desirable to meet. The
agents sent runners to the villages inviting them to meet us at some
point near the Arkansas river.
General Hancock, with the artillery and six companies of infantry,
reached Fort Riley, Kansas, from Fort Leavenworth by rail the last week
in March; here he was joined by four companies of the Seventh Cavalry
and an additional company of the Thirty-seventh Infantry. It was at
this point that I joined the expedition. And as a very fair sample
of the laurels which military men may win in an Indian campaign by a
zealous discharge of what they deem their duty, I will here state, in
parenthesis, that after engaging in the expedition, some of the events
of which I am about to relate, and undergoing fatigue, privations, and
dangers equal to those of a campaign during the Rebellion, I found
myself at the termination of the campaign again at Fort Riley _in
arrest_. This is not mentioned in a fault-finding spirit. I have no
fault to find. It is said that blessings sometimes come in disguise.
Such proved to be true in this instance, although I must say the
disguise for some little time was most perfect.
From Fort Riley we marched to Fort Harker, a distance of ninety miles,
where our force was strengthened by the addition of two more troops of
cavalry. Halting only long enough to replenish our supplies, we next
directed our march toward Fort Larned, near the Arkansas, about seventy
miles to the southeast. A march from the 3d to the 7th of April brought
us to Fort Larned. The agent for the Comanches and Kiowas accompanied
us. At Fort Larned we found the agent of the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and
Apaches; from the latter we learned that he had, as requested, sent
runners to the chiefs of his agency inviting them to the council, and
that they had agreed to assemble near Fort Larned on the 10th of the
month, requesting that the expedition would remain there until that
date. To this request General Hancock acceded.
On the 9th of April, while encamped awaiting the council, which was to
be held the following day, a terrible snow-storm occurred, lasting all
day until late in the evening. It was our good fortune to be in camp
rather than on the march; had it been otherwise, we could not well
have escaped without loss of life from the severe cold and blinding
snow. The cavalry horses suffered seriously, and were only preserved
by doubling their ration of oats, while to prevent their being frozen
during the intensely cold night which followed, the guards were
instructed to keep passing along the picket lines with a whip, and to
keep the horses moving constantly. The snow was eight inches in depth.
The council, which was to take place the next day, had to be postponed
until, the return of good weather. Now began the display of a kind of
diplomacy for which the Indian is peculiar. The Cheyennes and a band of
the Sioux were encamped on Pawnee Fork, about thirty miles above Fort
Larned. They neither desired to move nearer to us nor have us approach
nearer to them. On the morning of the 11th they sent us word that they
had started to visit us, but discovering a large herd of buffalo near
their camp, they had stopped to procure a supply of meat. This message
was not received with much confidence, nor was a buffalo hunt deemed
of sufficient importance to justify the Indians in breaking their
engagement. General Hancock decided, however, to delay another day,
when, if the Indians still failed to come in, he would move his command
to the vicinity of their village and hold the conference there.
Orders were issued on the evening of the 12th for the march to be
resumed on the following day. Later in the evening two chiefs of the
“Dog Soldiers,” a band composed of the most warlike and troublesome
Indians on the Plains, chiefly made up of Cheyennes, visited our camp.
They were accompanied by a dozen warriors, and expressed a desire to
hold a conference with General Hancock, to which he assented. A large
council fire was built in front of the General’s tent, and all the
officers of his command assembled there. A tent had been erected for
the accommodation of the chiefs a short distance from the General’s.
Before they could feel equal to the occasion, and in order to obtain
time to collect their thoughts, they desired that supper might be
prepared for them, which was done. When finally ready they advanced
from their tent to the council fire in single file, accompanied by
their agent and an interpreter. Arrived at the fire, another brief
delay ensued. No matter how pressing or momentous the occasion, an
Indian invariably declines to engage in a council until he has filled
his pipe and gone through with the important ceremony of a smoke. This
attended to, the chiefs announced that they were ready “to talk.”
They were then introduced to the principal officers of the group,
and seemed much struck with the flashy uniforms of the few artillery
officers who were present in all the glory of red horsehair plumes,
aigulets, etc. The chiefs seemed puzzled to determine whether these
insignia designated chieftains or medicine men. General Hancock began
the conference by a speech, in which he explained to the Indians his
purpose in coming to see them, and what he expected of them in the
future. He particularly informed them that he was not there to make
war, but to promote peace. Then expressing his regret that more of the
chiefs had not visited him, he announced his intention of proceeding
on the morrow with his command to the vicinity of their village and
there holding a council with all of the chiefs. Tall Bull, a fine,
warlike-looking chieftain, replied to General Hancock, but his speech
contained nothing important, being made up of allusions to the growing
scarcity of the buffalo, his love for the white man, and the usual hint
that a donation in the way of refreshments would be highly acceptable;
he added that he would have nothing new to say at the village.
Several years prior to the events referred to, our people had captured
from the Indians two children. I believe they were survivors of the
Chivington massacre at Sand Creek, Colorado. These children had been
kindly cared for, and were being taught to lead a civilized mode of
life. Their relatives, however, made demands for them, and we by treaty
stipulation agreed to deliver them up. One of them, a little girl, had
been cared for kindly in a family living near Denver, Colorado; the
other, a boy, had been carried East to the States, and it was with
great difficulty that the Government was able to learn his whereabouts
and obtain possession of him. He was finally discovered, however,
and sent to General Hancock, to be by him delivered up to his tribe.
He accompanied the expedition, and was quite a curiosity for the
time being. He was dressed comfortably, in accordance with civilized
custom; and, having been taken from his people at so early an age, was
apparently satisfied with the life he led. The Indians who came to
our camp expressed a great desire to see him, and when he was brought
into their presence they exhibited no emotion such as white men under
similar circumstances might be expected to show. They evidently were
not pleased to see him clothed in the white man’s dress. The little
fellow, then some eight or ten years of age, seemed little disposed to
go back to his people. I saw him the following year in the village of
his tribe; he then had lost all trace of civilization, had forgotten
his knowledge of the English language, and was as shy and suspicious
of the white men as any of his dusky comrades. From older persons of
the tribe we learned that their first act after obtaining possession
of him was to deprive him of his “store clothes,” and in their stead
substitute the blanket and leggings.
Rightly concluding that the Indians did not intend to come to our
camp as they had at first agreed to, it was decided to move nearer to
their village. On the morning following the conference held with the
two chiefs of the “Dog Soldiers,” our entire force therefore marched
from Fort Larned up Pawnee Fork in the direction of the main village,
encamping the first night about twenty-one miles from the fort. Several
parties of Indians were seen in our advance during the day, evidently
watching our movements; while a heavy smoke, seen to rise in the
direction of the Indian village, indicated that something more than
usual was going on. This smoke we afterwards learned arose from the
burning grass. The Indians, thinking to prevent us from encamping in
their vicinity, had set fire to and burned all the grass for miles in
the direction from which they expected us. Before we arrived at our
camping-ground we were met by several chiefs and warriors belonging to
the Cheyennes and Sioux. Among the chiefs were Pawnee Killer of the
Sioux, and White Horse of the Cheyennes. It was arranged that these
chiefs should accept our hospitality and remain with us during the
night, and in the morning all the chiefs of the two tribes then in
the village were to come to General Hancock’s headquarters and hold
a council. On the morning of the 14th Pawnee Killer left our camp at
an early hour, for the purpose, as he said, of going to the village
to bring in the other chiefs to the council. Nine o’clock had been
agreed upon as the hour at which the council should assemble. The hour
came, but the chiefs did not. Now an Indian council is not only often
an important but always an interesting occasion. And, somewhat like a
famous recipe for making a certain dish, the first thing necessary in
holding an Indian council is to get the Indian. Half-past nine o’clock
came, and still we were lacking this one important part of the council.
At this juncture Bull Bear, an influential chief among the Cheyennes,
came in and reported that the chiefs were on their way to our camp, but
would not be able to reach it for some time. This was a mere artifice
to secure delay. General Hancock informed Bull Bear that as the chiefs
could not arrive for some time, he would move his forces up the stream
nearer to the village, and the council could be held at our camp that
night. To this proposition Bull Bear gave his assent.
At 11 A. M. we resumed the march, and had proceeded but a few miles
when we witnessed one of the finest and most imposing military
displays, prepared according to the Indian art of war, which it has
ever been my lot to behold. It was nothing more nor less than an
Indian line of battle drawn directly across our line of march; as if
to say, Thus far and no further. Most of the Indians were mounted;
all were bedecked in their brightest colors, their heads crowned with
the brilliant war-bonnet, their lances bearing the crimson pennant,
bows strung, and quivers full of barbed arrows. In addition to these
weapons, which with the hunting-knife and tomahawk are considered as
forming the armament of the warrior, each one was supplied with either
a breech-loading rifle or revolver, sometimes with both--the latter
obtained through the wise foresight and strong love of fair play which
prevails in the Indian Department, which, seeing that its wards are
determined to fight, is equally determined that there shall be no
advantage taken, but that the two sides shall be armed alike; proving,
too, in this manner the wonderful liberality of our Government, which
not only is able to furnish its soldiers with the latest improved
style of breech-loaders to defend it and themselves, but is equally
able and willing to give the same pattern of arms to their common foe.
The only difference is, that the soldier, if he loses his weapon, is
charged double price for it; while to avoid making any such charge
against the Indian, his weapons are given him without conditions
attached. In the line of battle before us there were several hundred
Indians, while further to the rear and at different distances were
other organized bodies acting apparently as reserves. Still further
were small detachments who seemed to perform the duty of couriers, and
were held in readiness to convey messages to the village. The ground
beyond was favorable for an extended view, allowing the eye to sweep
the plain for several miles. As far as the eye could reach small groups
or individuals could be seen in the direction of the village; these
were evidently parties of observation, whose sole object was to learn
the result of our meeting with the main body and hasten with the news
to the village.
For a few moments appearances seemed to foreshadow anything but a
peaceful issue. The infantry was in the advance, followed closely by
the artillery, while my command, the cavalry, was marching on the
flank. General Hancock, who was riding with his staff at the head of
the column, coming suddenly in view of the wild fantastic battle array,
which extended far to our right and left and not more than half a mile
in our front, hastily sent orders to the infantry, artillery, and
cavalry to form line of battle, evidently determined that if war was
intended we should be prepared. The cavalry, being the last to form on
the right, came into line on a gallop, and, without waiting to align
the ranks carefully, the command was given to “draw sabre.” As the
bright blades flashed from their scabbards into the morning sunlight,
and the infantry brought their muskets to a carry, a most beautiful
and wonderfully interesting sight was spread out before and around us,
presenting a contrast which, to a military eye, could but be striking.
Here in battle array, facing each other, were the representatives of
civilized and barbarous warfare. The one, with but few modifications,
stood clothed in the same rude style of dress, bearing the same
patterned shield and weapon that his ancestors had borne centuries
before; the other confronted him in the dress and supplied with the
implements of war which the most advanced stage of civilization had
pronounced the most perfect. Was the comparative superiority of these
two classes to be subjected to the mere test of war here? Such seemed
the prevailing impression on both sides. All was eager anxiety and
expectation. Neither side seemed to comprehend the object or intentions
of the other; each was waiting for the other to deliver the first blow.
A more beautiful battle-ground could not have been chosen. Not a bush
or even the slightest irregularity of ground intervened between the two
lines which now stood frowning and facing each other. Chiefs could be
seen riding along the line as if directing and exhorting their braves
to deeds of heroism.
After a few moments of painful suspense, General Hancock, accompanied
by General A. J. Smith and other officers, rode forward, and through
an interpreter invited the chiefs to meet us midway, for the purpose
of an interview. In response to this invitation Roman Nose, bearing
a white flag, accompanied by Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard, and
Medicine Wolf on the part of the Cheyennes, and Pawnee Killer, Bad
Wound, Tall Bear that Walks under the Ground, Left Hand, Little Bear,
and Little Bull on the part of the Sioux, rode forward to the middle of
the open space between the two lines. Here we shook hands with all of
the chiefs, most of them exhibiting unmistakable signs of gratification
at this apparently peaceful termination of our rencounter. General
Hancock very naturally inquired the object of the hostile attitude
displayed before us, saying to the chiefs that if war was their object
we were ready then and there to participate. Their immediate answer
was that they did not desire war, but were peacefully disposed. They
were then told that we would continue our march toward the village, and
encamp near it, but would establish such regulations that none of the
soldiers would be permitted to approach or disturb them. An arrangement
was then effected by which the chiefs were to assemble at General
Hancock’s headquarters as soon as our camp was pitched. The interview
then terminated, and the Indians moved off in the direction of their
village, we following leisurely in rear.
A march of a few miles brought us in sight of the village, which was
situated in a beautiful grove on the banks of the stream up which we
had been marching. The village consisted of upwards of three hundred
lodges, a small fraction over half belonging to the Cheyennes, the
remainder to the Sioux. Like all Indian encampments, the ground chosen
was a most romantic spot, and at the same time fulfilled in every
respect the requirements of a good camping-ground; wood, water, and
grass were abundant. The village was placed on a wide, level plateau,
while on the north and west, at a short distance off, rose high bluffs,
which admirably served as a shelter against the cold winds which at
that season of the year prevail from these directions. Our tents were
pitched within half a mile of the village. Guards were placed between
to prevent intrusion upon our part. A few of the Indian ponies found
grazing near our camp were caught and returned to them, to show that
our intentions were at least neighborly. We had scarcely pitched our
tents when Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf, all
prominent chiefs of the Cheyennes, came into camp, with the information
that upon our approach their women and children had all fled from the
village, alarmed by the presence of so many soldiers, and imagining a
second Chivington massacre to be intended. General Hancock insisted
that they should all return, promising protection and good treatment
to all; that if the camp was abandoned he would hold it responsible.
The chiefs then stated their belief in their ability to recall the
fugitives, could they be furnished with horses to overtake them. This
was accordingly done, and two of them set out mounted on two of our
horses. An agreement was also entered into at the same time that one
of our interpreters, Ed. Gurrier, a half-breed Cheyenne who was in the
employ of the Government, should remain in the village and report every
two hours as to whether any Indians were leaving the village. This was
about seven o’clock in the evening. At half past nine the half-breed
returned to headquarters, with the intelligence that all the chiefs and
warriors were saddling up to leave, under circumstances showing that
they had no intention of returning, such as packing up such articles as
could be carried with them, and cutting and destroying their lodges,
this last being done to obtain small pieces for temporary shelter.
I had retired to my tent, which was located some few hundred yards from
that of General Hancock, when a messenger from the latter awakened
me with the information that General Hancock desired my presence at
his tent. Imagining a movement on the part of the Indians, I made no
delay in responding to the summons. General Hancock briefly stated the
situation of affairs, and directed me to mount my command as quickly
and as silently as possible, surround the Indian village, and prevent
the departure of its inhabitants. Easily said, but not so easily done.
Under ordinary circumstances, silence not being necessary, I could have
returned to my camp, and by a few blasts from the trumpet placed every
soldier in his saddle almost as quickly as it has taken time to write
this sentence. No bugle calls must be sounded; we were to adopt some
of the stealth of the Indian--how successfully remains to be seen. By
this time every soldier, officers as well as men, was in his tent sound
asleep. How to awaken them and impart to each the necessary order?
First going to the tent of the adjutant and arousing him, I procured
an experienced assistant in my labors. Next the captains of companies
were awakened and orders imparted to them. They in turn transmitted
the order to the first sergeant, who similarly aroused the men. It
has often surprised me to observe the alacrity with which disciplined
soldiers, experienced in campaigning, will hasten to prepare themselves
for the march in an emergency like this. No questions are asked,
no time is wasted. A soldier’s toilet, on an Indian campaign, is a
simple affair, and requires little time for arranging. His clothes are
gathered up hurriedly, no matter how, so long as he retains possession
of them. The first object is to get his horse saddled and bridled, and
until this is done his own toilet is a matter of secondary importance,
and one button or hook must do the duty of half a dozen. When his
horse is ready for the mount the rider will be seen completing his own
equipment; stray buttons will receive attention, arms be overhauled,
spurs restrapped; then, if there still remain a few spare moments, the
homely black pipe is filled and lighted, and the soldier’s preparation
is completed.
The night was all that could be desired for the success of our
enterprise. The air was mild and pleasant; the moon, although nearly
full, kept almost constantly behind the clouds, as if to screen us in
our hazardous undertaking. I say hazardous, because there were none
of us who imagined for one moment that if the Indians discovered us
in our attempt to surround them and their village, we would escape
without a fight--a fight, too, in which the Indians, sheltered behind
the trunks of the stately forest trees under which their lodges were
pitched, would possess all the advantage. General Hancock, anticipating
that the Indians would discover our approach, and that a fight would
ensue, ordered the artillery and infantry under arms, to await the
result of our moonlight venture. My command was soon in the saddle,
and silently making its way toward the village. Instructions had been
given forbidding all conversation except in a whisper. Sabres were so
disposed of as to prevent clanging. Taking a camp-fire which we could
see in the village as our guiding point, we made a detour so as to
place the village between ourselves and the infantry. Occasionally the
moon would peep out from behind the clouds and enable us to catch a
hasty glance at the village. Here and there under the thick foliage
we could see the white, conical-shaped lodges. Were their inmates
slumbering, unaware of our close proximity, or were their dusky
defenders concealed, as well they might have been, along the banks
of the Pawnee, quietly awaiting our approach, and prepared to greet
us with their well-known war-whoop? These were questions that were
probably suggested to the mind of each individual of my command. If we
were discovered approaching in the stealthy, suspicious manner which
characterized our movements, the hour being midnight, it would require
a more confiding nature than that of the Indian to assign a friendly
or peaceful motive to our conduct. The same flashes of moonlight
which gave us hurried glimpses of the village enabled us to see our
own column of horsemen stretching its silent length far into the dim
darkness, and winding its course, like some huge anaconda about to
envelop its victim.
The method by which it was determined to establish a cordon of armed
troopers about the fated village, was to direct the march in a circle,
with the village in the centre, the commanding officer of each rear
troop halting his command at the proper point, and deploying his
men similarly to a line of skirmishers--the entire circle, when
thus formed, facing toward the village, and distant from it perhaps
a few hundred yards. No sooner was our line completely formed than
the moon, as if deeming darkness no longer essential to our success,
appeared from behind her screen and lighted up the entire scene. And
a beautiful scene it was. The great circle of troops, each individual
of which sat on his steed silent as a statue, the beautiful and in
some places dense foliage of the cotton trees sheltering and shading
the bleached, skin-clad lodges of the red man, while in the midst of
all murmured undisturbedly in its channel the little stream on whose
banks the village was located, all combined to produce an artistic
effect, as beautiful as it was interesting. But we were not there to
study artistic effects. The next step was to determine whether we had
captured an inhabited village, involving almost necessarily a fierce
conflict with its savage occupants, or whether the red man had again
proven too wily and crafty for his more civilized brothers.
Directing the entire line of troopers to remain mounted with carbines
held at the “advance,” I dismounted, and taking with me Gurrier, the
half-breed, Dr. Coates, one of our medical staff, and Lieutenant
Moylan, the adjutant, proceeded on our hands and knees toward the
village. The prevailing opinion was that the Indians were still
asleep. I desired to approach near enough to the lodges to enable the
half-breed to hail the village in the Indian tongue, and if possible
establish friendly relations at once. It became a question of prudence
with us, which we discussed in whispers as we proceeded on our “Tramp,
tramp, tramp, the boys are creeping,” how far from our horses and how
near to the village we dared to go. If so few of us were discovered
entering the village in this questionable manner, it was more than
probable that, like the returners of stolen property, we should be
suitably rewarded and no questions asked. The opinions of Gurrier, the
half-breed, were eagerly sought for and generally deferred to. His
wife, a full-blooded Cheyenne, was a resident of the village. This with
him was an additional reason for wishing a peaceful termination to our
efforts. When we had passed over two-thirds of the distance between
our horses and the village, it was deemed best to make our presence
known. Thus far not a sound had been heard to disturb the stillness of
the night. Gurrier called out at the top of his voice in the Cheyenne
tongue. The only response came from the throats of a score or more of
Indian dogs which set up a fierce barking. At the same time one or two
of our party asserted that they saw figures moving beneath the trees.
Gurrier repeated his summons, but with no better result than before.
A hurried consultation ensued. The presence of so many dogs in the
village was regarded by the half-breed as almost positive assurance
that the Indians were still there. Yet it was difficult to account for
their silence. Gurrier in a loud tone repeated who he was, and that our
mission was a friendly one. Still no answer. He then gave it as his
opinion that the Indians were on the alert, and were probably waiting
in the shadow of the trees for us to approach nearer, when they would
pounce upon us. This comforting opinion induced another conference. We
must ascertain the truth of the matter; our party could do this as
well as a larger number, and to go back and send another party in our
stead could not be thought of.
Forward was the verdict. Each one grasped his revolver, resolved to
do his best, whether it was in running or fighting. I think most of
us would have preferred to take our own chances at running. We had
approached near enough to see that some of the lodges were detached
some distance from the main encampment. Selecting the nearest of these,
we directed our advance on it. While all of us were full of the spirit
of adventure, and were further encouraged with the idea that we were
in the discharge of our duty, there was scarcely one of us who would
not have felt more comfortable if we could have got back to our horses
without loss of pride. Yet nothing, under the circumstances, but a
positive order would have induced any one to withdraw. The doctor, who
was a great wag, even in moments of greatest danger, could not restrain
his propensities in this direction. When everything before us was
being weighed and discussed in the most serious manner, he remarked:
“General, this recalls to my mind those beautiful lines:
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight,
Make me a child again just for one night--
this night of all others.”
We shall meet the doctor again before daylight, but under different
circumstances.
IV.
Cautiously approaching, on all fours, to within a few yards of the
nearest lodge, occasionally halting and listening to discover evidence
as to whether the village was deserted or not, we finally decided that
the Indians had fled before the arrival of the cavalry, and that none
but empty lodges were before us. This conclusion somewhat emboldened
as well as accelerated our progress. Arriving at the first lodge, one
of our party raised the curtain or mat which served as a door, and
the doctor and myself entered. The interior of the lodge was dimly
lighted by the decaying embers of a small fire built in the centre.
All around us were to be seen the usual adornments and articles which
constitute the household effects of an Indian family. Buffalo robes
were spread like carpets over the floor; head-mats, used to recline
upon, were arranged as if for the comfort of their owners; parfleches,
a sort of Indian band-box, with their contents apparently undisturbed,
were to be found carefully stowed away under the edges or borders of
the lodge. These, with the door-mats, paint-bags, rawhide ropes, and
other articles of Indian equipment, were left as if the owners had only
absented themselves for a brief period. To complete the picture of an
Indian lodge, over the fire hung a camp-kettle, in which, by means of
the dim light of the fire, we could see what had been intended for the
supper of the late occupants of the lodge. The doctor, ever on the
alert to discover additional items of knowledge, whether pertaining
to history or science, snuffed the savory odors which arose from the
dark recesses of the mysterious kettle. Casting about the lodge for
some instrument to aid him in his pursuit of knowledge, he found a horn
spoon, with which he began his investigation of the contents, finally
succeeding in getting possession of a fragment which might have been
the half of a duck or rabbit, judging merely from its size. “Ah!” said
the doctor, in his most complacent manner, “here is the opportunity
I have long been waiting for. I have often desired to test and taste
of the Indian mode of cooking. What do you suppose this is?” holding
up the dripping morsel. Unable to obtain the desired information, the
Doctor, whose naturally good appetite had been sensibly sharpened by
his recent exercise _à la quadrupède_, set to with a will and ate
heartily of the mysterious contents of the kettle. “What can this
be?” again inquired the doctor. He was only satisfied on one point,
that it was delicious--a dish fit for a king. Just then Guerrier, the
half-breed, entered the lodge. He could solve the mystery, having spent
years among the Indians. To him the doctor appealed for information.
Fishing out a huge piece, and attacking it with the voracity of a
hungry wolf, he was not long in determining what the doctor had supped
so heartily upon. His first words settled the mystery: “Why, this is
dog.” I will not attempt to repeat the few but emphatic words uttered
by the heartily disgusted member of the medical fraternity as he rushed
from the lodge.
Other members of our small party had entered other lodges, only to find
them, like the first, deserted. But little of the furniture belonging
to the lodges had been taken, showing how urgent and hasty had been
the flight of the owners. To aid in the examination of the village,
reinforcements were added to our party, and an exploration of each
lodge was determined upon. At the same time a messenger was despatched
to General Hancock, informing him of the flight of the Indians. Some
of the lodges were closed by having brush or timber piled up against
the entrance, as if to preserve the contents. Others had huge pieces
cut from their sides, these pieces evidently being carried away to
furnish temporary shelter to the fugitives. In most of the lodges the
fires were still burning. I had entered several without discovering
anything important. Finally, in company with the doctor, I arrived
at one, the interior of which was quite dark, the fire having almost
died out. Procuring a lighted fagot, I prepared to explore it, as I
had done the others; but no sooner had I entered the lodge than my
fagot failed me, leaving me in total darkness. Handing it out to the
doctor to be relighted, I began feeling my way about the interior of
the lodge. I had almost made the circuit when my hand came in contact
with a human foot; at the same time a voice unmistakably Indian, and
which evidently came from the owner of the foot, convinced me that I
was not alone. My first impression was that in their hasty flight the
Indians had gone off leaving this one asleep. My next, very naturally,
related to myself. I would have gladly placed myself on the outside
of the lodge, and there matured plans for interviewing its occupant;
but unfortunately to reach the entrance of the lodge I must either
pass over or around the owner of the before-mentioned foot and voice.
Could I have been convinced that among _its_ other possessions there
was neither tomahawk nor scalping-knife, pistol nor war-club, or any
similar article of the noble red man’s toilet, I would have risked an
attempt to escape through the low narrow opening of the lodge; but who
ever saw an Indian without one or all of these interesting trinkets?
Had I made the attempt, I should have expected to encounter either the
keen edge of the scalping-knife or the blow of the tomahawk, and to
have engaged in a questionable struggle for life. This would not do. I
crouched in silence for a few moments, hoping the doctor would return
with the lighted fagot. I need not say that each succeeding moment
spent in the darkness of that lodge seemed like an age. I could hear a
slight movement on the part of my unknown neighbor, which did not add
to my comfort. Why does not the doctor return? At last I discovered
the approach of a light on the outside. When it neared the entrance I
called to the doctor and informed him that an Indian was in the lodge,
and that he had better have his weapons ready for a conflict. I had,
upon discovering the foot, drawn my hunting-knife from its scabbard,
and now stood waiting the _dénouement_. With his lighted fagot in one
hand and cocked revolver in the other, the doctor cautiously entered
the lodge. And there, directly between us, wrapped in a buffalo robe,
lay the cause of my anxiety--a little Indian girl, probably ten years
old; not a full-blood, but a half-breed. She was terribly frightened
at finding herself in our hands, with none of her people near. Why was
she left behind in this manner? Guerrier, our half-breed interpreter,
was called in. His inquiries were soon answered. The little girl, who
at first was an object of our curiosity, became at once an object of
pity. The Indians, an unusual thing for them to do toward their own
blood, had wilfully deserted her; but this, alas! was the least of
their injuries to her. After being shamefully abandoned by the entire
village, a few of the young men of the tribe returned to the deserted
lodge, and upon the person of this little girl committed outrages, the
details of which are too sickening for these pages. She was carried to
the fort and placed under the care of kind hands and warm hearts, where
everything was done for her comfort that was possible. Other parties
in exploring the deserted village found an old, decrepit Indian of
the Sioux tribe, who also had been deserted, owing to his infirmities
and inability to travel with the tribe. He also was kindly cared for
by the authorities of the fort. Nothing was gleaned from our search
of the village which might indicate the direction of the flight.
General Hancock, on learning the situation of affairs, despatched some
companies of infantry to the deserted village, with orders to replace
the cavalry and protect the village and its contents from disturbance
until its final disposition could be determined upon. Starting my
command back to our camp near General Hancock’s headquarters, I
galloped on in advance to report the particulars to the General. It
was then decided that with eight troops of cavalry I should start in
pursuit of the Indians at early dawn on the following morning (April
15). There was no sleep for my command the remainder of the night, the
time being fully occupied in preparation for the march, neither the
extent nor direction of which was known.
Mess kits were overhauled, and fresh supplies of coffee, sugar, flour,
and the other articles which go to supply the soldier’s larder, were
laid in. Blankets were carefully rolled so as to occupy as little
space as possible; every useless pound of luggage was discarded, for
in making a rapid pursuit after Indians, much of the success depends
upon the lightness of the order of march. Saratoga trunks and their
accompaniments are at a discount. Never was the old saying that in
Rome one must do as Romans do more aptly illustrated than on an Indian
campaign. The Indian, knowing that his safety either on offensive
or defensive movements depends in a great measure upon the speed
and endurance of his horse, takes advantage of every circumstance
which will favor either the one or the other. To this end he divests
himself of all superfluous dress and ornament when preparing for rapid
movements. The white man, if he hopes for success, must adopt the
same rule of action, and encumber his horse as little as possible.
Something besides well-filled mess chests and carefully rolled
blankets is necessary in preparing for an Indian campaign. Arms must
be reëxamined, cartridge-boxes refilled, so that each man should carry
about one hundred rounds of ammunition “on his person,” while each
troop commander must see that in the company wagon there are placed
a few boxes of reserve ammunition. Then, when the equipment of the
soldier has been attended to, his horse, without whose assistance he
is helpless, must be looked after; loose shoes are tightened by the
driving of an additional nail, and to accomplish this one may see the
company blacksmith, a soldier, with the few simple tools of his kit
on the ground beside him, hurriedly fastening the last shoe by the
uncertain light of a candle held in the hands of the rider of the
horse, their mutual labor being varied at times by queries as to “How
long shall we be gone?” “I wonder if we will catch Mr. Lo?” “If we
do, we’ll make it lively for him.” So energetic had everybody been
that before daylight everything was in readiness for the start. In
addition to the regularly organized companies of soldiers which made
up the pursuing column, I had with me a detachment of white scouts
or Plainsmen, and one of friendly Indians, the latter belonging to
the tribe of Delawares, once so famous in Indian wars. Of the Indians
one only could speak English; he acted as interpreter for the party.
Among the white scouts were numbered some of the most noted of their
class. The most prominent man among them was “Wild Bill,” whose highly
varied career was made the subject of an illustrated sketch in one
of the popular monthly periodicals a few years ago. “Wild Bill” was
a strange character, just the one which a novelist might gloat over.
He was a Plainsman in every sense of the word, yet unlike any other
of his class. In person he was about six feet one in height, straight
as the straightest of the warriors whose implacable foe he was;
broad shoulders, well-formed chest and limbs, and a face strikingly
handsome; a sharp, clear, blue eye, which stared you straight in
the face when in conversation; a finely-shaped nose, inclined to be
aquiline; a well-turned mouth, with lips only partially concealed by a
handsome moustache. His hair and complexion were those of the perfect
blond. The former was worn in uncut ringlets falling carelessly over
his powerfully formed shoulders. Add to this figure a costume blending
the immaculate neatness of the dandy with the extravagant taste and
style of the frontiersman, and you have Wild Bill, then as now the
most famous scout on the Plains. Whether on foot or on horseback, he
was one of the most perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw. Of
his courage there could be no question; it had been brought to the
test on too many occasions to admit of a doubt. His skill in the use
of the rifle and pistol was unerring; while his deportment was exactly
the opposite of what might be expected from a man of his surroundings.
It was entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke of
himself unless requested to do so. His conversation, strange to say,
never bordered either on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence
among the frontiersmen was unbounded, his word was law; and many are
the personal quarrels and disturbances which he has checked among his
comrades by his simple announcement that “this has gone far enough,”
if need be followed by the ominous warning that when persisted in
or renewed the quarreller “must settle it with me.” “Wild Bill” is
anything but a quarrelsome man; yet no one but himself can enumerate
the many conflicts in which he has been engaged, and which have almost
invariably resulted in the death of his adversary. I have a personal
knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he has at various times
killed, one of these being at the time a member of my command. Others
have been severely wounded, yet he always escapes unhurt. On the Plains
every man openly carries his belt with its invariable appendages,
knife and revolver, often two of the latter. Wild Bill always carried
two handsome ivory-handled revolvers of the large size; he was never
seen without them. Where this is the common custom, brawls or personal
difficulties are seldom if ever settled by blows. The quarrel is not
from a word to a blow, but from a word to the revolver, and he who
can draw and fire first is the best man. No civil law reaches him;
none is applied for. In fact there is no law recognized beyond the
frontier but that of “might makes right.” Should death result from the
quarrel, as it usually does, no coroner’s jury is impanelled to learn
the cause of death, and the survivor is not arrested. But instead of
these old-fashioned proceedings, a meeting of citizens takes place, the
survivor is _requested_ to be present when the circumstances of the
homicide are inquired into, and the unfailing verdict of “justifiable,”
“self-defence,” etc., is pronounced, and the law stands vindicated.
That justice is often deprived of a victim there is not a doubt. Yet in
all of the many affairs of this kind in which “Wild Bill” has performed
a part, and which have come to my knowledge, there is not a single
instance in which the verdict of twelve fair-minded men would not be
pronounced in his favor. That the even tenor of his way continues to
be disturbed by little events of this description may be inferred
from an item which has been floating lately through the columns of
the press, and which states that “the funeral of ‘Jim Bludso,’ who
was killed the other day by ‘Wild Bill,’ took place to-day.” It then
adds: “The funeral expenses were borne by ‘Wild Bill.’” What could
be more thoughtful than this? Not only to send a fellow mortal out
of the world, but to pay the expenses of the transit. Guerrier, the
half-breed, also accompanied the expedition as guide and interpreter.
Everything being in readiness to move, the column began its march, and
reached the vicinity of the village before day had fully dawned. Here a
brief halt was necessary, until the light was sufficient to enable our
scouts to discover the trail of the Indians. When they finally set to
discover this, their method was highly interesting, and resembled not
a little the course of a thorough sportsman, who, with a well-trained
pointer or setter, thoroughly “ranges” and “beats” the ground in search
of his coveted game. The Indians had set out on their flight soon after
dark the preceding night; a heavy frost covered the ground and rendered
it difficult to detect the trail from the many pony tracks which are
always found in the vicinity of a village. We began to grow impatient
at the delay, when one of the Indians gave the “halloo” as the signal
that the trail was discovered, and again the column marched forward.
Our order of march was for the Indian and white scouts to keep a few
hundred paces in advance of the troops, so that momentary delays upon
the part of those watching and following the trail should not extend
to the troops. The Indians on leaving the village had anticipated
pursuit and had adopted measures to mislead us. In order to prevent
their trail from being easily recognizable, they had departed in as
many detachments or parties almost as there were families or lodges in
the village, each party taking a different direction from the others,
having personally agreed, of course, upon the general direction and
place of reuniting. Once being satisfied that we were on the right
trail, no difficulty was found in following it as rapidly as our horses
could walk. The Indians had nearly twelve hours the start of us, but
being encumbered by their families, we hoped to overhaul them before
many days. Our first obstacle was encountered when we struck Walnut
creek, a small stream running east and west some thirty miles north
of the Arkansas at that point. The banks were so high and abrupt that
it was impossible to reach the water’s edge, let alone clamber up the
opposite bank. A few of the Indians had been able to accomplish this
feat, as was shown by the tracks on the opposite side; but the main
band had moved up stream in search of a favorable crossing, and we were
compelled to do likewise. Here we found that the Indians had called
a halt, built fires, and cooked their breakfast. So rapidly had we
gained upon them that the fires were burning freshly, and the departure
of the Indians had been so abrupt that they left several ponies with
their packs tied to trees. One of the packs belonged to a famous chief,
“Roman Nose,” who was one of those who met us at the grand gathering
just before we reached their village a few days before. One of our
Delawares who made the capture was very proud of the success, and was
soon seen ornamenting his head-dress with the bright crimson feathers
taken from the wardrobe of “Roman Nose.” Encouraged by our progress, we
continued the pursuit as rapidly as a due regard for our horses would
permit. Thus far, neither myself nor any of the soldiers had caught
sight of any Indians; but our Delaware scouts, who were constantly
in the advance and on our flanks, taking advantage of the bluffs to
reconnoitre, frequently reported that they saw small parties of Indians
observing our movements from a distance. From positive evidences,
familiar to those accustomed to the Plains, we were convinced that we
were rapidly gaining upon the Indians. The earth upturned by the feet
of their ponies and by the ends of the trailing lodge-poles, was almost
as damp and fresh as that disturbed by the horses of the command.
Soon we discovered additional signs of encouragement. The route now
became strewn with various lodge-poles and other obstacles peculiar
to an Indian’s outfit, showing that they were “lightening up” so as
to facilitate their escape. So certain did we feel of our ability to
out-trail them, that the only question now was one which has often
determined the success of military operations. Would darkness intervene
to disappoint us? We must imitate the example of the Indians, and
disembarrass ourselves of everything tending to retard our speed. The
troops would march much faster, if permitted to do so, than the rate
at which our wagons had forced themselves along. It was determined to
leave the wagons, under escort of one squadron, to follow our trail as
rapidly as they could, while the other three squadrons pushed on in
pursuit. Should darkness settle down before overtaking the Indians, the
advantage was altogether against us, as we would be compelled to await
daylight to enable us to follow the trail, while the Indians were free
to continue their flight, sheltered and aided by the darkness. By three
o’clock P. M. we felt that we were almost certain to accomplish our
purpose. No obstacle seemed to stand in our way; the trail was broad
and plain, and apparently as fresh as our own. A half hour, or an hour
at furthest, seemed only necessary to enable us to dash in upon our
wily enemy. Alas for human calculations! The Indians, by means of the
small reconnoitring parties observed by our scouts, had kept themselves
constantly informed regarding our movements and progress. They had
first risked their safety upon the superior speed and endurance of
their ponies--a safe reliance when favored by the grass season, but in
winter this advantage was on our side. Failing in their first resource,
they had a second and better method of eluding us. So long as they
kept united and moved in one body, their trail was as plainly to be
seen and as easily followed as if made by a heavily-laden wagon train.
We were not called upon to employ time and great watchfulness on the
part of our scouts to follow it. But when it was finally clear to be
seen that, in the race as it was then being run, the white man was
sure to win, the proverbial cunning of the red man came to his rescue
and thwarted the plans of his pursuers. Again dividing his tribe, as
when first setting out from the village, into numerous small parties,
we were discouraged by seeing the broad well-beaten trail suddenly
separate into hundreds of indistinct routes, leading fan-shape in as
many different directions. What was to be done?
The general direction of the main trail, before dissolving into so many
small ones, had been nearly north, showing that if undisturbed in their
flight the Indians would strike the Smoky Hill overland route, cross
it, then pursue their way northward to the headwaters of the Solomon
or Republican river, or further still, to the Platte river. Selecting
a central trail, we continued our pursuit, now being compelled often
to halt and verify our course. The trail gradually grew smaller and
smaller, until by five o’clock it had become so faint as to be followed
with the greatest difficulty. We had been marching exactly twelve hours
without halting, except to water our horses. Reluctantly we were forced
to go into camp and await the assistance of daylight. The Delaware
scouts continued the pursuit six miles further, but returned without
accomplishing anything. The Indians, after dividing up into small
parties, kept up communication with each other by means of columns of
signal smoke. These signal smokes were to be seen to the west, north,
and east of us, but none nearer than ten miles. They only proved to
us that we were probably on the trail of the main body, as the fires
were in front and on both sides of us. We had marched over thirty-five
miles without a halt. The Delawares having determined the direction
of the trail for six miles, we would be able next morning to continue
that far at least unaided by daylight. Our wagons over took us a
few hours after we reached camp. Reveille was sounded at two o’clock
the next morning, and four o’clock found us again in the saddle, and
following the guidance of our friendly Delawares. The direction of our
march took us up the valley and almost dry bed of a small stream. The
Delawares thought we might find where the Indians had encamped during
the night, by following the upward course of the stream, but in this we
were disappointed. The trail became more and more indistinct, until it
was lost in the barren waste over which we were then moving. To add to
our annoyance, the water-course had become entirely dry, and our guides
were uncertain as to whether water could be procured in one day’s
march in any direction except that from which we had come. We were,
therefore, forced to countermarch after reaching a point thirteen miles
from our starting-place in the morning, and retrace our steps until
the uncertain stream in whose valley we then were would give us water
enough for our wants.
Here I will refer to an incident entirely personal, which came very
near costing me my life. When leaving our camp that morning I felt
satisfied that the Indians, having travelled at least a portion of the
night, were then many miles in advance of us, and there was neither
danger nor probability of encountering any of them near the column.
We were then in a magnificent game country, buffalo, antelope, and
smaller game being in abundance on all sides of us. Although an ardent
sportsman, I had never hunted the buffalo up to this time, consequently
was exceedingly desirous of tasting of its excitement. I had several
fine English greyhounds, whose speed I was anxious to test with that
of the antelope, said to be--which I believe--the fleetest of animals.
I was mounted on a fine large thoroughbred horse. Taking with me but
one man, the chief bugler, and calling my dogs around me, I galloped
ahead of the column as soon as it was daylight, for the purpose of
having a chase after some antelope which could be seen grazing nearly
two miles distant. That such a course was rashly imprudent I am ready
to admit. A stirring gallop of a few minutes brought me near enough to
the antelope, of which there were a dozen or more, to enable the dogs
to catch sight of them. Then the chase began, the antelope running in
a direction which took us away from the command. By availing myself
of the turns in the course, I was able to keep well in view of the
exciting chase, until it was evident that the antelope were in no
danger of being caught by the dogs, which latter had become blown from
want of proper exercise. I succeeded in calling them off, and was
about to set out on my return to the column. The horse of the chief
bugler, being a common-bred animal, failed early in the race, and his
rider wisely concluded to regain the command, so that I was alone. How
far I had travelled from the troops I was trying to determine, when I
discovered a large, dark-looking animal grazing nearly a mile distant.
As yet I had never seen a wild buffalo, but I at once recognized this
as not only a buffalo, but a very large one. Here was my opportunity. A
ravine near by would enable me to approach unseen until almost within
pistol range of my game. Calling my dogs to follow me, I slowly pursued
the course of the ravine, giving my horse opportunity to gather himself
for the second run. When I emerged from the ravine I was still several
hundred yards from the buffalo, which almost instantly discovered me,
and set off as fast as his legs could carry him. Had my horse been
fresh the race would have been a short one, but the preceding long run
had not been without effect. How long or how fast we flew in pursuit,
the intense excitement of the chase prevented me from knowing. I only
knew that even the greyhounds were left behind, until finally my good
steed placed himself and me close alongside the game. It may be because
this was the first I had seen, but surely of the hundreds of thousands
of buffaloes which I have since seen, none have corresponded with him
in size and lofty grandeur. My horse was above the average size, yet
the buffalo towered even above him. I had carried my revolver in my
hand from the moment the race began. Repeatedly could I have placed
the muzzle against the shaggy body of the huge beast, by whose side I
fairly yelled with wild excitement and delight, yet each time would
I withdrawn the weapon, as if to prolong the enjoyment of the race.
It was a race for life or death, yet how different the award from
what could be imagined. Still we sped over the springy turf, the high
breeding and mettle of my horse being plainly visible over that of the
huge beast that struggled by his side. Mile after mile was traversed
in this way, until the rate and distance began to tell perceptibly
on the bison, whose protruding tongue and labored breathing plainly
betrayed his distress. Determined to end the chase and bring down my
game, I again placed the muzzle of the revolver close to the body
of the buffalo, when, as if divining my intention, and feeling his
inability to escape by flight, he suddenly determined to fight, and
at once wheeled, as only a buffalo can, to gore my horse. So sudden
was this movement, and so sudden was the corresponding veering of my
horse to avoid the attack, that to retain my control over him I hastily
brought up my pistol hand to the assistance of the other. Unfortunately
as I did so my finger, in the excitement of the occasion, pressed the
trigger, discharged the pistol, and sent the fatal ball into the very
brain of the noble animal I rode. Running at full speed he fell dead in
the course of his leap. Quick as thought I disengaged myself from the
stirrups and found myself whirling through the air over and beyond the
head of my horse. My only thought, as I was describing this trajectory,
and my first thought on reaching _terra firma_, was, “What will the
buffalo do with me?” Although at first inclined to rush upon me, my
strange procedure seemed to astonish him. Either that, or pity for the
utter helplessness of my condition, inclined him to alter his course
and leave me alone to my own bitter reflections.
In a moment the danger into which I had unluckily brought myself stood
out in bold relief before me. Under ordinary circumstances the death
of my horse would have been serious enough. I was strongly attached to
him; had ridden him in battle during a portion of the late war; yet now
his death, except in its consequences, was scarcely thought of. Here
I was, alone in the heart of the Indian country, with warlike Indians
known to be in the vicinity. I was not familiar with the country. How
far I had travelled, or in what direction from the column, I was at a
loss to know. In the excitement of the chase I had lost all reckoning.
Indians were liable to pounce upon me at any moment. My command would
not note my absence probably for hours. Two of my dogs overtook me,
and with mute glances first at the dead steed, then at me, seemed
to inquire the cause of this strange condition of affairs. Their
instinct appeared to tell them that we were in misfortune. While I was
deliberating what to do, the dogs became uneasy, whined piteously, and
seemed eager to leave the spot. In this desire I sympathized with them,
but whither should I go? I observed that their eyes were generally
turned in one particular direction; this I accepted as my cue, and with
one parting look at my horse, and grasping a revolver in each hand, I
set out on my uncertain journey. As long as the body of my horse was
visible above the horizon, I kept referring to it as my guiding point,
and in this way contrived to preserve my direction. This resource soon
failed me, and I then had recourse to weeds, buffalo skulls, or any
two objects I could find on my line of march. Constantly my eyes kept
scanning the horizon, each moment expecting, and with reason too, to
find myself discovered by Indians.
I had travelled in this manner what seemed to me about three or four
miles, when far ahead in the distance I saw a column of dust rising. A
hasty examination soon convinced me that the dust was produced by one
of three causes: white men, Indians, or buffalo. Two to one in my favor
at any rate. Selecting a ravine where I could crawl away undiscovered
should the approaching body prove to be Indians, I called my dogs to
my side and concealed myself as well as I could to await developments.
The object of my anxious solicitude was still several miles distant.
Whatever it was, it was approaching in my direction, as was plainly
discernible from the increasing columns of dust. Fortunately I had my
field-glass slung across my shoulder, and if Indians I could discover
them before they could possibly discover me. Soon I was able to see
the heads of mounted men running in irregular order. This discovery
shut out the probability of their being buffaloes, and simplified the
question to white men or Indians. Never during the war did I scan an
enemy’s battery or approaching column with half the anxious care with
which I watched the party then approaching me. For a long time nothing
satisfactory could be determined, until my eye caught sight of an
object which, high above the heads of the approaching riders, told me
in unmistakable terms that friends were approaching. It was the cavalry
guidon, and never was the sight of stars and stripes more welcome. My
comrades were greatly surprised to find me seated on the ground alone
and without my horse. A few words explained all. A detachment of my
men, following my direction, found my horse and returned with the
saddle and other equipments. Another horse, and Richard was himself
again, plus a little valuable experience, and minus a valuable horse.
In retracing our steps later in the day, in search of water sufficient
for camping purposes, we marched over nine miles of our morning route,
and at two P. M. of April 16 we went into camp. From this point I wrote
a despatch to General Hancock and sent it back by two of my scouts, who
set out on their journey as soon as it was dark. It was determined to
push on and reach the Smoky Hill route as soon as possible, and give
the numerous stage stations along that route notice of the presence of
warlike Indians. This was before the Pacific Railroad or its branches
had crossed the Plains. Resting our animals from two until seven P. M.,
we were again in the saddle and setting out for a night march, our only
guide being the north star. We hoped to strike the stage route near a
point called Downie’s Station. After riding all night we reached and
crossed about daylight the Smoky Hill river, along whose valley the
stage route runs. The stations were then from ten to fifteen miles
apart; if Indians had crossed this line at any point the station men
would be informed of it. To get information as to this, as well as
to determine where we were, an officer with one company was at once
despatched on this mission. This party had scarcely taken its departure
and our pickets been posted, before the entire command of tired, sleepy
cavalrymen, scouts, and Delawares had thrown themselves on the ground
and were wrapped in the deepest slumber. We had slept perhaps an hour
or more, yet it seemed but a few moments, when an alarm shot from the
lookout and the startling cry of “Indians!” brought the entire command
under arms.
V.
Although in search of Indians and supposed to be always prepared to
encounter them, yet the warning shot of the sentry, followed as it was
by his cry of “Indians!” could not but produce the greatest excitement
in camp. Where all had been quiet before--men sleeping and resting
after their long night march, animals grazing unsuspectingly in the
midst of the wagons and tents which thickly dotted the Plain here and
there--all was now bustle if not confusion. Herders and teamsters
ran to their animals to conduct them inside the limits of camp. The
troopers of one platoon of each company hastened to secure the cavalry
horses and provide against a stampede, while those of the remaining
platoons were rapidly marshalled under arms by their troop officers,
and advanced in the direction from which the lookout reported the enemy
to be approaching.
All this required but a few moments of time. Recovering from the first
shock of surprise, we endeavored, one and all, to discover the number
and purpose of the foes who had in so unceremonious a manner disturbed
our much-needed slumbers.
Daylight had just dawned, but the sun was not yet high enough to render
a satisfactory view of the country possible. This difficulty was
aggravated, too, by a dull heavy mist, which hung like a curtain near
the horizon. Yet in spite of all these obstructions we could clearly
perceive, at a distance of perhaps a mile, the dim outlines of numerous
figures--horsemen evidently--approaching our camp, not as if simply on
the march, but in battle array. First came a deployed line of horsemen,
followed in rear, as we could plainly see, by a reserve, also mounted
and moving in compact order.
It required no practised eye to comprehend that be they who or what
they might, the parties advancing in this precise and determined manner
upon us were doing so with hostile purpose, and evidently intended to
charge into our camp unless defeated in their purpose. No time was to
be lost. Dispositions to meet the coming attack were rapidly made.
To better observe the movements and determine the strength of the
approaching parties, an officer ascended the knoll occupied by the
lookout.
We had often heard of the high perfection of some of the Indian tribes
in military evolutions and discipline, but here we saw evidences which
went far to convince us that the red man was not far behind his more
civilized brother in the art of war. Certainly no troops of my command
could have advanced a skirmish line or moved a reserve more accurately
than was done in our presence that morning.
As yet we had no means of determining to what tribe the attacking party
belonged. We were satisfied they must be either Sioux or Cheyennes,
or both; in either case we should encounter troublesome foes. But for
the heavy mist we could have comprehended everything. Soon we began
receiving reports from the officer who had ascended the lookout. First,
there were not more than eighty horsemen to be seen. This number we
could easily dispose of. Next, the attacking parties seemed to have
changed their plan; a halt was ordered, and two or three horsemen
seemed to be advancing to the front as if to parley, or reconnoitre
our position. Then the skirmishers were suddenly withdrawn and united
with the reserve, when the entire party wheeled about and began to move
off. This was mystifying in the extreme, but a couple of young cavalry
officers leaped into their saddles and taking a few mounted troopers
with them dashed after our late enemies, determined to learn more about
them than they seemed willing we should.
A brisk gallop soon cleared away the mystery, and furnished another
proof of the deceptive effects produced by the atmosphere on the
Plains. Those who have read the preceding article will remember that
at the termination of the night march which brought us to our present
camp, an officer was despatched with one troop of cavalry to find the
nearest stage station on the overland route, near which we knew we
must then be. Our camp lay on the Smoky Hill river. The stage route,
better known as the “Smoky Hill route,” was known to be but a few miles
north of us. To determine our exact locality, as we had been marching
by compass over a wild country and in the night-time, and to learn
something regarding the Indians, this officer was sent out. He was
selected for this service because of his professed experience on and
knowledge of the Plains. He had set out from our camp an hour or more
before daylight, but losing his bearings had marched his command in a
semicircle until daylight found him on the side of our camp opposite
that from which he had departed. The conical Sibley tent used in my
command, resembling the Indian lodge from which it was taken, seen
through the peculiar and uncertain morning atmosphere of that region,
had presented to his eyes and to those of his men the appearance of
an Indian village. The animals grazing about our camp might well have
been taken for the ponies of the Indians. Besides, it was well known
that large encampments of Indians were in the part of the country over
which we were marching. The bewilderment of this detachment, then,
was not surprising considering the attending circumstances. Had the
officer in command been young and inexperienced, his mishap might have
been credited to these causes; but here was an officer who had grown
gray in the service, familiar with the Plains and with Indians, yet so
completely misled by appearances as to mistake his camp, which he had
left but an hour before, for an Indian village.
Few officers laboring under the same impression would have acted so
creditably. He and his men imagined they had discovered the camp of the
Indians whom we had been pursuing, and although believing their enemies
outnumbered them ten to one, yet their zeal and earnestness prompted
them, instead of sending to their main camp for reinforcements, thereby
losing valuable time and probable opportunities to effect a surprise,
to make a dash at once into the village. And it was only the increasing
light of day that enabled them to discover their mistake and saved us
from a charge from our own troopers. This little incident will show how
necessary experienced professional guides are in connection with all
military movements on the Plains. It was a long time before the officer
who had been so unlucky as to lose his way heard the last of it from
his brother officers.
The remainder of his mission was completed more successfully.
Aided by daylight, and moving nearly due north, he soon struck the
well-travelled overland route, and from the frightened employés at
the nearest station he obtained intelligence which confirmed our
worst fears as to the extent of the Indian outbreak. Stage stations
at various points along the route had been attacked and burned, and
the inmates driven off or murdered. All travel across the Plains was
suspended, and an Indian war with all its barbarities had been forced
upon the people of the frontier.
As soon as the officer ascertaining these facts had returned to camp
and made his report, the entire command was again put in motion and
started in the direction of the stage route, with the intention of
clearing it of straggling bands of Indians, reopening the main line of
travel across the Plains, and establishing if possible upon the proper
tribes the responsibility for the numerous outrages recently committed.
The stage stations were erected at points along the route distant from
each other from ten to fifteen miles, and were used solely for the
shelter and accommodation of the relays of drivers and horses employed
on the stage route. We found, in passing over the route on our eastward
march, that only about every fourth station was occupied, the occupants
of the other three having congregated there for mutual defence against
the Indians, the latter having burned the deserted stations.
From the employés of the company at various points we learned that for
the few preceding days the Indians had been crossing the line, going
toward the north in large bodies. In some places we saw the ruins of
the burned stations, but it was not until we reached Lookout Station,
a point about fifteen miles west of Fort Hays, that we came upon the
first real evidences of an Indian outbreak. Riding some distance in
advance of the command, I reached the station only to find it and
the adjacent buildings in ashes, the ruins still smoking. Near by I
discovered the bodies of the three station-keepers, so mangled and
burned as to be scarcely recognizable as human beings. The Indians had
evidently tortured them before putting an end to their sufferings. They
were scalped and horribly disfigured. Their bodies were badly burned,
but whether before or after death could not be determined. No arrow,
or other article of Indian manufacture, could be found to positively
determine what particular tribe was the guilty one. The men at other
stations had recognized some of the Indians passing as belonging to the
Sioux and Cheyennes, the same we had passed from the village on Pawnee
Fork.
Continuing our march, we reached Fort Hays, from which point I
despatched a report to General Hancock, on the Arkansas, furnishing him
all the information I had gained concerning the outrages and movements
of the Indians. As it has been a question of considerable dispute
between the respective advocates of the Indian peace and war policy,
as to which party committed the first overt act of war, the Indians
or General Hancock’s command, I quote from a letter on the subject
written by Major-General Hancock to General Grant, in reply to a letter
of inquiry from the latter when commanding the armies of the United
States. General Hancock says:
“When I learned from General Custer, who investigated these matters
on the spot, that directly after they had abandoned the villages they
attacked and burned a mail station on the Smoky Hill, killed the white
men at it, disembowelled and burned them, fired into another station,
endeavored to gain admittance to a third, fired on my expressmen
both on the Smoky Hill and on their way to Larned, I concluded that
this must be war, and therefore deemed it my duty to take the first
opportunity which presented to resent these hostilities and outrages,
and did so by destroying their villages.”
The first paragraph of General Hancock’s special field order directing
the destruction of the Indian village read as follows:
“II. As a punishment for the bad faith practised by the Cheyennes
and Sioux who occupied the Indian village at this place, and as a
chastisement for murders and depredations committed since the arrival
of the command at this point, by the people of these tribes, the
village recently occupied by them, which is now in our hands, will be
utterly destroyed.”
[Illustration: SATANTA, SECOND CHIEF OF THE KIOWAS.]
From these extracts the question raised can be readily settled. This
act of retribution on the part of General Hancock was the signal for an
extensive pen and ink war, directed against him and his forces. This
was to be expected. The pecuniary loss and deprivation of opportunities
to speculate in Indian commodities, as practised by most Indian agents,
were too great to be submitted to without a murmur. The Cheyennes,
Arrapahoes, and Apaches had been united under one agency; the Kiowas
and Comanches under another. As General Hancock’s expedition had
reference to all of these tribes, he had extended invitations to each
of the two agents to accompany him into the Indian country, and be
present at all interviews with the representatives of these respective
tribes, for the purpose, as the invitation states, of showing the
Indians “that the officers of the Government are acting in harmony.”
These agents were both present at General Hancock’s headquarters. Both
admitted to General Hancock in conversation that Indians had been
guilty of all the outrages charged against them, but each asserted the
innocence of the particular tribes under his charge, and endeavored
to lay their crimes at the door of their neighbors. The agent of the
Kiowas and Comanches declared to the department commander that “the
tribes of his agency had been grossly wronged by having been charged
with various offences which had undoubtedly been committed by the
Cheyennes, Arrapahoes, and Apaches, and that these tribes deserved
severe and summary chastisement for their numerous misdeeds, very many
of which had been laid at the doors of his innocent tribes.”
Not to be outdone in the profuse use of fair words, however, the agent
of the three tribes thus assailed informed General Hancock that his
three tribes “were peacefully inclined, and rarely committed offences
against the laws, but that most unfortunately they were charged in many
instances with crimes which had been perpetrated by other tribes, and
that in this respect they had suffered heavily from the Kiowas, who
were the most turbulent Indians of the Plains, and deserved punishment
more than any others.”
Here was positive evidence from the agents themselves that the Indians
against whom we were operating were guilty, and deserving of severe
punishment. The only conflicting portion of the testimony was as to
which tribe was most guilty. Subsequent events proved, however, that
all of the five tribes named, as well as the Sioux, had combined for a
general war throughout the Plains and along our frontier. Such a war
had been threatened to our post commanders along the Arkansas on many
occasions during the winter. The movement of the Sioux and Cheyennes
toward the north indicated that the principal theatre of military
operations during the summer would be between the Smoky Hill and Platte
rivers. General Hancock accordingly assembled the principal chiefs of
the Kiowas and Arrapahoes in council at Fort Dodge, hoping to induce
them to remain at peace and observe their treaty obligations.
The most prominent chiefs in council were Satanta, Lone Wolf, and
Kicking Bird of the Kiowas, and Little Raven and Yellow Bear of the
Arrapahoes. During the council extravagant promises of future good
conduct were made by these chiefs. So effective and convincing was the
oratorical effort of Satanta, that at the termination of his address
the department commander and staff presented him with the uniform
coat, sash, and hat of a major-general. In return for this compliment
Satanta, within a few weeks after, attacked the post at which the
council was held, arrayed in his new uniform. This said chief had but
recently headed an expedition to the frontier of Texas, where, among
other murders committed by him and his band, was that known as the
“Box massacre.” The Box family consisted of the father, mother, and
five children, the eldest a girl about eighteen, the youngest a babe.
The entire family had been visiting at a neighbor’s house, and were
returning home in the evening, little dreaming of the terrible fate
impending, when Satanta and his warriors dashed upon them, surrounded
the wagon in which they were driving, and at the first fire killed the
father and one of the children. The horses were hastily taken from
the wagon, while the mother was informed by signs that she and her
four surviving children must accompany their captors. Mounting their
prisoners upon led horses, of which they had a great number stolen from
the settlers, the Indians prepared to set out on their return to the
village, then located hundreds of miles north. Before departing from
the scene of the massacre, the savages scalped the father and child,
who had fallen as their first victims. Far better would it have been
had the remaining members of the family met their death in the first
attack. From the mother, whom I met when released from her captivity,
after living as a prisoner in the hands of the Indians for more than a
year, I gathered the details of the sufferings of herself and children.
Fearing pursuit by the Texans, and desiring to place as long a distance
as possible between themselves and their pursuers, they prepared for a
night march. Mrs. Box and each of the three elder children were placed
on separate horses and securely bound. This was to prevent escape in
the darkness. The mother was at first permitted to carry the youngest
child, a babe of a few months, in her arms, but the latter, becoming
fretful during the tiresome night ride, began to cry. The Indians,
fearing the sound of its voice might be heard by pursuers, snatched it
from its mother’s arms and dashed its brains out against a tree, then
threw the lifeless remains to the ground and continued their flight.
No halt was made for twenty-four hours, after which the march was
conducted more deliberately. Each night the mother and three children
were permitted to occupy one shelter, closely guarded by their watchful
enemies.
After travelling for several days this war party arrived at the point
where they rejoined their lodges. They were still a long distance
from the main village, which was near the Arkansas. Each night the
scalp of the father was hung up in the lodge occupied by the mother
and children. A long and weary march over a wild and desolate country
brought them to the main village. Here the captives found that their
most serious troubles were to commence. In accordance with Indian
custom, upon the return of a successful war party, a grand assembly of
the tribe took place. The prisoners, captured horses, and scalps were
brought forth, and the usual ceremonies, terminating in a scalp dance,
followed. Then the division of the spoils was made. The captives were
apportioned among the various bands composing the tribe, so that when
the division was completed the mother fell to the possession of one
chief, the eldest daughter to that of another, the second, a little
girl of probably ten years, to another, and the youngest, a child of
three years, to a fourth. No two members of the family were permitted
to remain in the same band, but were each carried to separate villages,
distant from each other several days’ march. This was done partly to
prevent escape.
No pen can describe the painful tortures of mind and body endured by
this unfortunate family. They remained as captives in the hands of the
Indians for more than a year, during which time the eldest daughter,
a beautiful girl just ripening into womanhood, was exposed to a fate
infinitely more dreadful than death itself. She first fell to one of
the principal chiefs, who, after robbing her of that which was more
precious than life, and forcing her to become the victim of his brutal
lust, bartered her in return for two horses to another chief; he again,
after wearying of her, traded her to a chief of a neighboring band; and
in that way this unfortunate girl was passed from one to another of her
savage captors, undergoing a life so horribly brutal that, when meeting
her upon her release from captivity, one could only wonder how a young
girl, nurtured in civilization and possessed of the natural refinement
and delicacy of thought which she exhibited, could have survived such
degrading treatment.
The mother and second daughter fared somewhat better. The youngest,
however, separated from mother and sisters, and thrown among people
totally devoid of all kind feeling, spent the time in shedding
bitter tears. This so enraged the Indians that, as a punishment as
well as preventive, the child was seized and the soles of its naked
feet exposed to the flames of the lodge fire until every portion
of the cuticle was burned therefrom. When I saw this little girl a
year afterward, her feet were from this cause still in a painful and
unhealed condition. These poor captives were reclaimed from their
bondage through the efforts of officers of the army, and by the payment
of a ransom amounting to many hundreds of dollars.
The facts relating to their cruel treatment were obtained by me
directly from the mother and eldest daughter immediately after their
release, which occurred a few months prior to the council held with
Satanta and other chiefs. To prove something of the character of the
Cheyennes, one of the principal tribes with which we were at war,
I will give the following extract from an official communication
addressed by me to General Hancock prior to the surrender of the
little Indian boy of whom mention was made in a former article. My
recommendation was not deemed practicable, as it had been promised by
us in treaty stipulation to return the boy unconditionally.
“Having learned that a boy belonging to the Cheyenne tribe of Indians
is in the possession of the military authorities, and that it is the
intention of the Major-General commanding the department to deliver
him up to the above-named tribe, I would respectfully state that a
little white girl aged from four to seven years is held captive by the
Cheyenne Indians, and is now in the possession of ‘Cut Nose,’ a chief
of said tribe.
“The child referred to has been in the hands of the Indians a year
or more. She was captured somewhere in the vicinity of Cache la
Poudre, Colorado. The parents’ name is Fletcher. The father escaped
with a severe wound, the mother and two younger children being taken
prisoners. The Indians killed one of the children outright, and the
mother, after subjecting her to tortures too horrible to name.
“The child now held by the Indians was kept captive. An elder daughter
made her escape and now resides in Iowa. The father resides in Salt
Lake City. I have received several letters from the father and eldest
daughter and from friends of both, requesting me to obtain the release
of the little girl, if possible. I would therefore request that it be
made a condition of the return of the Indian boy now in our possession,
that the Cheyennes give up the white child referred to above.”
This proposition failing in its object, and the war destroying all
means of communication with the Indians and scattering the latter over
the Plains, all trace of the little white girl was lost, and to this
day nothing is known of her fate. At the breaking out of the Indian
difficulty “Cut Nose” with his band was located along the Smoky Hill
route in the vicinity of Monument Station. He frequently visited the
stage stations for purposes of trade, and was invariably accompanied
by his little captive. I never saw her, but those who did represented
her as strikingly beautiful; her complexion being fair, her eyes blue,
and her hair of a bright golden hue, she presented a marked contrast to
the Indian children who accompanied her. “Cut Nose,” from the delicate
light color of her hair, gave her an Indian name signifying “Little
Silver Hair.” He appeared to treat her with great affection, and always
kept her clothed in the handsomest of Indian garments. All offers from
individuals to ransom her proved unavailing. Although she had been with
the Indians but a year, she spoke the Cheyenne language fluently, and
seemed to have no knowledge of her mother tongue.
The treatment of the Box and Fletcher families is not given as isolated
instances, but is referred to principally to show the character of the
enemy with whom we were at war. Volume after volume might be filled in
recounting the unprovoked and merciless atrocities committed upon the
people of the frontier by their implacable foe, the red man. It will
become necessary, however, in making a truthful record of the principal
events which transpired under my personal observation, to make mention
of Indian outrages surpassing if possible in savage cruelty any yet
referred to.
As soon as General Hancock had terminated his council with the Kiowas
and Arrapahoes, he marched with the remaining portion of the expedition
across from the Arkansas to Fort Hays, where my command was then
encamped, arriving there on the third of May. Here, owing to the
neglect or delay of the officers of the Quartermaster’s Department
in forwarding the necessary stores, the cavalry was prevented from
undertaking any extensive movement, but had to content itself for the
time being in scouting the adjacent country.
The time, however, was well employed in the preparation of men and
animals for the work which was to be assigned them. Unfortunately,
desertions from the ranks became so frequent and extensive as to cause
no little anxiety.
To produce these, several causes combined. Prominent among them was the
insufficiency and inferior quality of the rations furnished the men. At
times the latter were made the victims of fraud, and it was only by the
zealous care and watchfulness of the officers immediately over them,
that their wants were properly attended to.
Dishonest contractors at the receiving depots further east had
been permitted to perpetrate gross frauds upon the Government, the
result of which was to produce want and suffering among the men. For
example, unbroken packages of provisions shipped from the main depot
of supplies, and which it was impracticable to replace without loss
of time, were when opened discovered to contain huge stones for which
the Government had paid so much per pound according to contract price.
Boxes of bread were shipped and issued to the soldiers of my command,
the contents of which had been baked in 1861, yet this was in 1867. It
is unnecessary to state that but little of this bread was eaten, yet
there was none at hand of better quality to replace it. Bad provisions
were a fruitful cause of bad health. Inactivity led to restlessness
and dissatisfaction. Scurvy made its appearance, and cholera attacked
neighboring stations. For all these evils desertion became the most
popular antidote. To such an extent was this the case, that in one year
one regiment lost by desertion alone more than half of its effective
force.
General Hancock remained with us only a few days before setting out
with the battery for his headquarters at Fort Leavenworth. Supplies
were pushed out and every preparation made for resuming offensive
movements against the Indians. To find employment for the few weeks
which must ensue before breaking up camp was sometimes a difficult
task. To break the monotony and give horses and men exercise, buffalo
hunts were organized, in which officers and men joined heartily. I
know of no better drill for perfecting men in the use of firearms
on horseback, and thoroughly accustoming them to the saddle, than
buffalo-hunting over a moderately rough country. No amount of riding
under the best of drill-masters will give that confidence and security
in the saddle, which will result from a few spirited charges into a
buffalo herd.
The command, consisting of cavalry alone, was at last in readiness
to move. Wagons had been loaded with reserve supplies, and we were
only waiting the growth of the spring grass to set out on the long
march which had previously been arranged. On the first of June, with
about three hundred and fifty men and a train of twenty wagons, I
left Fort Hays and directed our line of march toward Fort McPherson,
on the Platte river, distant by the proposed route two hundred and
twenty-five miles. The friendly Delawares accompanied us as scouts and
trailers, but our guide was a young white man known on the Plains as
“Will Comstock.” No Indian knew the country more thoroughly than did
Comstock. He was perfectly familiar with every divide, water-course,
and strip of timber for hundreds of miles in either direction. He
knew the dress and peculiarities of every Indian tribe, and spoke
the languages of many of them. Perfect in horsemanship, fearless in
manner, a splendid hunter, and a gentleman by instinct, as modest
and unassuming as he was brave, he was an interesting as well as
valuable companion on a march such as was then before us. Many were the
adventures and incidents of frontier life with which he was accustomed
to entertain us when around the camp-fire or on the march. Little did
he then imagine that his own life would soon be given as a sacrifice
to his daring, and that he, with all his experience among the savages,
would fall a victim of Indian treachery.
VI.
It had been decided that my command should thoroughly scout the country
from Fort Hays near the Smoky Hill river, to Fort McPherson, on the
Platte; thence describe a semicircle to the southward, touching the
head waters of the Republican, and again reach the Platte at or near
Fort Sedgwick, at which post we would replenish our supplies; then move
directly south to Fort Wallace, on the Smoky Hill, and from there march
down the overland route to our starting-point at Fort Hays. This would
involve a ride of upwards of one thousand miles.
As is usually the case, the first day’s march was not to be a long one.
The troops, under charge of the officer second in command, Colonel
Wickliffe Cooper, left camp and marched up the valley of Big Creek
a distance of eighteen miles, and there encamped. Two companies of
cavalry and a small force of infantry were to constitute the garrison
to remain behind. When the troops composing my command left, it
became necessary to rearrange the camp and provide new dispositions
for defence. My wife, who always accompanied me when in camp or on
the march except when I was engaged in active pursuit of Indians, had
rejoined me soon after my arrival at Fort Hays. She was accompanied by
a young lady friend from the East, a schoolmate, who had been tempted
by the novelties of wild Western life to make her a visit in camp. As
there were other ladies in camp, wives of officers who were to remain
with the garrison, my wife and friend decided to remain and await
our return, rather than go back to the protection and luxuries of
civilization. To arrange for their comfort and superintend the locating
of their tents, I remained behind my command, intending to wait until
after midnight, and then, guided by the moonlight, ride on and overtake
my command before it should commence its second day’s march. I retained
with me two soldiers, one scout, and four of the Delawares.
As soon as the command moved, the portion to remain at Fort Hays
was drawn in near the few buildings which constituted the fort. All
of the cavalry and a portion of the infantry were to encamp in the
valley and not far from the stream. For three-quarters of a mile on
either side the valley consisted of a level unbroken plain; then a low
bluff was encountered, succeeded by a second plain of less extent.
This was bordered by a higher and more broken bluff than the first.
Fortunately, in selecting the ground on which the tents intended for
the ladies were to stand, I had chosen a little knoll, so small as to
be scarcely perceptible, yet the only elevated ground to be found. It
was within a few steps of the bank of the stream, while the main camp
was located below and nearer the bluff. For safety a few soldiers were
placed in camp a short distance above. In ordinary times the banks of
Big Creek are at this point from twenty-five to forty feet above the
water, and a person accustomed to the slow and gradual rise and fall
which prevails along the beds of streams in the Eastern States, can
with difficulty realize the suddenness with which the deep and narrow
channels of watercourses on the Plains become filled to overflowing.
In proportion to the surface of the country or the watersheds, the
watercourses or channels are few, too few to accommodate the drainage
necessities during the wet season. The bank on which the little knoll
stood was, by actual measurement, thirty-six feet above ordinary water
mark. The knoll was probably three or four feet above the level of the
valley. Surely this location might be considered well enough protected
naturally against the rainy season. So I thought, as I saw the working
party putting the finishing touches to the bright white canvas house,
which to all intents and purposes was to be to me, even in absence, my
army home.
I confidently expected to return to this camp at the termination of
my march. I will be pardoned if I anticipate events and terminate its
history now. A few days after my command had marched, a heavy storm
set in, the rain pouring down in a manner resembling a waterspout.
The immediate effect of the heavy shower was not at once noticeable
near the camp at Fort Hays, as the heaviest rainfall had occurred far
above that point. But in the night-time, after the entire camp except
the guards had long since retired and fallen asleep, the stream,
overcharged by the rushing volumes from above, soon became transformed
from a mild and murmuring brook into an irresistible, turbulent
torrent. So sudden and unexpected had been the rise, that before the
alarm could be given the thirty-six feet which had separated the
surface of the water from the top of the banks had been overcome, and
in addition the water began now sweeping over the entire plain. After
overflowing the natural banks of the creek, the first new channel ran
in such a manner as to surround the tents occupied by the ladies as
well as that occupied by the few soldiers stationed up the stream, but
still leaving communication open between the main camp and the bluff
toward the mainland. The soldiers, as well as the officers and their
families in the main camp, hastened to the bluff to escape being swept
down before the huge torrent which each instant became more fearful.
To add to the embarrassment of the situation, the blackest darkness
prevailed, only relieved at times by vivid gleams of lightning, while
the deep sullen roar of the torrent, increasing each moment in depth
and volume, was only drowned at intervals by the fierce and more
deafening uproar of the thunder, which sounded like the applause of
some huge fury watching this struggle between the elements.
When Mrs. Custer and her young lady companion were awakened by the
storm, they discovered that their tents were surrounded by the new
channel, and that all efforts to reach the main camp would prove
unavailing. They had with them at this time only a colored female
servant. They did not even know the fate of the other portion of the
camp. In the midst of this fearful scene, they heard the cries of men
in despair near their tent. The cries came from the soldiers who had
been in camp above them, but were now being carried off in the darkness
by the rising current. No assistance could reach them. It is doubtful
if they could have been saved even had they been found by daylight.
There were seven in all. One of them, as he was being swept by the
tent, contrived, through accident no doubt, to grasp the branch of
a small bush which grew on the bank. It was from him that the cries
of distress principally proceeded. Aided by the dim light of a camp
lantern, the ladies were enabled to see this unfortunate man clinging,
as it were, between life and death. With commendable presence of mind,
considering the fate staring them in the face, a rope was procured, and
after a few failures one end was thrown to the unfortunate man, and by
the united strength of the two ladies and their servant he was pulled
to shore and, for the time being at least, his life was saved. His six
less fortunate companions were drowned.
Two of the officers, Brevet Major-General A. J. Smith, and his
Adjutant-General, Colonel Weir, with a view to rescuing the ladies,
had succeeded in making their way across the new channel made by the
torrent to the knoll; but when attempting to return on horseback to
the mainland, they found the current too deep and swift for them to
succeed. They were compelled then to await their fate. The water
continued to rise until the entire valley from the natural channel to
the first bluff, a distance of a quarter of a mile, was covered by an
unfordable river. The only point still free from water was the little
knoll which I had been so fortunate as to select for the tents. But the
rise in the water continued until it finally reached the edge of the
tent. At this rate the tents themselves must soon be swept away. As a
last resort, a Gatling gun which stood near the entrance of the tent,
and which from its great weight would probably withstand the force of
the current, was hauled closer to the tent and ropes securely attached
to the wheels; by these ropes it was proposed to fasten the ladies and
the servant to the gun, and in this way, should the streams not rise
too high above the knoll, their lives might be saved.
The colored girl, Eliza, who was devoted to her mistress, and who had
been amid scenes of great danger, was on this occasion invaluable.
Eliza had quite a history before she visited the Plains. Formerly
a slave, but set free by the war, she had accompanied me as cook
during the last three years of the war. Twice taken prisoner by the
Confederates, she each time made her escape and refound me. She was
present at almost every prominent battle of the Army of the Potomac,
accompanied my command on all the raids and winter marches, and upon
more than one occasion during the progress of a battle Eliza might be
seen near the front earnestly engaged in preparing a cup of coffee for
the officers at headquarters, who but for her would have gone through
the day dinnerless. I have seen her remain by her camp cook fire when
the enemy’s shells were bursting overhead, to such an extent that men
who were similarly employed deserted their station and sought shelter
in the rear. There were few officers or soldiers in the cavalry corps,
from General Sheridan down, with whom Eliza was not a great favorite.
All had a pleasant word for her, and few had not at some time or other
cause to remember her kindness.
When the water finally approached close to the tent, Eliza marked its
progress from time to time by placing small stakes at the water line.
How anxiously the gradual rise of the torrent must have been watched.
At last, when all hope seemed almost exhausted, the waters were stayed
in their progress, and soon, to the great joy of the little party
besieged, began to recede. It was still dark, but so rapidly did the
volume of water diminish--as rapidly as it had accumulated--that a
few hours after daylight a safe passage was effected to the mainland.
With the exception of those of the six soldiers, no lives were lost,
although many narrow escapes were made.
In the morning, daylight showed the post hospital, a stone building,
surrounded by an unfordable stream, the water rushing through the doors
and windows. The patients had managed to climb upon the roof, and could
be seen by the officers and men on the mainland. No boats were to be
had, but no class of men are so full of expedients as soldiers. The
beds of some government wagons were hastily removed, the canvas covers
were stretched under the bottoms, and in this way a temporary kind of
pontoon was constructed which answered the desired purpose, and by
means of which the beleaguered patients were soon released.
The officer in command of the infantry, Major Merriam, was occupying
a tent with his wife near the main camp. Finding himself cut off from
the mainland, but before the water had attained its greatest depth, he
took his wife in his arms and forded the stream which ran between his
tent and the bluff, and in this manner reached a point of safety. It
is remarkable, however, that within two years from the date of this
occurrence, this same officer with his wife and child encountered a
similar freshet in Texas, hundreds of miles from this locality, and
that the watery grave which was so narrowly avoided in Kansas awaited
the mother and child in Texas. Of the circumstances of the storm at
Fort Hays I was necessarily ignorant until weeks later.
* * * * *
Soon after midnight, everything being in readiness, and my little party
having been refreshed by a cup of good army coffee, it only remained to
say adieu to those who were to remain behind, and we were ready for our
moonlight gallop.
But little was said as we made our way rapidly over the plain in the
direction taken by the command. Occasionally, as we dashed across
a ravine, we would suddenly come upon a herd of antelopes or a few
scattering buffaloes, startling them from their repose and causing them
to wonder what was the occasion and who the strange parties disturbing
the peaceful quiet of the night in this unusual manner. On we sped,
our good steeds snuffing the early morning air and pressing forward
as eagerly as if they knew their companions were awaiting them in the
advance.
Daylight had given us no evidence of its coming, when, after a ride of
nearly twenty miles, we found ourselves descending into a valley in
which we knew the command must be encamped. The moon had disappeared
below the horizon, and we were left to make our way aided by such light
as the stars twinkling in a clear sky afforded us. Our horses gave
us unmistakable evidence that camp was near. To convince us beyond
all doubt, the clear ringing notes of the bugle sounding the reveille
greeted our ears, and directed by the sound we soon found ourselves in
camp.
A cavalry camp immediately after reveille always presents an animated
and most interesting scene. As soon as the rolls are called and the
reports of absentees made to headquarters, the men of the companies,
with the exception of the cooks, are employed in the care of the
horses. The latter are fed, and while eating are thoroughly groomed
by the men, under the superintendence of their officers. Nearly an
hour is devoted to this important duty. In the meanwhile the company
cooks, ten to each company, and the officers’ servants, are busily
engaged preparing breakfast, so that within a few minutes after the
horses have received proper attention breakfast is ready, and being
very simple it requires but little time to dispose of it. Immediately
after breakfast the first bugle call indicative of the march is the
“General,” and is the signal for tents to be taken down and everything
packed in readiness for moving. A few minutes later this is followed by
the bugler at headquarters sounding “Boots and saddles,” when horses
are saddled up and the wagon train put in readiness for “pulling out.”
Five minutes later “To horse” is sounded, and the men of each company
lead their horses into line, each trooper standing at the head of his
horse. At the words “Prepare to mount,” from the commanding officer,
each trooper places his left foot in the stirrup; and at the command
“Mount,” every man rises on his stirrup and places himself in his
saddle, the whole command presenting the appearance to the eye of a
huge machine propelled by one power. Woe betide the unfortunate trooper
who through carelessness or inattention fails to place himself in
his saddle simultaneously with his companions. If he is not for this
offence against military rule deprived of the services of his horse
during the succeeding half day’s march, he escapes luckily.
As soon as the command is mounted the “Advance” is sounded, and the
troops, usually in “column of fours,” move out. The company leading
the advance one day march in rear the following day. This successive
changing gives each company an opportunity to march by regular turn in
advance. Our average daily march, when not in immediate pursuit of the
enemy, was about twenty-five miles. Upon reaching camp in the evening
the horses were cared for as in the morning, opportunities being given
them to graze before dark. Pickets were posted and every precaution
adopted to guard against surprise.
Our second day’s march brought us to the Saline river, where we
encamped for the night. From our camp ground we could see on a knoll
some two miles distant a platform or scaffold erected, which resembled
somewhat one of our war signal stations. Curious to discover its
purpose, I determined to visit it.
Taking with me Comstock and a few soldiers, I soon reached the point,
and discovered that the object of my curiosity and surprise was an
Indian grave. The body, instead of being consigned to mother earth,
was placed on top of the platform. The latter was constructed of
saplings, and was about twenty feet in height. From Comstock I learned
that with some of the tribes this is the usual mode of disposing of
the body after death. The prevailing belief of the Indian is that when
done with this world the spirit of the deceased is transferred to the
“happy hunting-ground,” where he is permitted to engage in the same
pleasures and pursuits which he preferred while on earth. To this end
it is deemed essential that after death the departed must be supplied
with the same equipment and ornaments considered necessary while in
the flesh. In accordance with this belief a complete Indian outfit,
depending in extent upon the rank and importance of the deceased, is
prepared, and consigned with the body to the final resting-place.
The body found on this occasion must have been that of a son of some
important chief; it was not full grown, but accompanied with all the
arms and adornments usually owned by a warrior. There was the bow and
quiver full of steel-pointed arrows, the tomahawk and scalping-knife,
and a red clay pipe with a small bag full of tobacco. In order that
the departed spirit should not be wholly dependent upon friends after
his arrival at the happy hunting-ground, he had been supplied with
provisions, consisting of small parcels containing coffee, sugar,
and bread. Weapons of modern structure had also been furnished him,
a revolver and rifle with powder and ball ammunition for each, and a
saddle, bridle, and lariat for his pony. Added to these was a supply of
wearing apparel, embracing every article known in an Indian’s toilet,
not excepting the various colored paints to be used in decorating
himself for war. A handsome buckskin scalping-pocket, profusely
ornamented with beads, completed the outfit. But for fear that white
women’s scalps might not be readily obtainable, and desiring no doubt
to be received at once as a warrior, who in his own country at least
was not without renown, a white woman’s scalp was also considered as a
necessary accompaniment, a letter of introduction to the dusky warriors
and chieftains who had gone before. As the Indian of the Plains is
himself only when on horseback, provision must be made for mounting him
properly in the Indian heaven. To accomplish this, the favorite war
pony is led beneath the platform on which the body of the warrior is
placed at rest, and there strangled to death.
No signs indicating the recent presence of Indians were discovered by
our scouts until we neared the Republican river, where the trail of a
small war party was discovered running down one of the tributaries of
the Republican. After following it far enough to determine the futility
of pursuit, the attempt was relinquished. Upon crossing the Republican
we suddenly came in full view of about a hundred mounted warriors, who,
without waiting for a parley of any kind, set off as fast as their
horses could carry them. One squadron was sent in pursuit, but was
unable to overhaul the Indians. From the tracks we learned that the
Indians were mounted on horses stolen from the stage company. These
horses were of a superior quality, and purchased by the company at
a price about double that paid by the Government. This was the only
occasion on which we saw Indians before reaching the Platte river.
One of our camps was pitched on the banks of a small stream which had
been named Beaver Creek. Comstock informed us that here an opportunity
could be had of killing a few beavers, as they were very numerous all
along this stream, which had derived its name from that fact. We had
gone into camp about 3 P. M. The numerous stumps and fallen trees, as
well as the beaver dams, attested the accuracy of Comstock’s statement.
By his advice we waited until sundown before taking our stations on the
bank, not far above the site of our camp, as at that time the beaver
would be out and on shore.
Placing ourselves under Comstock’s guidance, a small party proceeded to
the ground selected, where we were distributed singly at stations along
the stream and quietly awaited the appearance of the beaver. Whether
the noise from the camp below or the passing of hunting parties of
soldiers in the afternoon had frightened them, I know not. I remained
at my station with my rifle in hand ready to fire at the first beaver
which should offer itself as a sacrifice, until the sun had disappeared
and darkness had begun to spread its heavy mantle over everything
around me. No living thing had thus far disturbed my reveries. My
station was on the immediate bank of the stream, on a path which had
evidently been made by wild animals of some kind. The bank rose above
me to a distance of nearly twenty feet. I was just on the point of
leaving my station and giving up all hope of getting a shot, when I
heard the rustling of the long dry grass a few yards lower down the
stream. Cocking my rifle, I stood ready to deliver its contents into
the approaching animal, which I presumed would be seen to be a beaver
as soon as it should emerge from the tall grass. It did not make its
appearance in the path in which I stood until within a few feet of
me, when to my great surprise I beheld instead of a beaver an immense
wildcat. It was difficult to say which of us was most surprised.
Without delaying long to think, I took a hasty aim and fired. The next
moment I heard a splash which relieved my mind as to which of us should
retain the right of way on shore, the path being too narrow to admit of
our passing each other. I had either wounded or killed the wildcat, and
its body in the darkness had been carried down with the current, as the
dogs which were soon attracted from the camp by my shot were unable to
find the trail on either bank.
Nothing occurred to break the monotony of our march until we reached
Fort McPherson, on the Platte river. The country over which we had
marched had been quite varied in its character, and as we neared the
Platte it became very broken and abrupt. It was only by availing
ourselves of Comstock’s superior knowledge of the country that we
found an easy exit from the deep cañons and rough defiles which were
encountered.
At Fort McPherson we refilled our wagons with supplies of rations
and forage. At the same time, in accordance with my instructions, I
reported by telegraph my arrival to General Sherman, who was then
further west on the line of the Union Pacific road. He did not
materially change my instructions, further than to direct me to remain
near Fort McPherson until his arrival, which would be in the course of
a few days.
Moving my command about twelve miles from the fort, I arranged for
a council with Pawnee Killer and a few other Sioux chiefs, who had
arrived at the Platte about the same time my command had. My object
was, if possible, to induce Pawnee Killer and his band, with such
other Indians as might choose to join them, to bring their lodges into
the vicinity of the fort, and remain at peace with the whites. Pawnee
Killer and his chiefs met me in council and the subject was discussed,
but with no positive conclusions. While protesting strongly in favor
of preserving peaceful relations with us, the subsequent conduct of
the chiefs only confirmed the suspicion that they had arranged the
council not to perfect a friendly agreement with us, but to spy out and
discover, if possible, our future plans and movements. In this they
were disappointed. Their numerous inquiries as to where we intended
proceeding when we resumed the march were unavailing. Desiring to leave
nothing undone to encourage a friendly attitude on their part, I gave
the chiefs on parting with them liberal presents of coffee, sugar, and
other articles gratifying to the taste of an Indian. They departed
after giving utterance to the strongest expressions of their desire
to live at peace with their “white brothers,” and promised to collect
their families and bring them in under protection of the fort, and thus
avoid becoming entangled in the ravages of an Indian war which now
promised to become general throughout the Plains. Pawnee Killer and his
chiefs never attempted to keep their promises.
General Sherman arrived at my camp next day. He had no confidence in
the faith of Pawnee Killer and his band, and desired that a party be
sent in pursuit at once, and bring the chiefs back and retain a few of
the prominent ones as hostages for the fulfilment of their agreement.
This was decided to be impracticable. It was then judged best for me
to move my command in a southwesterly direction to the forks of the
Republican, a section of country usually infested by Indians, and
there endeavor to find the village of Pawnee Killer, and compel him,
if necessary, to move nearer to the fort, so that we might distinguish
between those who were friendly and those who were not. Besides, it
was known that the Cheyennes and Sioux, whom we had pursued from the
Arkansas across the Smoky Hill river, had not crossed north of the
Platte, and they were rightly supposed to be located somewhere near
the forks of the Republican. I could reach this point in three days’
marching after leaving the Platte river, on whose banks we were then
encamped.
Owing to the rough and broken character of the bluffs which bound
the valley of the Platte on the south side, it was determined to
march up the men about fifteen miles from the fort and strike south
through an opening in the bluffs known as Jack Morrow’s cañon. General
Sherman rode with us as far as this point, where, after commending the
Cheyennes and Sioux to us in his expressive manner, he bade us good-by,
and crossed the river to the railroad station on the north side. Thus
far we had had no real Indian warfare. We were soon to experience it,
attended by all its frightful barbarities.
VII.
Before leaving the Platte I employed two additional interpreters who
were familiar with the Sioux language. Both were white men, but,
following the example of many frontiersmen, they had taken unto
themselves Indian wives, and each had become the head of a considerable
family of half-breeds.
Starting nearly due south from the Platte, and marching up the cañon,
which forms a natural gateway through the otherwise almost impassable
barrier of bluffs and deep ravines bordering the valley of the Platte
river, we again set out in search of Indians. The latter are sought
after so frequently and found so seldom, except when not wanted,
that scouting parties, as a general thing, are not overburdened with
confidence on beginning an expedition. Most of us, however, felt that
we were destined to see Indians--an impression probably due to the fact
that we had determined to accomplish our purpose, if hard riding and
watchfulness could attain this result.
Our first day’s march brought us to a small stream, a tributary of the
Republican river, on whose banks we encamped for the night. Daylight
the following morning found us in the saddle and ascending from the
valley to the table-lands; we were still in the broken country.
On reaching the plateau overlooking the valley we found ourselves
enveloped in a dense fog, so dense that the sky was not visible, nor
was an extended view of the country possible. Had the surface of the
plain been, as usual, level and unbroken, we could have pursued our
march guided by the unerring compass. But deep and impassable cañons
divided the country in all directions and rendered our further progress
impracticable. The sun, however, soon rose high enough to drive away
the mist, and permitted us to proceed on what might be truly termed our
winding way.
The afternoon of the fourth day we reached the forks of the Republican,
and there went into camp. We were then located about seventy-five miles
southeast of Fort Sedgwick, and about the same distance northeast of
Fort Wallace. Intending to scout the surrounding country thoroughly in
search of Indians, we selected our camp with reference to a sojourn of
several days, combining among its essentials wood, water, good grazing,
and last, but not least, facilities for defence.
When I parted from General Sherman the understanding was, that after
beating up the country thoroughly about the forks of the Republican
river, I should march my command to Fort Sedgwick, and there I would
either see General Sherman again or receive further instructions
from him. Circumstances seemed to favor a modification of this plan,
at least as to marching the entire command to Fort Sedgwick. It was
therefore decided to send a trusty officer with a sufficient escort
to Fort Sedgwick with my despatch, and to receive the despatches
which might be intended for me. My proposed, change of programme
contemplated a continuous march, which might be prolonged twenty days
or more. To this end additional supplies were necessary. The guides
all agreed in the statement that we were then about equidistant from
Fort Wallace on the south and Fort Sedgwick on the north, at either
of which the required supplies could be obtained; but that while the
country between our camp and the former was generally level and
unbroken--favorable to the movement of our wagon train--that between
us and Fort Sedgwick was almost impassable for heavily-laden wagons.
The train then was to go to Fort Wallace under sufficient escort, be
loaded with fresh supplies, and rejoin us in camp. At the same time
the officer selected for that mission could proceed to Fort Sedgwick,
obtain his despatch, and return.
Major Joel A. Elliot, a young officer of great courage and enterprise,
was selected as bearer of despatches to Fort Sedgwick. As the errand
was one involving considerable danger, requiring for the round trip a
ride of almost two hundred miles, through a country which was not only
almost unknown but infested by large numbers of hostile Indians, the
Major was authorized to arrange the details in accordance with his own
judgment.
Knowing that small detachments can move more rapidly than large ones,
and that he was to depend upon celerity of movement rather than
strength of numbers to evade the numerous war parties prowling in
that vicinity, the Major limited the size of his escort to ten picked
men and one of the guides, all mounted on fleet horses. To elude the
watchful eyes of any parties that might be noting our movements, it was
deemed advisable to set out from camp as soon as it was dark, and by
making a rapid night ride get beyond the circle of danger. In this way
the little party took its departure on the night of the 23d of June.
On the same day our train of wagons set out for Fort Wallace to
obtain supplies. Colonel West with one full squadron of cavalry was
ordered to escort the train to Beaver Creek, about midway, and there
halt with one of his companies, while the train, under escort of one
company commanded by Lieutenant Robbins, should proceed to the fort and
return--Colonel West to employ the interval in scouting up and down
Beaver Creek. The train was under the special management of Colonel
Cook, who on this occasion was acting in the capacity of a staff
officer.
While at Fort McPherson, and when under the impression that my
command upon arriving at Fort Wallace, after terminating the scouting
expedition we were then engaged upon, would remain in camp for several
weeks, I wrote to my wife at Fort Hays, advising her to meet me at Fort
Wallace, provided that travel between the two posts was considered
safe. I expected her to reach Fort Wallace before the arrival of the
train and escort from my camp, and under this impression I sent a
letter to her by Colonel Cook, asking her to come to our camp on the
Republican under escort of the Colonel, who was an intimate friend of
the family. I am thus minute in giving these details, in order that the
events of the succeeding few days may appear in their proper light.
After the departure of the two detachments, which left us in almost
opposite directions, our camp settled down to the dull and unexciting
monotony of waiting patiently for the time when we should welcome our
comrades back again, and listen to such items of news as they might
bring to us.
Little did we imagine that the monotony of idleness was so soon and so
abruptly to be broken. That night our pickets were posted as usual; the
horses and mules, after being allowed to graze in the evening, were
brought in and securely tethered close to our tents, and the “stable
guards” of the different troops had been assigned to their stations for
the night. At half-past eight the bugler at headquarters sounded the
signal for “taps,” and before the last note had died away every light,
in obedience to this command, disappeared, and nothing remained to the
eye, except here and there a faint glimpse of a white tent, to indicate
the presence of our camp.
It was just that uncertain period between darkness and daylight on the
following morning, and I was lying in my tent deep in the enjoyment
of that perfect repose which only camp life offers, when the sharp,
clear crack of a carbine near by brought me to my feet. I knew in an
instant that the shot came from the picket posted not far from the
rear of my camp. At the same moment my brother, Colonel Custer, who on
that occasion was officer of the day, and whose duties required him to
be particularly on the alert, rushed past my tent, halting only long
enough to show his face through the opening and shout, “They are here!”
Now I did not inquire who were referred to, or how many were included
in the word “they,” nor did my informant seem to think it necessary
to explain. “They” referred to Indians, I knew full well. Had I
doubted, the brisk fusillade which opened the next moment, and the wild
war-whoop, were convincing evidences that in truth “they were here!”
Ordinarily, I must confess to having sufficient regard for the customs
and courtesies of life to endeavor to appear in society suitably and
appropriately dressed. But when the alarm of “Indians” was given, and
in such a startling manner as to show they were almost in our midst,
the question was not “What shall I wear?” but “What shall I do?” It
has become so common--in fact, almost a law--to describe the costumes
worn upon memorable occasions, that I may be pardoned if I indulge in
a description which I will endeavor to make as brief as the costume
itself. A modern Jenkins, if desiring to tell the truth, would probably
express himself as follows: “General Custer on this occasion appeared
in a beautiful crimson robe (red flannel _robe de nuit_), very becoming
to his complexion. His hair was worn _au naturel_, and permitted to
fall carelessly over his shoulders. In his hand he carried gracefully
a handsome Spencer rifle. It is unnecessary to add that he became the
observed of all observers.”
My orderly, as was his custom, on my retiring had securely tied all the
fastenings to my tent, and it was usually the work of several minutes
to undo this unnecessary labor. I had no time to throw away in this
manner. Leaping from my bed, I grasped my trusty Spencer, which was
always at my side whether waking or sleeping, and with a single dash
burst open the tent, and, hatless as well as shoeless, ran to the point
where the attack seemed to be concentrated.
It was sufficiently light to see our enemies and be seen. The first
shot had brought every man of my command from his tent, armed and
equipped for battle. The Indians, numbering hundreds, were all around
the camp, evidently intending to surround us, while a party of about
fifty of their best mounted warriors had, by taking advantage of a
ravine, contrived to approach quite close before being discovered. It
was the intention of this party to dash through our camp, stampede all
our horses, which were to be caught up by the parties surrounding us,
and then finish us at their leisure.
The picket, however, discovered the approach of this party, and by
firing gave timely warning, thus frustrating the plan of the Indians,
who almost invariably base their hopes of success upon effecting a
surprise.
My men opened on them such a brisk fire from their carbines that they
were glad to withdraw beyond range. The picket who gave the alarm was
shot down at his post by the Indians, the entire party galloping over
his body, and being prevented from scalping him only by the fire from
his comrades, who dashed out and recovered him. He was found to be
badly though not mortally wounded by a rifle ball through the body.
The Indians, seeing that their attempt to surprise us and to stampede
our horses had failed, then withdrew to a point but little over a mile
from us, where they congregated, and seemed to hold a conference with
each other. We did not fear any further attack at this time. They were
satisfied with this attempt, and would await another opportunity.
It was desirable, however, that we should learn if possible to what
tribe our enemies belonged. I directed one of our interpreters to
advance midway between our camp and the Indians, and make the signal
for holding a parley, and in this way ascertain who were the principal
chiefs.
The ordinary manner of opening communication with parties known or
supposed to be hostile, is to ride toward them in a zigzag manner or
to ride in a circle. The interpreter gave the proper signal, and was
soon answered by a small party advancing from the main body of the
Indians to within hailing distance. It was then agreed that I, with
six of the officers, should come to the bank of the river, which was
about equidistant from my camp and from the point where the Indians had
congregated, and there be met by an equal number of the leading chiefs.
To guard against treachery, I placed most of my command under arms and
arranged with the officer left in command that a blast from the bugle
should bring assistance to me if required.
Six of the officers and myself, taking with us a bugler and an
interpreter, proceeded on horseback to the designated point.
Dismounting, we left our horses in charge of the bugler, who was
instructed to watch every movement of the Indians, and upon the first
appearance of violence or treachery to sound the “advance.” Each of us
took our revolvers from their leather cases and stuck them loosely in
our belts.
Descending to the river bank, we awaited the arrival of the seven
chiefs. On one side of the river the bank was level and covered with
a beautiful green sward, while on the opposite side it was broken and
thickly covered by willows and tall grass. The river itself was at
this season of the year, and at this distance from its mouth, scarcely
deserving of the name. The seven chiefs soon made their appearance on
its opposite bank, and, after removing their leggings, waded across to
where we stood. Imagine our surprise at recognizing as the head chief
Pawnee Killer, our friend of the conference of the Platte, who on that
occasion had overwhelmed us with the earnestness of his professions of
peace, and who, after partaking of our hospitality under the guise of
friendship, and leaving our camp laden with provisions and presents,
returned to attack and murder us within a fortnight. This, too, without
the slightest provocation, for surely we had not trespassed against
any right of theirs since the exchange of friendly greetings near Fort
McPherson.
Pawnee Killer and his chiefs met us as if they were quite willing
to forgive us for interfering with the success of their intended
surprise of our camp in the morning. I avoided all reference to what
had occurred, desiring if possible to learn the locality of their
village and their future movements. All attempts, however, to elicit
information on these points were skilfully parried. The chiefs in turn
were anxious to know our plans, but we declined to gratify them. Upon
crossing to our side of the river, Pawnee Killer and his companions
at once extended their hands, and saluted us with the familiar “How.”
Suspicious of their intentions, I kept one hand on my revolver during
the continuance of our interview.
When we had about concluded our conference a young brave, completely
armed, as were all the chiefs, emerged from the willows and tall grass
on the opposite bank and waded across to where we were, greeting us
as the others had done. Nothing was thought of this act until a few
moments after another brave did the same, and so on until four had
crossed over and joined our group. I then called Pawnee Killer’s
attention to the conditions under which we met, and told him he was
violating his part of the contract. He endeavored to turn it off by
saying that his young men felt well disposed toward us, and came over
only to shake hands and say “How.” He was told, however, that no more
of his men must come. The conversation was then resumed and continued
until another party of the warriors was seen preparing to cross from
the other side. The conduct of these Indians in the morning, added to
our opinions in general as regards treachery, convinced us that it
would be in the highest degree imprudent to trust ourselves in their
power. They already outnumbered us, eleven to seven, which were as
heavy odds as we felt disposed to give. We all felt convinced that the
coming over of these warriors, one by one, was but the execution of
a preconceived plan whereof we were to become the victims as soon as
their advantage in numbers should justify them in attacking us.
Again reminding Pawnee Killer of the stipulations of our agreement, and
that while we had observed ours faithfully, he had disregarded his,
I told him that not another warrior of his should cross the river to
our side. And calling his attention to the bugler, who stood at a safe
distance from us, I told him that I would then instruct the bugler to
watch the Indians who were upon the opposite bank, and, upon any of
them making a movement as if to cross, to sound the signal which would
bring my entire command to my side in a few moments. This satisfied
Pawnee Killer that any further attempt to play us false would only end
in his own discomfiture. He at once signalled to the Indians on the
other side to remain where they were.
Nothing definite could be gleaned from the replies of Pawnee Killer.
I was satisfied that he and his tribe were contemplating mischief.
Their previous declarations of peaceful intent went for naught.
Their attack on our camp in the morning proved what they would do if
able to accomplish their purpose. I was extremely anxious, however,
to detain the chiefs near my camp, or induce them to locate their
village near us, and keep up the semblance at least of friendship.
I was particularly prompted to this desire by the fact that the
two detachments which had left my command the previous day would
necessarily continue absent several days, and I feared that they might
become the victims of an attack from this band if steps were not taken
to prevent it. Our anxiety was greatest regarding Major Elliot and his
little party of eleven. Our only hope was that the Indians had not
become aware of their departure. It was fortunate that the Major had
chosen night as the most favorable time for setting out. As to the
detachment that had gone with the train to Fort Wallace we felt less
anxious, it being sufficiently powerful in numbers to defend itself,
unless attacked after the detachment became divided at Beaver Creek.
Finding all efforts to induce Pawnee Killer to remain with us
unavailing, I told him that we would march to his village with him.
This did not seem satisfactory.
Before terminating our interview, the chiefs requested me to make
them presents of some sugar, coffee, and ammunition. Remembering the
use they had made of the latter article in the morning, it will not
appear strange if I declined to gratify them. Seeing that nothing was
to be gained by prolonging the interview, we separated, the officers
returning to our camp, and the Indians recrossing the river, mounting
their ponies, and galloping off to the main body, which was then nearly
two miles distant.
My command was in readiness to leap into their saddles, and I
determined to attempt to follow the Indians, and, if possible, get near
their village. They were prepared for this move on our part, and the
moment we advanced toward them set off at the top of their speed. We
followed as rapidly as our heavier horses could travel, but the speed
of the Indian pony on this occasion, as on many others, was too great
for that of our horses. A pursuit of a few hours proved our inability
to overtake them, and we returned to camp.
Soon after arriving at camp a small party of Indians was reported
in sight in a different direction. Captain Louis Hamilton, a lineal
descendant of Alexander Hamilton, was immediately ordered to take his
troop and learn something of their intentions. The Indians resorted
to their usual tactics. There were not more than half a dozen to be
seen--not enough to appear formidable. These were there as a decoy.
Captain Hamilton marched his troop toward the hill on which the Indians
had made their appearance, but on arriving at its crest found that
they had retired to the next ridge beyond. This manœuvre was repeated
several times, until the cavalry found itself several miles from camp.
The Indians then appeared to separate into two parties, each going
in different directions. Captain Hamilton divided his troop into two
detachments, sending one detachment, under command of my brother, after
one of the parties, while he with twenty-five men continued to follow
the other.
When the two detachments had become so far separated as to be of no
assistance to each other, the Indians developed their scheme. Suddenly
dashing from a ravine, as if springing from the earth, forty-three
Indian warriors burst out upon the cavalry, letting fly their
arrows and filling the air with their wild war-whoops. Fortunately
Captain Hamilton was an officer of great presence of mind as well
as undaunted courage. The Indians began circling about the troops,
throwing themselves upon the sides of their ponies and aiming their
carbines and arrows over the necks of their well-trained war-steeds.
Captain Hamilton formed his men in order to defend themselves against
the assaults of their active enemies. The Indians displayed unusual
boldness, sometimes dashing close up to the cavalry and sending in a
perfect shower of bullets and arrows. Fortunately their aim, riding as
they did at full speed, was necessarily inaccurate.
All this time we who had remained in camp were in ignorance of what
was transpiring. Dr. Coates, whose acquaintance has been made before,
had accompanied Captain Hamilton’s command, but when the latter was
divided the doctor joined the detachment of my brother. In some
unexplained manner the doctor became separated from both parties, and
remained so until the sound of the firing attracted him toward Captain
Hamilton’s party. When within half a mile of the latter, he saw what
was transpiring; saw our men in the centre and the Indians charging
and firing from the outside. His first impulse was to push on and
endeavor to break through the line of savages, casting his lot with his
struggling comrades. This impulse was suddenly nipped in the bud. The
Indians, with their quick, watchful eyes, had discovered his presence,
and half a dozen of them best mounted warriors at once galloped toward
him.
Happily the doctor was in the direction of camp from Captain Hamilton’s
party, and, comprehending the peril of his situation at a glance,
turned his horse’s head toward camp, and applying the spur freely
set out on a ride for life. The Indians saw this move, but were not
disposed to be deprived of their victim in this way. They were better
mounted than the doctor, his only advantage being in the start and the
greater object to be attained. When the race began he was fully four
miles from camp, the day was hot and sultry, the country rough and
broken, and his horse somewhat jaded from the effects of the ride in
the morning. These must have seemed immense obstacles in the eyes of
a man who was riding for dear life. A false step, a broken girth, or
almost any trifle, might decide his fate.
How often, if ever, the doctor looked back, I know not; his eyes more
probably were strained to catch a glimpse of camp or of assistance
accidentally coming to his relief. Neither the one nor the other
appeared. His pursuers, knowing that their success must be gained soon
if at all, pressed their fleet ponies forward until they seemed to skim
over the surface of the green plain, and their shouts of exultation
falling clearer and louder upon his ear told the doctor that they
were surely gaining upon him. Fortunately our domestic horses, until
accustomed to their presence, are as terrified by Indians as by a huge
wild beast, and will fly from them if not restrained. The yells of the
approaching Indians served no doubt to quicken the energies of the
doctor’s horse, and impelled him to greater efforts to escape.
So close had the Indians succeeded in approaching that they were
almost within arrow range, and would soon have sent one flying through
the doctor’s body, when, to the great joy of the pursued and the
corresponding grief of his pursuers, camp suddenly appeared in full
view scarcely a mile distant. The ponies of the Indians had been ridden
too hard to justify their riders in venturing near enough to provoke
pursuit upon fresh animals. Sending a parting volley of bullets after
the flying doctor, they turned about and disappeared. The doctor did
not slacken his pace on this account, however; he knew that Captain
Hamilton’s party was in peril, and that assistance should reach him
as soon as possible. Without tightening rein or sparing spur, he came
dashing into camp, and the first we knew of his presence he had thrown
himself from his almost breathless horse, and was lying on the ground
unable, from sheer exhaustion and excitement, to utter a word.
The officers and men gathered about him in astonishment, eager and
anxious to hear his story, for all knew that something far from any
ordinary event had transpired to place the doctor in such a condition
of mind and body. As soon as he had recovered sufficiently to speak,
he told us that he had left Captain Hamilton surrounded by a superior
force of Indians, and that he himself had been pursued almost to the
borders of camp.
This was enough. The next moment the bugle rang out the signal “To
horse,” and in less time than would be required to describe it, horses
were saddled and arms ready. Then “there was mounting in hot haste.” A
moment later the command set off at a brisk trot to attempt the rescue
of their beleaguered comrades.
Persons unfamiliar with the cavalry service may mentally inquire why,
in such an emergency as this, the intended reinforcements were not
pushed forward at a rapid gallop? But in answer to this it need only
be said that we had a ride of at least five miles before us in order
to arrive at the point where Captain Hamilton and his command had last
been seen, and it was absolutely necessary to so husband the powers of
our horses as to save them for the real work of conflict.
We had advanced in this manner probably two miles, when, we discerned
in the distance the approach of Captain Hamilton’s party. They were
returning leisurely to camp, after having succeeded in driving off
their assailants and inflicting upon them a loss of two warriors killed
and several wounded. The Indians could only boast of having wounded a
horse belonging to Captain Hamilton’s party.
This encounter with the Indians occurred in the direction taken by
Major Elliot’s detachment on leaving camp, and the Indians, after this
repulse by Captain Hamilton, withdrew in that direction. This added to
our anxiety concerning the safety of Major Elliot and his men. There
was no doubt now that all Indians infesting the broad belt of country
between the Arkansas and Platte rivers were on the war path, and would
seek revenge from any party so unfortunate as to fall in their way.
The loss of the two warriors slain in the fight, and their wounded
comrades, would be additional incentives to acts of hostility. If there
had been any possible means of communicating with Major Elliot, and
either strengthening or warning him, it would have been done. He left
us by no travelled or defined route, and it was by no means probable
that he would pass over the same trail in coming from Fort Sedgwick as
in going to that point; otherwise reinforcements could have been sent
out over his trail to meet him.
On the 27th our fears for the safety of the Major and his escort were
dispelled by their safe return to camp, having accomplished a ride of
nearly two hundred miles through an enemy’s country. They had concealed
themselves in ravines during the daytime and travelled at night,
trusting to the faithful compass and their guide to bring them safely
back.
Now that the Major and his party had returned to us, our anxiety became
centred in the fate of the larger party which had proceeded with the
train to Fort Wallace for supplies. The fact that Major Elliot had made
his trip unmolested by Indians, proved that the latter were most likely
assembled south of us, that is, between us and Fort Wallace. Wherever
they were, their numbers were known to be large. It would be impossible
for a considerable force, let alone a wagon train, to pass from our
camp to Fort Wallace and not be seen by the Indian scouting parties.
They had probably observed the departure of the train and escort at
the time, and, divining the object which occasioned the sending of
the wagons, would permit them to go to the fort unmolested, but would
waylay them on their return, in the hope of obtaining the supplies they
contained. Under this supposition the Indians had probably watched the
train and escort during every mile of their progress; if so, they would
not fail to discover that the larger portion of the escort halted at
Beaver Creek, while the wagons proceeded to the fort guarded by only
forty-eight men; in which case the Indians would combine their forces
and attack the train at some point between Fort Wallace and Beaver
Creek.
Looking at these probable events, I not only felt impelled to act
promptly to secure the safety of the train and its escort, but a deeper
and stronger motive stirred me to leave nothing undone to circumvent
the Indians. My wife, who, in answer to my letter, I believed was
then at Fort Wallace, would place herself under the protection of the
escort of the train and attempt to rejoin me in camp. The mere thought
of the danger to which she might be exposed spurred me to decisive
action. One full squadron, well mounted and armed, under command of
Lieutenant-Colonel Myers, an officer of great experience in Indian
affairs, left our camp at dark on the evening of the day that Captain
Hamilton had had his engagement with the Indians, and set out in the
direction of Fort Wallace. His orders were to press forward as rapidly
as practicable, following the trail made by the train. Written orders
were sent in his care to Colonel West, who was in command of that
portion of the escort which had halted at Beaver Creek, to join Colonel
Myers’s command with his own, and then to continue the march toward
Fort Wallace until he should meet the returning train and escort. The
Indians, however, were not to be deprived of this opportunity to secure
scalps and plunder.
From our camp to Beaver Creek was nearly fifty miles. Colonel Myers
marched his command without halting until he joined Colonel West at
Beaver Creek. Here the two commands united, and under the direction
of Colonel West, the senior officer of the party, proceeded toward
Fort Wallace, following the trail left by the wagon train and escort.
If the escort and Colonel West’s forces could be united, they might
confidently hope to repel any attack made upon them by Indians. Colonel
West was an old Indian fighter, and too thoroughly accustomed to Indian
tactics to permit his command to be surprised or defeated in any manner
other than by a fair contest.
Let us leave them for a time and join the wagon train and its
escort--the latter numbering, all told, as before stated, forty-eight
men under the immediate command of Lieutenant Robbins. Colonel Cook,
whose special duty connected him with the train and its supplies, could
also be relied upon for material assistance with the troops, in case of
actual conflict with the enemy. Comstock, the favorite scout, a host
in himself, was sent to guide the party to and from Fort Wallace. In
addition to these were the teamsters, who could not be expected to do
more than control their teams should the train be attacked.
The march from camp to Beaver Creek was made without incident. Here
the combined forces of Colonel West and Lieutenant Robbins encamped
together during the night. Next morning at early dawn Lieutenant
Robbins’s party, having the train in charge, continued the march toward
Fort Wallace, while Colonel West sent out scouting parties up and down
the stream to search for Indians.
As yet none of their party were aware of the hostile attitude
assumed by the Indians within the past few hours, and Colonel West’s
instructions contemplated a friendly meeting between his forces and the
Indians should the latter be discovered. The march of the train and
escort was made to Fort Wallace without interruption. The only incident
worthy of remark was an observation of Comstock’s, which proved how
thoroughly he was familiar with the Indian and his customs.
The escort was moving over a beautifully level plateau. Not a mound
or hillock disturbed the evenness of the surface for miles in either
direction. To an unpractised eye there seemed no recess or obstruction
in or behind which an enemy might be concealed, but everything appeared
open to the view for miles and miles, look in what direction one might.
Yet such was not the case. Ravines of greater or less extent, though
not perceptible at a glance, might have been discovered if searched
for, extending almost to the trail over which the party was moving.
These ravines, if followed, would be found to grow deeper and deeper,
until, after running their course for an indefinite extent, they would
terminate in the valley of some running stream. These were the natural
hiding-places of Indian war parties, waiting their opportunities to
dash upon unsuspecting victims. These ravines serve the same purpose
to the Indians of the timberless plains that the ambush did to those
Indians of the Eastern States accustomed to fighting in the forests
and everglades. Comstock’s keen eyes took in all at a glance, and he
remarked to Colonel Cook and Lieutenant Robbins, as the three rode
together at the head of the column, that “If the Injuns strike us at
all, it will be just about the time we are comin’ along back over this
very spot. Now mind what I tell ye all.” We shall see how correct
Comstock’s prophecy was.
Arriving at the fort, no time was lost in loading up the wagons with
fresh supplies, obtaining the mail intended for the command, and
preparing to set out on the return to camp the following day. No
late news regarding Indian movements was obtained. Fortunately, my
letter from Fort McPherson to Mrs. Custer, asking her to come to Fort
Wallace, miscarried, and she did not undertake a journey which in all
probability would have imperilled her life, if not terminated it in a
most tragic manner.
On the following morning Colonel Cook and Lieutenant Robbins began
their return march. They had advanced one half the distance which
separated them from Colonel West’s camp without the slightest
occurrence to disturb the monotony of their march, and had reached
the point where, on passing before, Comstock had indulged in his
prognostication regarding Indians; yet nothing had been seen to excite
suspicion or alarm.
Comstock, always on the alert and with eyes as quick as those of an
Indian, had been scanning the horizon in all directions. Suddenly he
perceived, or thought he perceived, strange figures, resembling human
heads, peering over the crest of a hill far away to the right. Hastily
levelling his field-glass, he pronounced the strange figures, which
were scarcely perceptible, to be neither more nor less than Indians.
The officers brought into requisition their glasses, and were soon
convinced of the correctness of Comstock’s report. It was some time
before the Indians perceived that they were discovered. Concealment
then being no longer possible, they boldly rode to the crest and
exposed themselves to full view. At first but twenty or thirty made
their appearance; gradually their number became augmented, until about
a hundred warriors could be seen.
It may readily be imagined that the appearance of so considerable
a body of Indians produced no little excitement and speculation in
the minds of the people with the train. The speculation was as to
the intentions of the Indians, whether hostile or friendly. Upon
this subject all doubts were soon dispelled. The Indians continued
to receive accessions to their numbers, the reinforcements coming
from beyond the crest of the hill on which their presence was first
discovered. Finally, seeming confident in their superior numbers, the
warriors, all of whom were mounted, advanced leisurely down the slope
leading in the direction of the train and its escort. By the aid of
field-glasses, Comstock and the two officers were able to determine
fully the character of the party now approaching them. The last doubt
was thus removed. It was clearly to be seen that the Indians were
arrayed in full war costume, their heads adorned by the brilliantly
colored war bonnets, their faces, arms, and bodies painted in various
colors, rendering their naturally repulsive appearance even more
hideous. As they approached nearer they assumed a certain order in
the manner of their advance. Some were to be seen carrying the long
glistening lance with its pennant of bright colors; while upon the
left arm hung the round shield, almost bullet-proof, and ornamented
with paint and feathers according to the taste of the wearer. Nearly
all were armed with carbines and one or two revolvers, while many in
addition to these weapons carried the bow and arrow.
[Illustration: THE ATTACK UPON THE TRAIN.]
When the entire band had defiled down the inclined slope, Comstock
and the officers were able to estimate roughly the full strength of
the party. They were astonished to perceive that between six and
seven hundred warriors were bearing down upon them, and in a few
minutes would undoubtedly commence the attack. Against such odds, and
upon ground so favorable for the Indian mode of warfare, it seemed
unreasonable to hope for a favorable result. Yet the entire escort,
officers and men, entered upon their defence with the determination to
sell their lives as dearly as possible.
As the coming engagement, so far as the cavalry was concerned, was
to be purely a defensive one, Lieutenant Robbins at once set about
preparing to receive his unwelcome visitors. Colonel Cook formed the
train in two parallel columns, leaving ample space between for the
horses of the cavalry. Lieutenant Robbins then dismounted his men and
prepared to fight on foot. The led horses, under charge of the fourth
trooper, were placed between the two columns of wagons, and were thus
in a measure protected from the assaults which the officers had every
reason to believe would be made for their capture. The dismounted
cavalrymen were thus formed in a regular circle enclosing the train
and horses. Colonel Cook took command of one flank, Lieutenant Robbins
of the other, while Comstock, who as well as the two officers remained
mounted, galloped from point to point wherever his presence was most
valuable. These dispositions being perfected, the march was resumed in
this order, and the attack of the savages calmly awaited.
The Indians, who were interested spectators of these preparations for
their reception, continued to approach, but seemed willing to delay
their attack until the plain became a little more favorable for their
operations. Finally, the desired moment seemed to have arrived. The
Indians had approached to within easy range, yet not a shot had been
fired, the cavalrymen having been instructed by their officers to
reserve their fire for close quarters. Suddenly, with a wild ringing
war-whoop, the entire band of warriors bore down upon the train and its
little party of defenders.
On came the savages, filling the air with their terrible yells. Their
first object, evidently, was to stampede the horses and draught
animals of the train; then, in the excitement and consternation which
would follow, to massacre the escort and drivers. The wagon-master in
immediate charge of the train had been ordered to keep his two columns
of wagons constantly moving forward and well closed up. This last
injunction was hardly necessary, as the frightened teamsters, glancing
at the approaching warriors and hearing their savage shouts, were
sufficiently anxious to keep well closed upon their leaders.
The first onslaught of the Indians was made on the flank which was
superintended by Colonel Cook. They rode boldly forward as if to dash
over the mere handful of cavalrymen, who stood in skirmishing order
in a circle about the train. Not a soldier faltered as the enemy came
thundering upon them, but waiting until the Indians were within short
rifle range of the train, the cavalrymen dropped upon their knees, and
taking deliberate aim poured a volley from their Spencer carbines into
the ranks of the savages, which seemed to put a sudden check upon the
ardor of their movements and forced them to wheel off to the right.
Several of the warriors were seen to reel in their saddles, while the
ponies of others were brought down or wounded by the effectual fire of
the cavalrymen.
Those of the savages who were shot from their saddles were scarcely
permitted to fall to the ground before a score or more of their
comrades dashed to their rescue and bore their bodies beyond the
possible reach of our men. This is in accordance with the Indian custom
in battle. They will risk the lives of a dozen of their best warriors
to prevent the body of any one of their number from falling into the
white man’s possession. The reason for this is the belief, which
generally prevails among all the tribes, that if a warrior loses his
scalp he forfeits his hope of ever reaching the happy hunting-ground.
As the Indians were being driven back by the well-directed volley of
the cavalrymen, the latter, overjoyed at their first success, became
reassured, and sent up a cheer of exultation, while Comstock, who had
not been idle in the fight, called out to the retreating Indians in
their native tongue, taunting them with their unsuccessful assault.
The Indians withdrew to a point beyond the range of our carbines, and
there seemed to engage in a parley. Comstock, who had closely watched
every movement, remarked that “There’s no sich good luck for us as to
think them Injuns mean to give it up so. Six hundred red devils ain’t
agoin’ to let fifty men stop them from gettin’ at the coffee and sugar
that is in these wagons. And they ain’t agoin’ to be satisfied until
they get some of our scalps to pay for the bucks we popped out of their
saddles a bit ago.”
It was probable that the Indians were satisfied that they could not
dash through the train and stampede the animals. Their recent attempt
had convinced them that some other method of attack must be resorted
to. Nothing but their greater superiority in numbers had induced them
to risk so much in a charge.
The officers passed along the line of skirmishers--for this in reality
was all their line consisted of--and cautioned the men against wasting
their ammunition. It was yet early in the afternoon, and should the
conflict be prolonged until night, there was great danger of exhausting
the supply of ammunition. The Indians seemed to have thought of this,
and the change in their method of attack encouraged such a result.
But little time was spent at the parley. Again the entire band of
warriors, except those already disabled, prepared to renew the attack,
and advanced as before--this time, however, with greater caution,
evidently desiring to avoid a reception similar to the first. When
sufficiently near to the troops the Indians developed their new plan
of attack. It was not to advance _en masse_, as before, but fight
as individuals, each warrior selecting his own time and method of
attack. This is the habitual manner of fighting among all Indians
of the Plains, and is termed “circling.” First the chiefs led off,
followed at regular intervals by the warriors, until the entire six
or seven hundred were to be seen riding in single file as rapidly as
their fleet-footed ponies could carry them. Preserving this order,
and keeping up their savage chorus of yells, war-whoops, and taunting
epithets, this long line of mounted barbarians was guided in such
manner as to envelop the train and escort, and make the latter appear
like a small circle within a larger one.
The Indians gradually contracted their circle, although maintaining
the full speed of their ponies, until sufficiently close to open fire
upon the soldiers. At first the shots were scattering and wide of
their mark; but, emboldened by the silence of their few but determined
opponents, they rode nearer and fought with greater impetuosity.
Forced now to defend themselves to the uttermost, the cavalrymen opened
fire from their carbines, with most gratifying results. The Indians,
however, moving at such a rapid gait and in single file, presented
a most uncertain target. To add to this uncertainty, the savages
availed themselves of their superior--almost marvellous--powers of
horsemanship. Throwing themselves upon the sides of their well-trained
ponies, they left no part of their persons exposed to the aim of the
troopers except the head and one foot, and in this posture they were
able to aim the weapons either over or under the necks of their ponies,
thus using the bodies of the latter as an effective shield against the
bullets of their adversaries.
At no time were the Indians able to force the train and its escort to
come to a halt. The march was continued at an uninterrupted gait. This
successful defence against the Indians was in a great measure due to
the presence of the wagons, which, arranged in the order described,
formed a complete barrier to the charges and assaults of the savages;
and, as a last resort, the wagons could have been halted and used as
a breastwork, behind which the cavalry, dismounted, would have been
almost invincible against their more numerous enemies. There is nothing
an Indian dislikes more in warfare than to attack a foe, however weak,
behind breastworks of any kind. Any contrivance which is an obstacle to
his pony is a most serious obstacle to the warrior.
The attack of the Indians, aggravated by their losses in warriors and
ponies, as many of the latter had been shot down, was continued without
cessation for three hours. The supply of ammunition of the cavalry
was running low. The “fourth troopers,” who had remained in charge of
the led horses between the two columns of wagons, were now replaced
from the skirmishers, and the former were added to the list of active
combatants. If the Indians should maintain the fight much longer, there
was serious ground for apprehension regarding the limited supply of
ammunition.
If only night or reinforcements would come! was the prayerful hope
of those who contended so gallantly against such heavy odds. Night
was still too far off to promise much encouragement; while as to
reinforcements, their coming would be purely accidental--at least so
argued those most interested in their arrival. Yet reinforcements were
at that moment striving to reach them. Comrades were in the saddle and
spurring forward to their relief. The Indians, although apparently
turning all their attention to the little band inside, had omitted
no precaution to guard against interference from outside parties. In
this instance, perhaps, they were more than ordinarily watchful, and
had posted some of their keen-eyed warriors on the high line of bluffs
which ran almost parallel to the trail over which the combatants moved.
From these bluffs not only a good view of the fight could be obtained,
but the country for miles in either direction was spread out beneath
them, and enabled the scouts to discern the approach of any hostile
party which might be advancing. Fortunate for the savages that this
precaution had not been neglected, or the contest in which they were
engaged might have become one of more equal numbers. To the careless
eye nothing could have been seen to excite suspicion. But the warriors
on the lookout were not long in discovering something which occasioned
them no little anxiety. Dismounting from their ponies and concealing
the latter in a ravine, they prepared to investigate more fully the
cause of their alarm.
That which they saw was as yet but a faint dark line on the surface
of the plain, almost against the horizon. So faint was it that no
one but an Indian or practised frontiersman would have observed
it. It was fully ten miles from them and directly in their line of
march. The ordinary observer would have pronounced it a break or
irregularity in the ground, or perhaps the shadow of a cloud, and
its apparent permanency of location would have dispelled any fear as
to its dangerous character. But was it stationary? Apparently, yes.
The Indians discovered otherwise. By close watching, the long faint
line could be seen moving along, as if creeping stealthily upon an
unconscious foe. Slowly it assumed a more definite shape, until what
appeared to be a mere stationary dark line drawn upon the green surface
of the plain, developed itself to the searching eyes of the red man
into a column of cavalry moving at a rapid gait toward the very point
they were then occupying.
Convinced of this fact, one of the scouts leaped upon his pony and
flew with almost the speed of the wind to impart this knowledge to the
chiefs in command on the plain below. True, the approaching cavalry,
being still several miles distant, could not arrive for nearly two
hours; but the question to be considered by the Indians was, whether it
would be prudent for them to continue their attack on the train--their
ponies already becoming exhausted by the three hours’ hard riding
given them--until the arrival of the fresh detachment of the enemy,
whose horses might be in condition favorable to a rapid pursuit, and
thereby enable them to overtake those of the Indians whose ponies were
exhausted. Unwilling to incur this new risk, and seeing no prospect of
overcoming their present adversaries by a sudden or combined dash, the
chiefs decided to withdraw from the attack, and make their escape while
the advantage was yet in their favor.
The surprise of the cavalrymen may be imagined at seeing the Indians,
after pouring a shower of bullets and arrows into the train, withdraw
to the bluffs, and immediately after continue their retreat until lost
to view.
This victory for the troopers, although so unexpected, was none the
less welcome. The Indians contrived to carry away with them their
killed and wounded. Five of their bravest warriors were known to have
been sent to the happy hunting-ground, while the list of their wounded
was much larger.
After the Indians had withdrawn and left the cavalrymen masters of the
field, our wounded, of whom there were comparatively few, received
every possible care and attention. Those of the detachment who had
escaped unharmed were busily engaged in exchanging congratulations and
relating incidents of the fight.
In this manner nearly an hour had been whiled away, when far in the
distance, in their immediate front, fresh cause for anxiety was
discovered. At first the general opinion was that it was the Indians
again, determined to contest their progress. Field-glasses were again
called into requisition, and revealed, not Indians, but the familiar
blue blouses of the cavalry. Never was the sight more welcome. The next
moment Colonel Cook, with Comstock and a few troopers, applied spurs to
their horses and were soon dashing forward to meet their comrades.
The approaching party was none other than Colonel West’s detachment,
hastening to the relief of the train and its gallant little escort. A
few words explained all, and told the heroes of the recent fight how it
happened that reinforcements were sent to their assistance; and then
was explained why the Indians had so suddenly concluded to abandon
their attack and seek safety in quietly withdrawing from the field.
VIII.
On the morning of the 28th the train, with its escort, returned to the
main camp on the Republican. All were proud of the conduct of those
detachments of the command which had been brought into actual conflict
with the Indians. The heroes of the late fights were congratulated
heartily upon their good luck, while their comrades who had unavoidably
remained in camp consoled themselves with the hope that the next
opportunity might be theirs.
The despatches brought by Major Elliott from General Sherman directed
me to continue my march, as had been suggested, up the North
Republican, then strike northward and reach the Platte again at some
point west of Fort Sedgwick, near Riverside Station. This programme
was carried out. Leaving our camp on the Republican, we marched up the
north fork of that river about sixty miles, then turned nearly due
north, and marched for the valley of the Platte.
The only incident connected with this march was the painful journey
under a burning July sun, of sixty-five miles, without a drop of
water for our horses or draught animals. This march was necessarily
effected in one day, and produced untold suffering among the poor dumb
brutes. Many of the dogs accompanying the command died from thirst and
exhaustion. When the sun went down we were still many miles from the
Platte. The moon, which was nearly full at the time, lighted us on our
weary way for some time; but even this was only an aggravation, as it
enabled us from the high bluffs bordering the Platte valley to see the
river flowing beneath us, yet many miles beyond our reach.
Taking Lieutenant Moylan, Dr. Coates, and one attendant with me,
and leaving the command under temporary charge of Major Elliott, I
pushed on, intending after arriving at the river to select as good
camping ground as the darkness and circumstances would permit. We then
imagined ourselves within four or five miles of the river, so near did
it appear to us. Mile after mile was traversed by our tired horses,
yet we apparently arrived no nearer our journey’s end. At last, at
about eleven o’clock, and after having ridden at a brisk rate for
nearly fifteen miles, we reached the river bank. Our first act was to
improve the opportunity to quench our thirst and that of our horses.
Considering the lateness of the hour, and the distance we had ridden
since leaving the command, it was idle to expect the latter to reach
the river before daylight. Nothing was left to us but to bivouac for
the night. This we did by selecting a beautiful piece of sward on the
river bank for our couch, and taking our saddle blankets for covering
and our saddles for pillows. Each of us attached his horse by the
halter-strap to the hilt of his sabre, then forced the sabre firmly
into the ground. Both horses and riders were weary as well as hungry.
At first the horses grazed upon the fresh green pasture which grew
luxuriantly on the river bank, but fatigue, more powerful than hunger,
soon claimed the mastery, and in a few minutes our little group, horses
and men, were wrapped in the sweetest of slumber.
Had we known that the Indians were then engaged in murdering men within
a few minutes’ ride of where we slept, and that when we awakened in the
morning it would be to still find ourselves away from the command, our
sleep would not have been so undisturbed.
Daylight was beginning to make its appearance in the east when our
little party of slumbering troopers began to arouse themselves. Those
unfortunate persons who have always been accustomed to the easy
comforts of civilization, and who have never known what real fatigue or
hunger is, cannot realize or appreciate the blissful luxury of a sleep
which follows a day’s ride in the saddle of half a hundred miles or
more.
Being the first to awake, I rose to a sitting posture and took a hasty
survey of our situation. Within a few feet of us flowed the Platte
river. Our group, horses and men, presented an interesting subject for
a painter. To my surprise I discovered that a heavy shower of rain had
fallen during the night, but so deep had been our slumber that even the
rain had failed to disturb us. Each one of the party had spread his
saddle blanket on the ground to serve as his couch, while for covering
we had called into requisition the india-rubber poncho or rubber
blanket which invariably forms an important part of the plainsman’s
outfit. The rain, without awakening any of the party, had aroused them
sufficiently to cause each one to pull his rubber blanket over his
face, and, thus protected, he continued his repose. The appearance
presented by this sombre-looking group of sleepers strongly reminded me
of scenes during the war when, after a battle, the bodies of the slain
had been collected for burial.
But this was no time to indulge in idle reveries. Arousing my comrades,
we set about discovering the circumstances of our situation. First, the
duties of a hasty toilet were attended to. Nothing, however, could be
more simple. As we had slept in our clothes, top boots and all, we had
so much less to attend to. The river flowing at our feet afforded a
lavatory which, if not complete in its appointments, was sufficiently
grand in its extent to satisfy every want.
It was now becoming sufficiently light to enable us to see indistinctly
for almost a mile in either direction, yet our eyes failed to reveal
to us any evidence of the presence of the command. Here was fresh
cause for anxiety, not only as to our own situation, but as to the
whereabouts of the troops. Saddling up our horses, each person acting
as his own groom, we awaited the clearing away of the morning mist
to seek the main body. We had not long to wait. The light was soon
sufficient to enable us to scan the country with our field-glasses in
all directions. Much to our joy we discovered the bivouac of the troops
about three miles down the river. A brisk gallop soon placed us where
we desired to be, and a few words explained how, in the darkness, the
column had failed to follow us, but instead had headed for the river at
a point below us, a portion not reaching the bank until near morning.
Breakfast disposed of, the next question was to ascertain our exact
location and distance from the nearest telegraph station. Fortunately
Riverside Station was near our camp, and from there we ascertained
that we were then about fifty miles west of Fort Sedgwick. The party
obtaining this information also learned that the Indians had attacked
the nearest stage station west of camp the preceding evening, and
killed three men. This station was only a few minutes’ ride from the
point on the river bank where myself and comrades had passed the night
in such fancied security.
Believing that General Sherman must have sent later instructions for me
to Fort Sedgwick than those last received from him, I sent a telegram
to the officer in command at the fort, making inquiry to that effect.
To my surprise I received a despatch saying that, the day after the
departure of Major Elliott and his detachment from Fort Sedgwick
with despatches, of which mention has been previously made, a second
detachment of equal strength, viz., ten troopers of the Second United
States Cavalry, under command of Lieutenant Kidder and guided by a
famous Sioux chief Red Bead, had left Fort Sedgwick with important
despatches for me from General Sherman, and that Lieutenant Kidder had
been directed to proceed to my camp near the forks of the Republican,
and failing to find me there he was to follow rapidly on my trail
until he should overtake my command. I immediately telegraphed to Fort
Sedgwick that nothing had been seen or heard of Lieutenant Kidder’s
detachment, and requested a copy of the despatches borne by him to
be sent me by telegraph. This was done; the instructions of General
Sherman were for me to march my command, as was at first contemplated,
across the country from the Platte to the Smoky Hill river, striking
the latter at Fort Wallace. Owing to the low state of my supplies, I
determined to set out for Fort Wallace at daylight next morning.
Great anxiety prevailed throughout the command concerning Lieutenant
Kidder and his party. True, he had precisely the same number of men
that composed Major Elliott’s detachment when the latter went upon
a like mission, but the circumstances which would govern in the one
case had changed when applied to the other. Major Elliott, an officer
of experience and good judgment, had fixed the strength of his escort
and performed the journey before it was positively known that the
Indians in that section had entered upon the war path. Had the attack
on the commands of Hamilton, Robbins, and Cook been made prior to
Elliott’s departure, the latter would have taken not less than fifty
troopers as escort. After an informal interchange of opinions between
the officers of my command regarding the whereabouts of Lieutenant
Kidder and party, we endeavored to satisfy ourselves with the following
explanation. Using the capital letter Y for illustration, let us
locate Fort Sedgwick, from which post Lieutenant Kidder was sent with
despatches, at the right upper point of the letter. The camp of my
command at the forks of the Republican would be at the junction of the
three branches of the letter. Fort Wallace relatively would be at the
lower termination, and the point on the Platte at which my command
was located the morning referred to would be at the upper termination
of the left branch of the letter. Robbins and Cook, in going with the
train to Wallace for supplies, had passed and returned over the lower
branch. After their return and that of Major Elliott and his party,
my entire command resumed the march for the Platte. We moved for two
or three miles out on the heavy wagon trail of Robbins and Cook, then
suddenly changed our direction to the right. It was supposed that
Kidder and his party arrived at our deserted camp at the forks of the
Republican about nightfall, but finding us gone had determined to avail
themselves of the moonlit night and overtake us before we should break
camp next morning. Riding rapidly in the dim light of evening, they had
failed to observe the point at which we had diverged from the plainer
trail of Robbins and Cook, and instead of following our trail had
continued on the former in the direction of Fort Wallace. Such seemed
to be a plausible if not the only solution capable of being given.
Anxiety for the fate of Kidder and his party was one of the reasons
impelling me to set out promptly on my return. From our camp at the
forks of the Republican to Fort Wallace was about eighty miles--but
eighty miles of the most dangerous country infested by Indians.
Remembering the terrible contest in which the command of Robbins
and Cook had been engaged on this very route within a few days, and
knowing that the Indians would in all probability maintain a strict
watch over the trail to surprise any small party which might venture
over it, I felt in the highest degree solicitous for the safety of
Lieutenant Kidder and party. Even if he succeeded in reaching Fort
Wallace unmolested, there was reason to apprehend that, impressed with
the importance of delivering his despatches promptly, he would set out
on his return at once and endeavor to find my command.
Let us leave him and his detachment for a brief interval, and return to
events which were more immediately connected with my command, and which
bear a somewhat tragic as well as personal interest.
In a previous chapter reference has been made to the state of
dissatisfaction which had made its appearance among the enlisted men.
This state of feeling had been principally superinduced by inferior
and insufficient rations, a fault for which no one connected with
the troops in the field was responsible, but which was chargeable
to persons far removed from the theatre of our movements, persons
connected with the supply departments of the army. Added to this
internal source of disquiet, we were then on the main line of overland
travel to some of our most valuable and lately discovered mining
regions. The opportunity to obtain marvellous wages as miners and the
prospect of amassing sudden wealth proved a temptation sufficiently
strong to make many of the men forget their sworn obligations to their
government and their duties as soldiers. Forgetting for the moment that
the command to which they belonged was actually engaged in war, and
was in a country infested with armed bodies of the enemy, and that the
legal penalty of desertion under such circumstances was death, many of
the men formed a combination to desert their colors and escape to the
mines.
The first intimation received by any person in authority of the
existence of this plot, was on the morning fixed for our departure
from the Platte. Orders had been issued the previous evening for the
command to march at daylight. Upwards of forty men were reported as
having deserted during the night. There was no time to send parties in
pursuit, or the capture and return of a portion of them might have been
effected.
The command marched southward at daylight. At noon, having marched
fifteen miles, we halted to rest and graze the horses for one hour.
The men believed that the halt was made for the remainder of the day,
and here a plan was perfected among the disaffected by which upwards
of one third of the effective strength of the command was to seize
their horses and arms during the night and escape to the mountains.
Had the conspirators succeeded in putting this plan into execution, it
would have been difficult to say how serious the consequences might be,
or whether enough true men would remain to render the march to Fort
Wallace practicable. Fortunately it was decided to continue the march
some fifteen miles further before night. The necessary orders were
given and everything was being repacked for the march, when attention
was called to thirteen soldiers who were then to be seen rapidly
leaving camp in the direction from which we had marched. Seven of these
were mounted and were moving off at a rapid gallop; the remaining
six were dismounted, not having been so fortunate as their fellows
in procuring horses. The entire party were still within sound of the
bugle, but no orders by bugle note or otherwise served to check or
diminish their flight. The boldness of this attempt at desertion took
every one by surprise. Such an occurrence as unlisted men deserting in
broad daylight and under the immediate eyes of their officers had never
been heard of. With the exception of the horses of the guard and a few
belonging to the officers, all others were still grazing and unsaddled.
The officer of the guard was directed to mount his command promptly,
and if possible overtake the deserters. At the same time those of the
officers whose horses were in readiness were also directed to join in
the pursuit and leave no effort untried to prevent the escape of a
single malcontent. In giving each party sent in pursuit instructions,
there was no limit fixed to the measures which they were authorized to
adopt in executing their orders. This, unfortunately, was an emergency
which involved the safety of the entire command, and required treatment
of the most summary character.
It was found impossible to overtake that portion of the party which
was mounted, as it was afterwards learned that they had selected seven
of the fleetest horses in the command. Those on foot, when discovering
themselves pursued, increased their speed, but a chase of a couple of
miles brought the pursuers within hailing distance.
Major Elliott, the senior officer participating in the pursuit, called
out to the deserters to halt and surrender. This command was several
times repeated, but without effect. Finally, seeing the hopelessness
of further flight, the deserters came to bay, and to Major Elliott’s
renewed demand to throw down their arms and surrender, the ringleader
drew up his carbine to fire upon his pursuers. This was the signal for
the latter to open fire, which they did successfully, bringing down
three of the deserters, although two of them were worse frightened than
hurt.
Rejoining the command with their six captive deserters, the pursuing
party reported their inability to overtake those who had deserted on
horseback. The march was resumed and continued until near nightfall,
by which time we had placed thirty miles between us and our last camp
on the Platte. While on the march during the day, a trusty sergeant,
one who had served as a soldier long and faithfully, imparted the first
information which could be relied upon as to the plot which had been
formed by the malcontents to desert in a body. The following night had
been selected as the time for making the attempt. The best horses and
arms in the command were to be seized and taken away. I believed that
the summary action adopted during the day would intimidate any who
might still be contemplating desertion, and was confident that another
day’s march would place us so far in a hostile and dangerous country,
that the risk of encountering war parties of Indians would of itself
serve to deter any but large numbers from attempting to make their way
back to the settlements. To bridge the following night in safety was
the next problem. While there was undoubtedly a large proportion of the
men who could be fully relied upon to remain true to their obligations
and to render any support to their officers which might be demanded,
yet the great difficulty at this time, owing to the sudden development
of the plot, was to determine who could be trusted.
This difficulty was solved by placing every officer in the command on
guard during the entire night. The men were assembled as usual for
roll-call at tattoo, and then notified that every man must be in his
tent at the signal “taps,” which would be sounded half an hour later;
that their company officers, fully armed, would walk the company
streets during the entire night, and any man appearing outside the
limits of his tent between the hours of “taps” and reveille would do so
at the risk of being fired upon after being once hailed.
The night passed without disturbance, and daylight found us in the
saddle and pursuing our line of march toward Fort Wallace. It is proper
to here record the fact that from that date onward desertion from that
command during the continuance of the expedition was never attempted.
It may become necessary in order “to perfect the record,” borrowing
a term from the War Department, to refer in a subsequent chapter to
certain personal and official events which resulted partially from the
foregoing occurrences.
Let us now turn our attention to Lieutenant Kidder and his detachment.
The third night after leaving the Platte my command encamped in the
vicinity of our former camp near the forks of the Republican. So far,
nothing had been learned which would enable us to form any conclusion
regarding the route taken by Kidder. Comstock, the guide, was
frequently appealed to for an opinion which, from his great experience
on the Plains, might give us some encouragement regarding Kidder’s
safety. But he was too cautious and careful a man, both in word and
deed, to excite hopes which his reasoning could not justify. When thus
appealed to he would usually give an ominous shake of the head and
avoid a direct answer.
On the evening just referred to the officers and Comstock were grouped
near headquarters discussing the subject which was then uppermost in
the mind of every one in camp. Comstock had been quietly listening to
the various theories and surmises advanced by different members of
the group, but was finally pressed to state his ideas as to Kidder’s
chances of escaping harm.
“Well, gentle_men_,” emphasizing the last syllable as was his manner,
“before a man kin form any ijee as to how this thing is likely to end,
thar are several things he ort to be acquainted with. For instance,
now, no man need tell me any p’ints about Injuns. Ef I know anything,
it’s Injuns. I know jest how they’ll do anything and when they’ll
take to do it; but that don’t settle the question, and I’ll tell you
why. Ef I knowed this young lootenint--I mean Lootenint Kidder--ef I
knowed what for sort of a man he is, I could tell you mighty near to
a sartainty all you want to know; for you see Injun huntin’ and Injun
fightin’ is a trade all by itself, and like any other bizness a man
has to know what he’s about, or ef he don’t he can’t make a livin’ at
it. I have lots uv confi_dence_ in the fightin’ sense of Red Bead the
Sioux chief, who is guidin’ the lootenint and his men, and ef that
Injun kin have his own way thar is a fair show for his guidin’ ’em
through all right; but as I sed before, there lays the difficulty. Is
this lootenint the kind of a man who is willin’ to take advice, even ef
it does cum from an Injun? My experience with you army folks has allus
bin that the youngsters among ye think they know the most, and this is
particularly true ef they hev just cum from West P’int. Ef some of them
young fellars knowed half as much as they b’lieve they do, you couldn’t
tell them nothin’. As to rale book-larnin’, why I ’spose they’ve got it
all; but the fact uv the matter is, they couldn’t tell the difference
twixt the trail of a war party and one made by a huntin’ party to save
their necks. Half uv ’em when they first cum here can’t tell a squaw
from a buck, just because both ride straddle; but they soon larn. But
that’s neither here nor thar. I’m told that the lootenint we’re talkin’
about is a new-comer, and that this is his first scout. Ef that be the
case, it puts a mighty onsartain look on the whole thing, and twixt
you and me, gentle_men_, he’ll be mighty lucky ef he gits through all
right. To-morrow we’ll strike the Wallace trail, and I kin mighty soon
tell ef he has gone that way.”
But little encouragement was to be derived from these expressions.
The morrow would undoubtedly enable us, as Comstock had predicted, to
determine whether or not the lieutenant and his party had missed our
trail and taken that leading to Fort Wallace.
At daylight our column could have been seen stretching out in the
direction of the Wallace trail. A march of a few miles brought us to
the point of intersection. Comstock and the Delawares had galloped
in advance, and were about concluding a thorough examination of the
various tracks to be seen in the trail, when the head of the column
overtook them. “Well, what do you find, Comstock?” was my first
inquiry. “They’ve gone toward Fort Wallace, sure,” was the reply; and
in support of this opinion he added, “The trail shows that twelve
American horses, shod all round, have passed at a walk, goin’ in the
direction of the fort; and when they went by this p’int they were all
right, because their horses were movin’ along easy, and there are no
pony tracks behind ’em, as wouldn’t be the case ef the Injuns had got
an eye on ’em.” He then remarked, as if in parenthesis, “It would
be astonishin’ ef that lootenint and his lay-out gits into the fort
without a scrimmage. He may; but ef he does, it will be a scratch ef
ever there was one, and I’ll lose my confidence in Injuns.”
The opinion expressed by Comstock as to the chances of Lieutenant
Kidder and party making their way to the fort across eighty miles of
danger unmolested, was the concurrent opinion of all the officers. And
now that we had discovered their trail, our interest and anxiety became
immeasurably increased as to their fate. The latter could not remain
in doubt much longer, as two days’ marching would take us to the fort.
Alas! we were to solve the mystery without waiting so long.
Pursuing our way along the plain, heavy trail made by Robbins and Cook,
and directing Comstock and the Delawares to watch closely that we did
not lose that of Kidder and his party, we patiently but hopefully
awaited further developments. How many miles we had thus passed over
without incident worthy of mention, I do not now recall. The sun was
high in the heavens, showing that our day’s march was about half
completed, when those of us who were riding at the head of the column
discovered a strange-looking object lying directly in our path, and
more than a mile distant. It was too large for a human being, yet in
color and appearance, at that distance, resembled no animal frequenting
the Plains with which any of us were familiar. Eager to determine its
character, a dozen or more of our party, including Comstock and some of
the Delawares, galloped in front.
Before riding the full distance the question was determined. The object
seen was the body of a white horse. A closer examination showed that it
had been shot within the past few days, while the brand, U. S., proved
that it was a government animal. Major Elliott then remembered that
while at Fort Sedgwick he had seen one company of cavalry mounted upon
white horses. These and other circumstances went far to convince us
that this was one of the horses belonging to Lieutenant Kidder’s party.
In fact there was no room to doubt that this was the case.
Almost the unanimous opinion of the command was that there had been a
contest with Indians, and this only the first evidence we should have
proving it. When the column reached the point where the slain horse
lay, a halt was ordered, to enable Comstock and the Indian scouts to
thoroughly examine the surrounding ground to discover, if possible,
any additional evidence, such as empty cartridge shells, arrows, or
articles of Indian equipment, showing that a fight had taken place. All
the horse equipments, saddle, bridle, etc., had been carried away,
but whether by friend or foe could not then be determined. While the
preponderance of circumstances favored the belief that the horse had
been killed by Indians, there was still room to hope that he had been
killed by Kidder’s party and the equipments taken away by them; for it
frequently happens on a march that a horse will be suddenly taken ill
and be unable for the time being to proceed further. In such a case,
rather than abandon him alive, with a prospect of his recovering and
falling into the hands of the Indians to be employed against us, orders
are given to kill him, and this might be the true way of accounting for
the one referred to.
The scouts being unable to throw any additional light upon the
question, we continued our march, closely observing the ground as
we passed along. Comstock noticed that instead of the trail showing
that Kidder’s party was moving in regular order, as when at first
discovered, there were but two or three tracks to be seen in the beaten
trail, the rest being found on the grass on either side.
We had marched two miles perhaps from the point where the body of the
slain horse had been discovered, when we came upon a second, this
one, like the first, having been killed by a bullet, and all of his
equipments taken away. Comstock’s quick eyes were not long in detecting
pony tracks in the vicinity, and we had no longer any but the one
frightful solution to offer: Kidder and his party had been discovered
by the Indians, probably the same powerful and bloodthirsty band which
had been resisted so gallantly by the men under Robbins and Cook; and
against such overwhelming odds the issue could not be doubtful.
We were then moving over a high and level plateau, unbroken either by
ravines or divides, and just such a locality as would be usually chosen
by the Indians for attacking a party of the strength of Kidder’s. The
Indians could here ride unobstructed and encircle their victims with a
continuous line of armed and painted warriors, while the beleaguered
party, from the even character of the surface of the plain, would be
unable to find any break or depression from behind which they might
make a successful defence. It was probably this relative condition of
affairs which had induced Kidder and his doomed comrades to endeavor to
push on in the hope of finding ground favorable to their making a stand
against their barbarous foes.
The main trail no longer showed the footprints of Kidder’s party, but
instead Comstock discovered the tracks of shod horses on the grass,
with here and there numerous tracks of ponies, all by their appearance
proving that both horses and ponies had been moving at full speed.
Kidder’s party must have trusted their lives temporarily to the speed
of their horses--a dangerous venture when contending with Indians.
However, this fearful race for life must have been most gallantly
contested, because we continued our march several miles further without
discovering any evidence of the savages having gained any advantage.
How painfully, almost despairingly exciting must have been this ride
for life! A mere handful of brave men struggling to escape the bloody
clutches of the hundreds of red-visaged demons, who, mounted on their
well-trained war ponies, were straining every nerve and muscle to
reek their hands in the life-blood of their victims. It was not death
alone that threatened this little band. They were not riding simply to
preserve life. They rode, and doubtless prayed as they rode, that they
might escape the savage tortures, the worse than death which threatened
them. Would that their prayer had been granted!
[Illustration: THE KIDDER MURDER.]
We began leaving the high plateau and to descend into a valley, through
which, at the distance of nearly two miles, meandered a small prairie
stream known as Beaver Creek. The valley near the banks of this stream
was covered with a dense growth of tall wild grass intermingled with
clumps of osiers. At the point where the trail crossed the stream, we
hoped to obtain more definite information regarding Kidder’s party and
their pursuers, but we were not required to wait so long. When within
a mile of the stream I observed several large buzzards floating lazily
in circles through the air, and but a short distance to the left of our
trail. This, of itself, might not have attracted my attention seriously
but for the rank stench which pervaded the atmosphere, reminding one of
the horrible sensations experienced upon a battle-field when passing
among the decaying bodies of the dead.
As if impelled by one thought, Comstock, the Delawares, and
half-a-dozen officers, detached themselves from the column and,
separating into squads of one or two, instituted a search for the cause
of our horrible suspicions. After riding in all directions through
the rushes and willows, and when about to relinquish the search as
fruitless, one of the Delawares uttered a shout which attracted the
attention of the entire command; at the same time he was seen to
leap from his horse and assume a stooping posture, as if critically
examining some object of interest. Hastening, in common with many
others of the party, to his side, a sight met our gaze which even at
this remote day makes my very blood curdle. Lying in irregular order,
and within a very limited circle, were the mangled bodies of poor
Kidder and his party, yet so brutally hacked and disfigured as to be
beyond recognition save as human beings.
Every individual of the party had been scalped and his skull
broken--the latter done by some weapon, probably a tomahawk--except
the Sioux chief Red Bead, whose scalp had simply been removed from his
head and then thrown down by his side. This, Comstock informed us, was
in accordance with a custom which prohibits an Indian from bearing off
the scalp of one of his own tribe. This circumstance, then, told us who
the perpetrators of this deed were. They could be none other than the
Sioux, led in all probability by Pawnee Killer.
Red Bead, being less disfigured and mutilated than the others, was the
only individual capable of being recognized. Even the clothes of all
the party had been carried away; some of the bodies were lying in beds
of ashes, with partly burned fragments of wood near them, showing that
the savages had put some of them to death by the terrible tortures of
fire. The sinews of the arms and legs had been cut away, the nose of
every man hacked off, and the features otherwise defaced so that it
would have been scarcely possible for even a relative to recognize a
single one of the unfortunate victims. We could not even distinguish
the officer from his men. Each body was pierced by from twenty to fifty
arrows, and the arrows were found as the savage demons had left them,
bristling in the bodies. While the details of that fearful struggle
will probably never be known, telling how long and gallantly this
ill-fated little band contended for their lives, yet the surrounding
circumstances of ground, empty cartridge shells, and distance from
where the attack began, satisfied us that Kidder and his men fought as
only brave men fight when the watchword is victory or death.
As the officer, his men, and his no less faithful Indian guide, had
shared their final dangers together and had met the same dreadful fate
at the hands of the same merciless foe, it was but fitting that their
remains should be consigned to one common grave. This was accordingly
done. A single trench was dug near the spot where they had rendered
up their lives upon the altar of duty. Silently, mournfully, their
comrades of a brother regiment consigned their mangled remains to
mother earth, there to rest undisturbed, as we supposed, until the
great day of final review. But this was not to be so; while the closest
scrutiny on our part had been insufficient to enable us to detect the
slightest evidence which would aid us or others in identifying the body
of Lieutenant Kidder or any of his men, it will be seen hereafter how
the marks of a mother’s thoughtful affection were to be the means of
identifying the remains of her murdered son, even though months had
elapsed after his untimely death.
IX.
On the evening of the day following that upon which we had consigned
the remains of Lieutenant Kidder and his party to their humble
resting-place, the command reached Fort Wallace on the Smoky Hill
route. From the occupants of the fort we learned much that was
interesting regarding events which had transpired during our isolation
from all points of communication. The Indians had attacked the fort
twice within the past few days, in both of which engagements men were
killed on each side. The fighting on our side was principally under the
command of Colonel Barnitz, whose forces were composed of detachments
of the Seventh Cavalry. The fighting occurred on the level plain near
the fort, where, owing to the favorable character of the ground,
the Indians had ample opportunity to display their powers both as
warriors and horsemen. One incident of the fight was related, which,
its correctness being vouched for, is worthy of being here repeated.
Both parties were mounted, and the fighting consisted principally of
charges and counter-charges, the combatants of both sides becoming at
times mingled with each other. During one of these attacks a bugler boy
belonging to the cavalry was shot from his horse; before any of his
comrades could reach him, a powerfully built warrior, superbly mounted
on a war pony, was seen to dash at full speed toward the spot where the
dying bugler lay. Scarcely checking the speed of his pony, who seemed
to divine his rider’s wishes, the warrior grasped the pony’s mane with
one hand and, stooping low as he neared the bugler, seized the latter
with the other hand and lifted him from the earth, placing him across
his pony in front of him. Still maintaining the full speed of his pony,
he was seen to retain the body of the bugler but a moment, then cast it
to the earth. The Indians being routed soon after and driven from the
field, our troops, many of whom had witnessed the strange and daring
action of the warrior, recovered possession of the dead, when the
mystery became solved. The bugler had been scalped.
Our arrival at Fort Wallace was most welcome as well as opportune.
The Indians had become so active and numerous that all travel over
the Smoky Hill route had ceased; stages had been taken off the route,
and many of the stage stations had been abandoned by the employees,
the latter fearing a repetition of the Lookout Station massacre. No
despatches or mail had been received at the fort for a considerable
period, so that the occupants might well have been considered as
undergoing a state of siege. Added to these embarrassments, which
were partly unavoidable, an additional and under the circumstances
a more frightful danger stared the troops in the face. We were over
two hundred miles from the terminus of the railroad over which our
supplies were drawn, and a still greater distance from the main dépôts
of supplies. It was found that the reserve of stores at the post was
well-nigh exhausted, and the commanding officer reported that he knew
of no fresh supplies being on the way. It is difficult to account
for such a condition of affairs. Some one must surely have been at
fault; but it is not important here to determine who or where the
parties were. The officer commanding the troops in my absence reported
officially to headquarters that the bulk of the provisions issued
to his men consisted of “rotten bacon” and “hard bread” that was
“no better.” Cholera made its appearance among the men, and deaths
occurred daily. The same officer, in officially commenting upon the
character of the provisions issued to the troops, added: “The low
state of vitality in the men, resulting from the long confinement to
this scanty and unwholesome food, will, I think, account for the great
mortality among the cholera cases; ... and I believe that unless we can
obtain a more abundant and better supply of rations than we have had,
it will be impossible to check this fearful epidemic.”
I decided to select upward of a hundred of the best mounted men in
my command, and with this force open a way through to Fort Harker, a
distance of two hundred miles, where I expected to obtain abundant
supplies; from which point the latter could be conducted, well
protected against Indians by my detachment, back to Fort Wallace. Owing
to the severe marching of the past few weeks, the horses of the command
were generally in an unfit condition for further service without rest.
So that after selecting upward of a hundred of the best, the remainder
might for the time be regarded as unserviceable; such they were in
fact. There was no idea or probability that the portion of the command
to remain in camp near Fort Wallace would be called upon to do anything
but rest and recuperate from their late marches. It was certainly not
expected that they would be molested or called out by Indians; nor were
they. Regarding the duties to be performed by the picked detachment as
being by far the most important, I chose to accompany it.
The immediate command of the detachment was given to Captain Hamilton,
of whom mention has been previously made. He was assisted by two other
officers. My intention was to push through from Fort Wallace to Fort
Hays, a distance of about one hundred and fifty miles, as rapidly as
was practicable; then, being beyond the most dangerous portion of the
route, to make the remainder of the march to Fort Harker with half a
dozen troopers, while Captain Hamilton with his command should follow
leisurely. Under this arrangement I hoped to have a train loaded with
supplies at Harker, and in readiness to start for Fort Wallace, by the
time Captain Hamilton should arrive.
Leaving Fort Wallace about sunset on the evening of the 15th of July,
we began our ride eastward, following the line of the overland stage
route. At that date the Kansas Pacific Railway was only completed
as far westward as Fort Harker. Between Forts Wallace and Harker
we expected to find the stations of the overland stage company,
at intervals of from ten to fifteen miles. In time of peace these
stations are generally occupied by half a dozen employees of the
route, embracing the stablemen and relays of drivers. They were well
supplied with firearms and ammunition, and every facility for defending
themselves against Indians. The stables were also the quarters for the
men. They were usually built of stone, and one would naturally think
that against Indians no better defensive work would be required. Yet
such was not the case. The hay and other combustible material usually
contained in them enabled the savages, by shooting prepared arrows, to
easily set them on fire, and thus drive the occupants out to the open
plain, where their fate would soon be settled. To guard against such an
emergency, each station was ordinarily provided with what on the Plains
is termed a “dug-out.” The name implies the character and description
of the work. The “dug-out” was commonly located but a few yards from
one of the corners of the stable, and was prepared by excavating the
earth so as to form an opening not unlike a cellar, which was usually
about four feet in depth, and sufficiently roomy to accommodate at
close quarters half a dozen persons. This opening was then covered
with earth and loopholed on all sides at a height of a few inches above
the original level of the ground. The earth was thrown on top until the
“dug-out” resembled an ordinary mound of earth, some four or five feet
in height. To the outside observer, no means apparently were provided
for egress or ingress; yet such was not the case. If the entrance had
been made above ground, rendering it necessary for the defenders to
pass from the stable unprotected to their citadel, the Indians would
have posted themselves accordingly, and picked them off one by one as
they should emerge from the stable. To provide against this danger,
an underground passage was constructed in each case, leading from
the “dug-out” to the interior of the stable. With these arrangements
for defence a few determined men could withstand the attacks of an
entire tribe of savages. The recent depredations of the Indians had so
demoralized the men at the various stations that many of the latter
were found deserted, their former occupants having joined their forces
with those of other stations. The Indians generally burned the deserted
stations.
Marching by night was found to be attended with some disadvantages.
The men located at the stations which were still occupied, having no
notice of our coming, and having seen no human beings for several
days except the war parties of savages who had attacked them from
time to time, were in a chronic state of alarm, and held themselves
in readiness for defence at a moment’s notice. The consequence was,
that as we pursued our way in the stillness of the night, and were
not familiar with the location of the various stations, we generally
rode into close proximity before discovering them. The station men,
however, were generally on the alert, and, as they did not wait to
challenge us or be challenged, but took it for granted that we were
Indians, our first greeting would be a bullet whistling over our
heads, sometimes followed by a perfect volley from the “dug-out.” In
such a case nothing was left for us to do but to withdraw the column
to a place of security, and then for one of our number to creep up
stealthily in the darkness to a point within hailing distance. Even
this was an undertaking attended by no little danger, as by this time
the little garrison of the “dug-out” would be thoroughly awake and
every man at his post, his finger on the trigger of his trusty rifle,
and straining both eye and ear to discover the approach of the hateful
redskins, who alone were believed to be the cause of all this ill-timed
disturbance of their slumbers. Huddled together, as they necessarily
would be, in the contracted limits of their subterranean citadel, and
all sounds from without being deadened and rendered indistinct by the
heavy roof of earth and the few apertures leading to the inside, it is
not strange that under the circumstances it would be difficult for the
occupants to distinguish between the voice of an Indian and that of a
white man. Such was in fact the case, and no sooner would the officer
sent forward for that purpose hail the little garrison and endeavor
to explain who we were, than, guided by the first sound of his voice,
they would respond promptly with their rifles. In some instances we
were in this manner put to considerable delay, and although this was
at times most provoking, it was not a little amusing to hear the
description given by the party sent forward of how closely he hugged
the ground when endeavoring to establish friendly relations with the
stage people. Finally, when successful, and in conversation with the
latter, we inquired why they did not recognize us from the fact that we
hailed them in unbroken English. They replied that the Indians resorted
to so many tricks that they had determined not to be caught even by
that one. They were somewhat justified in this idea, as we knew that
among the Indians who were then on the war-path there was at least one
full blood who had been educated within the limits of civilization,
graduated at a popular institution of learning, and only exchanged his
civilized mode of dress for the paint, blanket, and feathers of savage
life after he had reached the years of manhood. Almost at every station
we received intelligence of Indians having been seen in the vicinity
within a few days of our arrival.
We felt satisfied they were watching our movements, although we saw no
fresh signs of Indians until we arrived near Downer’s station. Here,
while stopping to rest our horses for a few minutes, a small party of
our men, who had without authority halted some distance behind, came
dashing into our midst and reported that twenty-five or thirty Indians
had attacked them some five or six miles in rear, and had killed two
of their number. As there was a detachment of infantry guarding the
station, and time being important, we pushed on toward our destination.
The two men reported killed were left to be buried by the troops on
duty at the station. Frequent halts and brief rests were made along our
line of march; occasionally we would halt long enough to indulge in a
few hour’s sleep. About three o’clock on the morning of the 18th we
reached Fort Hays, having marched about one hundred and fifty miles in
fifty-five hours, including all halts. Some may regard this as a rapid
rate of marching; in fact, a few officers of the army who themselves
have made many and long marches (principally in ambulances and railroad
cars) are of the same opinion. It was far above the usual rate of a
leisurely made march, but during the same season and with a larger
command I marched sixty miles in fifteen hours. This was officially
reported, but occasioned no remark. During the war, and at the time
the enemy’s cavalry under General J. E. B. Stuart made its famous raid
around the Army of the Potomac in Maryland, a portion of our cavalry,
accompanied by horse artillery, in attempting to overtake them, marched
over ninety miles in twenty-four hours. A year subsequent to the events
narrated in this chapter I marched a small detachment eighty miles in
seventeen hours, every horse accompanying the detachment completing the
march in as fresh condition apparently as when the march began.
Leaving Hamilton and his command to rest one day at Hays and then to
follow on leisurely to Fort Harker, I continued my ride to the latter
post, accompanied by Colonels Cook and Custer and two troopers. We
reached Fort Harker at two o’clock that night, having made the ride of
sixty miles without change of animals in less than twelve hours. As
this was the first telegraph station, I immediately sent telegrams to
headquarters and to Fort Sedgwick, announcing the fate of Kidder and
his party. General A. J. Smith, who was in command of this military
district, had his headquarters at Harker. I at once reported to him in
person, and acquainted him with every incident worthy of mention which
had occurred in connection with my command since leaving him weeks
before. Arrangements were made for the arrival of Hamilton’s party and
for a train containing supplies to be sent back under their escort.
Having made my report to General Smith as my next superior officer,
and there being no occasion for my presence until the train and escort
should be in readiness to return, I applied for and received authority
to visit Fort Riley, about ninety miles east of Harker by rail, where
my family was then located.
No movements against Indians of any marked importance occurred in
General Hancock’s department during the remainder of this year.
Extensive preparations had been made to chastise the Indians, both
in this department and in that of General Augur’s on the north; but
about the date at which this narrative has arrived, a determined
struggle between the adherents of the Indian ring and those advocating
stringent measures against the hostile tribes, resulted in the
temporary ascendancy of the former. Owing to this ascendancy, the
military authorities were so hampered and restricted by instructions
from Washington as to be practically powerless to inaugurate or execute
any decisive measures against the Indians. Their orders required them
to simply act on the defensive. It may not be uninteresting to go back
to the closing month of the preceding year. The great event in Indian
affairs of that month and year was the Fort Phil Kearny massacre, which
took place within a few miles of the fort bearing that name, and in
which a detachment of troops, numbering in all ninety-four persons,
were slain, and not one escaped or was spared to tell the tale. The
alleged grievance of the Indians prompting them to this outbreak was
the establishment by the Government of a new road of travel to Montana,
and the locating of military posts along this line. They claimed that
the building and use of this road would drive all the game out of their
best hunting-grounds. When once war was determined upon by them, it was
conducted with astonishing energy and marked success. Between the 26th
of July and the 21st of December of the same year, the Indians opposing
the establishment of this new road were known to have killed ninety-one
enlisted men, five officers, and fifty-eight citizens, besides wounding
twenty more and capturing and driving off several hundred head of
valuable stock. And during this period of less than six months, they
appeared before Fort Phil Kearny in hostile array on fifty-one separate
occasions, and attacked every train and individual attempting to pass
over the Montana road. It has been stated officially that at the three
posts established for the defence of the Montana road, there were the
following reduced amounts of ammunition: Fort C. F. Smith, ten rounds
per man; Fort Phil Kearny, forty-five rounds per man, and Fort Reno,
thirty rounds per man; and that there were but twelve officers on
duty at the three posts, many of the enlisted men of which were raw
recruits. The force being small, and the amount of labor necessary
in building new posts being very great, but little opportunity could
be had for drill or target practice. The consequence was, the troops
were totally lacking in the necessary preparation to make a successful
fight. As the massacre at Fort Phil Kearny was one of the most complete
as well as terrible butcheries connected with our entire Indian
history, some of the details, as subsequently made evident, are here
given.
On the 6th of December the wood train was attacked by Indians about two
miles from the fort. Colonel Fetterman, with about fifty mounted men,
was sent to rescue the train. He succeeded in this, but only after a
severe fight with the Indians and after suffering a loss of one officer
(Lieutenant Bingham of the cavalry) and one sergeant, who were decoyed
from the main body into an ambuscade. This affair seems to have given
the Indians great encouragement, and induced them to form their plans
for the extensive massacre which was to follow.
On the 21st the wood train was again assailed, and, as before, a party
was sent out from the fort to its relief. The relieving party consisted
of infantry and cavalry, principally the former, numbering in all
ninety-one men with three officers--Captain Brown of the infantry,
Lieutenant Grummond of the cavalry, and Colonel Fetterman of the
infantry in command.
Colonel Fetterman sallied forth promptly with his command to the rescue
of the train. He moved out rapidly, keeping to the right of the wood
road, for the purpose, as is supposed, of getting in rear of the
attacking party. As he advanced across the Piney a few Indians appeared
on his front and flanks, and kept showing themselves just beyond rifle
range until they finally disappeared beyond Lodge Trail ridge. When
Colonel Fetterman reached Lodge Trail ridge the picket signalled the
fort that the Indians had retreated, and that the train had moved
toward the timber. About noon Colonel Fetterman’s command, having
thrown out skirmishers, disappeared over the crest of Lodge Trail
ridge; firing at once commenced and was heard distinctly at the fort.
From a few scattering shots it increased in rapidity until it became
a continuous and rapid fire of musketry. A medical officer was sent
from the post to join the detachment, but was unable to do so, Indians
being encountered on the way. After the firing had become quite heavy,
showing that a severe engagement was taking place, Colonel Carrington,
the commander of the post, sent an officer and about seventy-five men
to reinforce Colonel Fetterman’s party. These reinforcements moved
rapidly toward the point from which the sound of firing proceeded.
The firing continued to be heard during their advance, diminishing
in rapidity and number of shots until they had reached a high summit
overlooking the battle-field, when one or two shots closed all sound
of conflict. From this summit a full view could be obtained of the
Peno valley beyond, in which Fetterman’s command was known to be, but
not a single individual of this ill-fated band could be seen. Instead,
however, the valley was seen to be overrun by Indians, estimated to
number fully three thousand warriors. Discovering the approach of the
reinforcements, the Indians beckoned them to come on, but without
awaiting their arrival commenced retreating. The troops then advanced
to a point where the savages had been seen collected in a circle, and
there found the dead naked bodies of Colonel Fetterman, Captain Brown,
and about sixty-five of their men. All the bodies lay in a space not
exceeding thirty-five feet in diameter. A few American horses lay dead
near by, all with their heads toward the fort. This spot was by the
roadside and beyond the summit of a hill rising to the east of Peno
creek. The road after ascending this hill follows the ridge for nearly
three-quarters of a mile, and then descends abruptly to Peno valley.
About midway between the point where these bodies lay and that where
the road begins to descend was the dead body of Lieutenant Grummond;
and at the point where the road leaves the ridge to descend to the
Peno valley were the dead bodies of three citizens and a few of the
old, long-tried, and experienced soldiers. Around this little group
were found a great number of empty cartridge shells; more than fifty
were found near the body of a citizen who had used a Henry rifle; all
going to show how stubbornly these men had fought, and that they had
fought with telling effect on their enemies was evidenced by the fact
that within a few hundred yards in front of their position ten Indian
ponies lay dead, and near by them were sixty-five pools of dark and
clotted blood. Among the records of the Indian Department in Washington
there is on file a report of one of the Peace Commissioners sent to
investigate the circumstances of this frightful slaughter. Among the
conclusions given in this report, it is stated that the Indians were
massed to resist Colonel Fetterman’s advance along Peno creek on both
sides of the road; that Colonel Fetterman formed his advanced lines on
the summit of the hill overlooking the creek and valley, with a reserve
near where the large number of dead bodies lay; that the Indians
in large force attacked him vigorously in this position, and were
successfully resisted for half an hour or more; that the command then
being short of ammunition and seized with a panic at this event and
the great numerical superiority of the Indians, attempted to retreat
toward the fort; that the mountaineers and old soldiers, who had
learned that a movement from Indians in an engagement was equivalent
to death, remained in their first position and were killed there; that
immediately upon the commencement of the retreat the Indians charged
upon and surrounded the party, who could not now be formed by their
officers and were immediately killed. Only six men of the whole command
were killed by balls, and two of these, Colonel Fetterman and Captain
Brown, no doubt inflicted this death upon themselves, or each other, by
their own hands, for both were shot through the left temple, and powder
was burnt into the skin and flesh about the wound. These officers had
often asserted that they would never be taken alive by Indians.
The difficulty, as further explained by this commissioner, was that
the officer commanding the Phil Kearny district was furnished no
more troops for a state of war than had been provided for a state of
profound peace. “In regions where all was peace, as at Laramie in
November, twelve companies were stationed; while in regions where all
was war, as at Phil Kearny, there were only five companies allowed.”
The same criticism regarding the distribution of troops would be just
if applied to a much later date.
The Indians invariably endeavored to conceal their exact losses, but
they acknowledged afterwards to have suffered a loss of twelve killed
on the field, sixty severely wounded, several of whom afterwards died,
and many others permanently maimed. They also lost twelve horses
killed outright, and fifty-six so badly wounded that they died within
twenty-four hours.
The intelligence of this massacre was received throughout the country
with universal horror, and awakened a bitter feeling toward the savage
perpetrators. The Government was implored to inaugurate measures
looking to their prompt punishment. This feeling seemed to be shared by
all classes. The following despatch, sent by General Sherman to General
Grant, immediately upon receipt of the news of the massacre, briefly
but characteristically expresses the views of the Lieutenant-General of
the Army.
ST. LOUIS, Dec. 28, 1866.
GENERAL: Just arrived in time to attend the funeral of my
Adjutant-General, Sawyer. I have given general instructions to
General Cooke about the Sioux. I do not yet understand how the
massacre of Colonel Fetterman’s party could have been so complete.
We must act with vindictive earnestness against the Sioux, even to
their extermination, men, women, and children. Nothing less will
reach the root of the case.
(Signed) W. T. SHERMAN, Lieutenant-General.
The old trouble between the War and Interior Departments, as to
which should retain control of the Indian question, was renewed with
increased vigor. The Army accused the Indian Department, and justly
too, of furnishing the Indians arms and ammunition. Prominent exponents
of either side of the question were not slow in taking up their pens in
advocacy of their respective views. In the succeeding chapter testimony
will be offered from those high in authority, now the highest, showing
that among those who had given the subject the most thoughtful
attention the opinion was unanimous in favor of the “abolition of the
civil Indian agents and licensed traders,” and of the transfer of the
Indian Bureau from the Interior Department back to the War Department,
where it originally belonged.
X.
The winter of 1867–’68 was a period of comparative idleness and
quiet, so far as the troops guarding the military posts on the Plains
and frontier were concerned. The Indians began their periodical
depredations against the frontier settlers and overland emigrants and
travellers early in the spring of 1868, and continued them with but
little interruption or hindrance from any quarter until late in the
summer and fall of that year.
General Sully, an officer of considerable reputation as an Indian
fighter, was placed in command of the district of the Upper Arkansas,
which embraced the Kansas frontier and those military posts on the
central plains most intimately connected with the hostile tribes.
General Sully concentrated a portion of the troops of his command,
consisting of detachments of the Seventh and Tenth Cavalry and Third
Infantry, at points on the Arkansas river, and set on foot various
scouting expeditions, but all to no purpose. The Indians continued as
usual not only to elude the military forces directed against them, but
to keep up their depredations upon the settlers of the frontier.
Great excitement existed along the border settlements of Kansas
and Colorado. The frequent massacres of the frontiersmen and utter
destruction of their homes created a very bitter feeling on the part
of the citizens of Kansas toward the savages, and from the Governor
of the State down to its humblest citizen appeals were made to the
authorities of the general government to give protection against the
Indians, or else allow the people to take the matter into their own
hands and pursue retaliatory measures against their hereditary enemies.
General Sheridan, then in command of that military department, with
headquarters at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, was fully alive to the
responsibilities of his position, and in his usual effective manner set
about organizing victory.
As pretended but not disinterested friends of the Indians frequently
acquit the latter of committing unprovoked attacks on helpless
settlers and others, who have never in the slightest degree injured
them, and often deny even that the Indians have been guilty of any
hostile acts which justify the adoption of military measures to
insure the protection and safety of our frontier settlements, the
following tabular statement is here given. This statement is taken
from official records on file at the headquarters Military Division of
the Missouri, and, as it states, gives only those murders and other
depredations which were officially reported, and the white people
mentioned as killed are exclusive of those slain in warfare. I am
particular in giving time, place, etc., of each occurrence, so that
those who hitherto have believed the Indian to be a creature who could
do no wrong may have ample opportunity to judge of the correctness
of my statements. Many other murders by the Indians during this
period no doubt occurred, but, occurring as they did over a wide and
sparsely settled tract of country, were never reported to the military
authorities.
TABULAR STATEMENT OF MURDERS, OUTRAGES, ROBBERIES, AND DEPREDATIONS
COMMITTED BY INDIANS IN THE DEPARTMENT OF THE MISSOURI AND NORTHERN
TEXAS, IN 1868 (EXCLUSIVE OF MILITARY ENGAGEMENTS), AND OFFICIALLY
REPORTED TO HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE MISSOURI.
Key to Column Headings:
A Murdered.
B Wounded.
C Scalped.
D Scouts Murdered.
E Women outraged.
F Men.
G Women.
H Children.
I Horses and Mules.
J Stock Cattle.
K Houses attacked, burned, and plundered.
L Stage Coaches attacked and impeded.
M Wagon trains attacked and destroyed.
N Indians k’d and w’d in these attacks.
==============+============================+=====================================+=======+==+==+==+=====
| | WHITE PEOPLE. | LIVE | | | |
| +-----+--+--+----+----+---------------+ STOCK | | | |
| | | | | | | CAPTURED. |STOLEN.| K| L| M| N
DATE. | PLACE. | | | | | +----+----+-----+---+---+ | | +--+--
| | A | B| C| D | E | F | G | H | I | J | | | |K.|W.
--------------+----------------------------+-----+--+--+----+----+----+----+-----+---+---+--+--+--+--+--
1868. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
August 10. |Saline Valley | | | | | 4| | | | | | 6| | | |
August 12. |Settlements on Solomon River| 15 | 2| | | 5| | | | | 10| 5| | | |
August 12. |On Republican River | 2 | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
August 12. |Wright’s Camp, near Dodge | | | | | | | | | 2| | | | | |
August 12. |Pawnee Forks | | | | | | | | |132| | | | | |
August 14. |Granny Creek, on Republican | 1 | 1| | | 1| | 1| | | | 1| | | |
August 22. |Sheridan City | | | | | | | | | | 12| | | | |
August 23. |Northern Texas | 8 | | | | | | | | |300| | | | |
August 23. |Cheyenne Wells | | | | | | | | | | | | 1| | |
August 23. |Two Butte Creek | 3 | | | | | | | | 25| | | | | |
August 23. |Pond Creek and Lake Station | 2 | | | | | | | | | | 1| 1| | |
August 23. |Bent’s Fort | | | | | | | | | 15| 4| | | | |
August 24. |Bent’s Fort | | | | | | | | | | | | 3| 1| |
August 27. |Fort Lyon | 1 | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
August 27. |Cheyenne Wells | | | | | | | | | | | | 1| | |
August 27. |Big Spring Station | | | |1[a]| | | | | | | | | | |
August 28. |Kiowa Station | 3 | | | | | | | | | 50| | | 1| |
August 31. |Kiowa Creek (near) | | | | | | | | |200| 40| | 2| | |
September 1. |West of Lake Station | 2 | | 2| | | | | | | 30| | | | |
September 1. |Reed’s Springs | 3 | 3| | | | | | | | | | | | |
September 1. |Spanish Fort, Texas | 4 | | 8| |3[b]| | | | 15| | | | | |
September 2. |Little Coon Creek | | 3| | | | | | | | | | | | |
September 3. |Colorado City | 4 | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
September 5. |Hugo’s Springs | | | | | | | | | | 5| 1| | | |
Sept. 6 and 7.|Colorado Territory | 25 | |20| | | | | | | | | | | |
September 8. |Turkey Creek, near Sheridan | 2 | | 2| | | | | | 76| | | | | |
September 8. |Cimmaron Crossing |17[c]| | | | | | | | 12| 75| | | 1| |
September 9. |Between Sheridan and Wallace| 6 | | | | | | | | | | 1| | | |
September 10. |Near Fort Wallace | | | | | | | | | | | | 1| | |
September 11. |Lake Creek | | | | | | | | | | 81| | | | |
September 12. |Bent’s Old Fort | | | | | | | | | | 85| 1| | | |
September 17. |Ella Station | 1 | | | | | | | | | | 1| | | |
September 17. |Fort Bascom | 1 | 1| | | | | | | 30| | | | | |
September 19. |Big Timber’s Station | | | | | | | | | | | 1| | | |
September 29. |Sharp’s Creek | 1 | | | | 1|1[d]|1[d]| 1[d]| | | 1| | | |
October 2. |Fort Zarah | 1 | | | | | | | | |160| 1| | | |
October 2. |Between Larned and Dodge | 3 | 3| | | | | | | 50| | | | | |
October 4. |Near Fort Dodge | 2 | 1| | | | | | | | 68| | | | |
October 4. |Asher Creek Settlement | | | | | | | | | 7| | | | | |
October 7. |Purgatory Creek | 1 | | | | | | | | | 38| | | | |
October 10. |Fort Zarah | | | | | | | | | 8| | | | | |
October 13. |Brown’s Creek | | | | | | | | | | | | 1| | |
October 6. |Sand Creek | | | | | | |1[e]| 1[e]| | | | | 1| |
October 14. |Prairie Dog Creek | 1 | 1| | | | | | | 26| | | | | |
October 15. |Fisher and Yocucy Creeks | 4 | 1| | | | | 1| | | | 1| | | |
October 23. |Fort Zarah | 2 | | | | | | | | | | | | | 2|
October 30. |Grinnell Station | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | 1
November 7. |Coon Creek | | | | | | | | | 1| | | 1| | |
November 19. |Little Coon Creek | 1 | | | | | | | | | | | | | 5|
November 19. |Fort Dodge | 1 | | | | | | | | | | | | | 2|
November 20. |Mulberry Creek | | | |2[f]| | | | | | | | | | |
November 25. |Indian Territory | | | | | | | | | 20| | | | | 2|
January[A] |Northern Texas[C] | 25 | | 9| | | | |14[g]| | | | | | |
February[A] |Northern Texas[C] | 7 | | | | | | | 5[h]| 50| | | | | |
May[B] |Northern Texas[C] | | | | | | | | | | | 3| | | |
June[B] |Northern Texas[C] | 1 | | | | | | | 3[i]| | | | | | |
July[B] |Brazos River, Texas[C] | 4 | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| |-----+--+--+----+----+----+----+-----+---+---+--+--+--+--+--
| Total | 154 |16|41| 3| 14| 1| 4|24 |669|958|24|11| 4|11| 1
--------------+----------------------------+-----+--+--+----+----+----+----+-----+---+---+--+--+--+--+--
[a] This scout was William Comstock.
[b] One of these three women was outraged by thirteen Indians,
who afterward killed and scalped her, leaving a hatchet
stuck in her head. They then killed her four little
children.
[c] Fifteen of these persons were burned to death by the
Indians, who attacked the train to which they belonged.
[d] These persons were Mr. Bassett, his wife, and child. The
Indians having plundered and burned Bassett’s house, took
the inmates captive; but Mrs. Bassett, being weak and
unable to travel, was stripped, and, together with her
child (two days old), left on the prairie. Mr. Bassett is
supposed to have been murdered.
[e] Mrs. Blinn and child, afterward murdered by the Indians
during Custer’s attack on Black Kettle’s camp.
[f] These scouts were Marshall and Davis.
[g] These fourteen children were afterward frozen to death
while in captivity.
[h] Two of these children were given up to Colonel Leavenworth;
the remaining three were taken to Kansas.
[i] These children belonged to Mr. McIlroy.
[A] Committed by Kiowa Indians.
[B] Committed by Comanche Indians.
[C] Additional murders and outrages committed by Indians, not
heretofore enumerated, reported by P. McCusker, U. S.
Interpreter, and S. T. Walkley, Acting Indian Agent.
The mass of the troops being concentrated and employed along the
branches of the Upper Arkansas under General Sully, thus leaving the
valleys of the Republican, Solomon, and Smoky Hill rivers comparatively
without troops, and the valleys of the Upper Republican being, as we
have in previous chapters learned, a favorite resort and camping-ground
for the hostile tribes of the upper plains, General Sheridan determined
that, while devoting full attention to the Kiowas, Comanches, Apaches,
Arapahoes, and Southern Cheyennes, to be found south of the Arkansas,
he would also keep an eye out for the Sioux, Upper Cheyennes, and
Arapahoes, and the “Dog Soldiers,” usually infesting the valleys of
the Upper Republican and Solomon rivers. The “Dog Soldiers” were a
band of warriors principally composed of Cheyennes, but made up of the
turbulent and uncontrollable spirits of all the tribes. Neither they
nor their leaders had ever consented to the ratification of any of
the treaties to which their brothers of the other tribes had agreed.
Never satisfied except when at war with the white man, they were by
far the most troublesome, daring, and warlike band to be found on the
Plains. Their warriors were all fine-looking braves of magnificent
physique, and in appearance and demeanor more nearly conformed to the
ideal warrior than those of any other tribe. How they came by their
name, the “Dog Soldiers,” I never was able to learn satisfactorily.
One explanation is, that they are principally members of the Cheyenne
tribe, and were at first known as the Cheyenne soldiers. The name of
the tribe “Cheyenne” was originally _Chien_, the French word for dog;
hence the term “Dog Soldiers.”
To operate effectually against these bands General Sheridan was without
the necessary troops. Congress, however, had authorized the employment
of detachments of frontier scouts to be recruited from among the daring
spirits always to be met with on the border. It was upon a force raised
from this class of our western population that General Sheridan relied
for material assistance.
Having decided to employ frontiersmen to assist in punishing the
Indians, the next question was the selection of a suitable leader.
The choice, most fortunately, fell upon General George A. Forsyth
(“Sandy”), then Acting Inspector-General of the Department of Missouri,
who, eager to render his country an important service and not loath to
share in the danger and excitement attendant upon such an enterprise,
set himself energetically to work to raise and equip his command for
the field. But little time was required, under Forsyth’s stirring zeal,
to raise the required number of men. It was wisely decided to limit
the number of frontiersmen to fifty. This enabled Forsyth to choose
only good men, and the size of the detachment, considering that they
were to move without ordinary transportation--in fact were to almost
adopt the Indian style of warfare--was as large as could be without
being cumbersome. Last but not least, it was to be composed of men
who, from their leader down, were intent on accomplishing an important
purpose; they were not out on any holiday tour or pleasure excursion.
Their object was to find Indians; a difficult matter for a large force
to accomplish, because the Indians are the first to discover their
presence and take themselves out of the way; whereas with a small or
moderate-sized detachment there is some chance, as Forsyth afterwards
learned, of finding Indians.
Among all the officers of the army, old or young, no one could have
been found better adapted to become the leader of an independent
expedition, such as this was proposed to be, than General Forsyth. This
is more particularly true considering the experiences which awaited
this detachment. I had learned to know him well when we rode together
in the Shenandoah valley, sometimes in one direction and sometimes,
but rarely, in the other; and afterwards, in the closing struggle
around Petersburg and Richmond, when his chief had been told to “press
things,” General Forsyth, “Sandy” as his comrades familiarly termed
him, was an important member of the “press.” In fact, one of the best
terms to describe him by is irrepressible; for, no matter how defeat or
disaster might stare us in the face, and, as I have intimated, cause us
to ride “the other” way, “Sandy” always contrived to be of good cheer
and to be able to see the coming of a better day. This quality came in
good play in the terrible encounter which I am about to describe.
The frontiersmen of the Kansas border, stirred up by numerous massacres
committed in their midst by the savages, were only too eager and
willing to join in an enterprise which promised to afford them an
opportunity to visit just punishment upon their enemies.
Thirty selected men were procured at Fort Harker, Kansas, and twenty
more at Fort Hays, sixty miles further west. In four days the command
was armed, mounted, and equipped, and at once took the field.
Lieutenant F. H. Beecher, of the Third Regular Infantry, a nephew of
the distinguished divine of the same name, and one of the ablest and
best young officers on the frontier, was second in command; and a
surgeon was found in the person of Dr. John S. Movers, of Hays City,
Kansas, a most competent man in his profession, and one who had had
a large experience during the war of the rebellion as surgeon of one
of the volunteer regiments from the State of New York. Sharpe Grover,
one of the best guides and scouts the Plains afforded, was the guide
of the expedition, while many of the men had at different times served
in the regular and volunteer forces; for example, the man selected
to perform the duties of First Sergeant of the detachment was Brevet
Brigadier-General W. H. H. McCall, United States Volunteers, who
commanded a brigade at the time the Confederate forces attempted to
break the Federal lines at Fort Hell, in front of Petersburg, in the
early spring of 1865, and was breveted for gallantry on that occasion.
As a general thing the men composing the party were just the class
eminently qualified to encounter the dangers which were soon to
confront them. They were brave, active, hardy, and energetic, and,
while they required a tight rein held over them, were when properly
handled capable of accomplishing about all that any equal number of men
could do under the same circumstances.
The party left Fort Hayes on the 29th day of August, 1868, and, under
special instructions from Major-General Sheridan, commanding the
department, took a north-westerly course, scouting the country to the
north of the Saline river, crossed the south fork of the Solomon, Bow
creek, north fork of the Solomon, Prairie Dog creek, and then well out
toward the Republican river, and, swinging around in the direction of
Fort Wallace, made that post on the eighth day from their departure.
Nothing was met worthy of notice, but there were frequent indications
of large camps of Indians which had evidently been abandoned only a few
days or weeks before the arrival of the command.
Upon arriving at Fort Wallace, General Forsyth communicated with
General Sheridan and proceeded to refit his command.
On the morning of September 10, a small war party of Indians attacked
a train near Sheridan, a small railroad town some eighty miles beyond
Fort Wallace, killed two teamsters and ran off a few cattle. As soon
as information of this reached Fort Wallace, Forsyth started with
his command for the town of Sheridan, where he took the trail of the
Indians and followed it until dark. The next morning it was resumed,
until the Indians finding themselves closely pursued, scattered
in many directions and the trail became so obscure as to be lost.
Determined, however, to find the Indians this time, if they were in
the country, he pushed on to Short Nose creek, hoping to find them in
that vicinity. Carefully scouting in every direction for the trail
and still heading north as far as the Republican river, the command
finally struck the trail of a small war party on the south bank of
that stream, and followed it up to the forks of that river. This is
familiar ground perhaps to some of my readers, as it was here Pawnee
Killer and his band attacked our camp early one morning in the summer
of ’67, and hurried me from my tent without allowing me time to attend
to my toilet. Continuing on the trail and crossing to the north bank,
Forsyth found the trail growing constantly larger, as various smaller
ones entered it from the south and north, and finally it developed into
a broad and well-beaten road, along which large droves of cattle and
horses had been driven. This trail led up the Arickaree fork of the
Republican river, and constant indications of Indians, in the way of
moccasins, jerked buffalo meat, and other articles, were found every
few miles, but no Indians were seen. On the evening of the eighth
day from Fort Wallace, the command halted about five o’clock in the
afternoon and went into camp at or near a little island in the river, a
mere sand-spit of earth formed by the stream dividing at a little rift
of earth that was rather more gravelly than the sand in its immediate
vicinity, and coming together again about a hundred yards further down
the stream, which just here was about eight feet wide and two or three
inches deep.
The watercourses in this part of the country in the dry season are mere
threads of water meandering along the broad sandy bed of the river,
which during the months of May and June is generally full to its banks,
and at that time capable of floating an ordinary ship, while later in
the season there is not enough water to float the smallest row-boat. In
fact, in many places the stream sinks into the sand and disappears for
a considerable distance, finally making its way up to the surface and
flowing on until it again disappears and reappears many times in the
course of a long day’s journey.
Encamping upon the bank of the stream at this point--which at that
time was supposed by the party to be Delaware creek, but which was
afterwards discovered to be Arickaree fork of the Republican river--the
command made the usual preparations for passing the night. This
point was but a few marches from the scene of Kidder’s massacre.
Having already been out from Fort Wallace eight days, and not taking
wagons with them, their supplies began to run low, although they had
been husbanded with great care. During the last three days game had
been very scarce, which fact convinced Forsyth and his party that
the Indians whose trail they were following had scoured the country
and driven off every kind of game by their hunting parties. The
following day would see the command out of supplies of all kinds; but
feeling assured that he was within striking distance of the Indians,
Forsyth determined to push on until he found them, and fight them
even if he could not whip them, in order that they might realize
that their rendezvous was discovered, and that the Government was at
last in earnest when it said that they were to be punished for their
depredations on the settlements.
After posting their pickets and partaking of the plainest of suppers,
Forsyth’s little party disposed of themselves on the ground to sleep,
little dreaming who was to sound their reveille in so unceremonious a
manner.
At dawn on the following day, September 17, 1868, the guard gave the
alarm “Indians.” Instantly every man sprang to his feet and, with the
true instinct of the frontiersman, grasped his rifle with one hand
while with the other he seized his lariat, that the Indians might not
stampede the horses. Six Indians dashed up toward the party, rattling
bells, shaking buffalo robes, and firing their guns. The four pack
mules belonging to the party broke away and were last seen galloping
over the hills. Three other animals made their escape, as they had only
been hobbled, in direct violation of the orders which directed that
all the animals of the command should be regularly picketed to a stake
or picket-pin, firmly driven into the ground. A few shots caused the
Indians to sheer off and disappear in a gallop over the hills. Several
of the men started in pursuit, but were instantly ordered to rejoin
the command, which was ordered to saddle up with all possible haste,
Forsyth feeling satisfied that the attempt to stampede the stock was
but the prelude to a general and more determined attack. Scarcely were
the saddles thrown on the horses and the girths tightened, when Grover,
the guide, placing his hand on Forsyth’s shoulder, gave vent to his
astonishment as follows: “_O heavens, General, look at the Indians!_”
Well might he be excited. From every direction they dashed toward the
band. Over the hills, from the west and north, along the river, on
the opposite bank, everywhere and in every direction they made their
appearance. Finely mounted, in full war paint, their long scalp locks
braided with eagles’ feathers, and with all the paraphernalia of a
barbarous war party--with wild whoops and exultant shouts, on they came.
There was but one thing to do. Realizing that they had fallen into
a trap, Forsyth, who had faced danger too often to hesitate in an
emergency, determined that if it came to a Fort Fetterman affair,
described in a preceding chapter, he should at least make the enemy
bear their share of the loss. He ordered his men to lead their horses
to the island, tie them to the few bushes that were growing there in
a circle, throw themselves upon the ground in the same form, and make
the best fight they could for their lives. In less time than it takes
to pen these words, the order was put into execution. Three of the best
shots in the party took position in the grass under the bank of the
river which covered the north end of the island; the others formed a
circle inside of the line of animals, and throwing themselves upon the
ground began to reply to the fire of the Indians, which soon became hot
and galling in the extreme. Throwing themselves from their horses, the
Indians crawled up to within a short distance of the island, and opened
a steady and well-directed fire upon the party. Armed with the best
quality of guns, many of them having the latest pattern breech-loaders
with fixed ammunition (as proof of this many thousand empty shells of
Spencer and Henry rifle ammunition were found on the ground occupied by
the Indians after the fight), they soon made sad havoc among the men
and horses. As it grew lighter, and the Indians could be distinguished,
Grover expressed the greatest astonishment at the number of warriors,
which he placed at nearly one thousand. Other members of the party
estimated them at even a greater number. Forsyth expressed the opinion
that there could not be more than four or five hundred, but in this
it seems he was mistaken, as some of the Brulés, Sioux, and Cheyennes
have since told him that their war party was nearly nine hundred
strong, and was composed of Brulés, Sioux, Cheyennes, and Dog Soldiers;
furthermore, that they had been watching him for five days previous
to their attack, and had called in all the warriors they could get to
their assistance. The men of Forsyth’s party began covering themselves
at once, by using case and pocket knives in the gravelly sand, and soon
had thrown up quite a little earthwork consisting of detached mounds in
the form of a circle. About this time Forsyth was wounded by a Minié
ball, which, striking him in the right thigh, ranged upward, inflicting
an exceedingly painful wound. Two of his men had been killed, and a
number of others wounded. Leaning over to give directions to some of
his men, who were firing too rapidly, and in fact becoming a little too
nervous for their own good, Forsyth was again wounded, this time in
the left leg, the ball breaking and badly shattering the bone midway
between the knee and ankle. About the same time Dr. Movers, the surgeon
of the party, who, owing to the hot fire of the Indians, was unable
to render surgical aid to his wounded comrades, had seized his trusty
rifle and was doing capital service, was hit in the temple by a bullet,
and never spoke but one intelligible word again.
Matters were now becoming desperate, and nothing but cool, steady
fighting would avail to mend them. The hills surrounding the immediate
vicinity of the fight were filled with women and children, who were
chanting war songs and filling the air with whoops and yells. The
medicine men, a sort of high priests, and older warriors rode around
outside of the combatants, being careful to keep out of range, and
encouraged their young braves by beating a drum, shouting Indian
chants, and using derisive words toward their adversaries, whom they
cursed roundly for skulking like wolves, and dared to come out and
fight like men.
Meantime the scouts were slowly but surely “counting game,” and more
than one Indian fell to the rear badly wounded by the rifles of the
frontiersmen. Within an hour after the opening of the fight, the
Indians were fairly frothing at the mouth with rage at the unexpected
resistance they met, while the scouts had now settled down to earnest
work, and obeyed to the letter the orders of Forsyth, whose oft
reiterated command was, “Fire slowly, aim well, keep yourselves
covered, and, above all, don’t throw away a single cartridge.”
Taken all in all, with a very few exceptions, the men behaved superbly.
Obedient to every word of command, cool, plucky, determined, and fully
realizing the character of their foes, they were a match for their
enemies thus far at every point. About nine o’clock in the morning the
last horse belonging to the scouts was killed, and one of the red skins
was heard to exclaim in tolerably good English, “There goes the last
damned horse anyhow;” a proof that some of the savages had at some time
been intimate with the whites.
Shortly after nine o’clock a portion of the Indians began to form in a
ravine just below the foot of the island, and soon about one hundred
and twenty Dog Soldiers, the “banditti of the Plains,” supported by
some three hundred or more other mounted men, made their appearance,
drawn up just beyond rifle shot below the island, and headed by the
famous chief “Roman Nose,” prepared to charge the scouts. Superbly
mounted, almost naked, although in full war dress, and painted in the
most hideous manner, with their rifles in their hands, and formed with
a front of about sixty men, they awaited the signal of their chief to
charge, with apparently the greatest confidence. Roman Nose addressed
a few words to the mounted warriors, and almost immediately afterward
the dismounted Indians surrounding the island poured a perfect shower
of bullets into the midst of Forsyth’s little party. Realizing that a
crisis was at hand, and hot work was before him, Forsyth told his men
to reload every rifle and to take and load the rifles of the killed and
wounded of the party, and not to fire a shot until ordered to do so.
For a few moments the galling fire of the Indians rendered it
impossible for any of the scouts to raise or expose any part of their
persons. This was precisely the effect which the Indians desired to
produce by the fire of their riflemen. It was this that the mounted
warriors, under the leadership of Roman Nose, were waiting for. The
Indians had planned their assault in a manner very similar to that
usually adopted by civilized troops in assailing a fortified place. The
fire of the Indian riflemen performed the part of the artillery on such
occasions, in silencing the fire of the besieged and preparing the way
for the assaulting column.
Seeing that the little garrison was stunned by the heavy fire of
the dismounted Indians, and rightly judging that now, if ever, was
the proper time to charge them, Roman Nose and his band of mounted
warriors, with a wild, ringing war-whoop, echoed by the women and
children on the hills, started forward. On they came, presenting even
to the brave men awaiting the charge a most superb sight. Brandishing
their guns, echoing back the cries of encouragement of their women and
children on the surrounding hills, and confident of victory, they rode
bravely and recklessly to the assault. Soon they were within the range
of the rifles of their friends, and of course the dismounted Indians
had to slacken their fire for fear of hitting their own warriors.
This was the opportunity for the scouts, and they were not slow to
seize it. “Now,” shouted Forsyth. “Now,” echoed Beecher, McCall, and
Grover; and the scouts, springing to their knees, and casting their
eyes coolly along the barrels of their rifles, opened on the advancing
savages as deadly a fire as the same number of men ever yet sent forth
from an equal number of rifles. Unchecked, undaunted, on dashed the
warriors; steadily rang the clear, sharp reports of the rifles of the
frontiersmen. Roman Nose, the chief, is seen to fall dead from his
horse, then Medicine Man is killed, and for an instant the column
of braves, now within ten feet of the scouts, hesitates--falters.
A ringing cheer from the scouts, who perceive the effect of their
well-directed fire, and the Indians begin to break and scatter in every
direction, unwilling to rush to a hand-to-hand struggle with the men
who, although outnumbered, yet knew how to make such effective use of
their rifles. A few more shots from the frontiersmen and the Indians
are forced back beyond range, and their first attack ends in defeat.
Forsyth turns to Grover anxiously and inquires, “Can they do better
than that, Grover?” “I have been on the Plains, General, since a boy,
and never saw such a charge as that before. I think they have done
their level best,” was the reply. “All right,” responds “Sandy”; “then
we are good for them.”
So close did the advance warriors of the attacking column come in the
charge, that several of their dead bodies now lay within a few feet
of the intrenchments. The scouts had also suffered a heavy loss in
this attack. The greatest and most irreparable was that of Lieutenant
Beecher, who was mortally wounded, and died at sunset of that day. He
was one of the most reliable and efficient officers doing duty on the
Plains. Modest, energetic, and ambitious in his profession, had he
lived he undoubtedly would have had a brilliant future before him, and
had opportunity such as is offered by a great war ever have occurred,
Lieutenant Beecher would have without doubt achieved great distinction.
The Indians still kept up a continuous fire from their dismounted
warriors; but as the scouts by this time were well covered by their
miniature earthworks, it did little execution. At two o’clock in the
afternoon the savages again attempted to carry the island by a mounted
charge, and again at sunset; but having been deprived of their best and
most fearless leader by the fall of Roman Nose, they were not so daring
or impulsive as in the first charge, and were both times repulsed with
heavy losses. At dark they ceased firing, and withdrew their forces for
the night. This gave the little garrison on the island an opportunity
to take a breathing spell, and Forsyth to review the situation and
sum up how he had fared. The result was not consoling. His trusted
Lieutenant Beecher was lying dead by his side; his surgeon, Movers,
was mortally wounded; two of his men killed, four mortally wounded,
four severely, and ten slightly. Here, out of a total of fifty-one
were twenty-three killed and wounded. His own condition, his right
thigh fearfully lacerated, and his left leg badly broken, only rendered
the other discouraging circumstances doubly so. As before stated, the
Indians had killed all of his horses early in the fight. His supplies
were exhausted, and there was no way of dressing the wounds of himself
or comrades, as the medical stores had been captured by the Indians.
He was about one hundred and ten miles from the nearest post, and
savages were all around him. The outlook could scarcely have been less
cheering. But Forsyth’s disposition and pluck incline him to speculate
more upon that which is, or may be gained, than to repine at that
which is irrevocably lost. This predominant trait in his character
now came in good play. Instead of wasting time in vain regrets over
the advantages gained by his enemies, he quietly set about looking up
the chances in his favor. And, let the subject be what it may, I will
match “Sandy” “against an equal number” for making a favorable showing
of the side which he espouses or advocates. To his credit account he
congratulated himself and comrades, first upon the fact that they
had beaten off their foes; second, water could be had inside their
intrenchments by digging a few feet below the surface; then for food
“horse and mule meat,” to use Sandy’s expression, “was lying around
loose in any quantity;” and last, but most important of all, he had
plenty of ammunition. Upon these circumstances and facts Forsyth built
high hopes of successfully contending against any renewed assaults of
the savages.
Two men, Trudeau and Stillwell, both good scouts, and familiar with the
Plains, were selected to endeavor to make their way through the cordon
of Indians and proceed to Fort Wallace, one hundred and ten miles
distant, and report the condition of Forsyth and party, and act as
guides to the troops which would be at once sent to the relief of the
besieged scouts. It was a perilous mission, and called for the display
of intrepid daring, cool judgment, and unflinching resolution, besides
a thorough knowledge of the country, as much of their journey would
necessarily be made during the darkness of night, to avoid discovery
by wandering bands of Indians, who, no doubt, would be on the alert
to intercept just such parties going for relief. Forsyth’s selection
of the two men named was a judicious one. Stillwell I afterwards knew
well, having employed him as scout with my command for a long period.
At the time referred to, however, he was a mere beardless boy of
perhaps nineteen years, possessing a trim, lithe figure, which was set
off to great advantage by the jaunty suit of buckskin which he wore,
cut and fringed according to the true style of the frontiersman. In
his waist-belt he carried a large-sized revolver and a hunting knife.
These, with his rifle, constituted his equipment. A capital shot
whether afoot or on horseback, and a perfect horseman, this beardless
boy on more than one occasion proved himself a dangerous foe to the
wily red man. We shall not take final leave of Stillwell in this
chapter.
These two men, Trudeau and Stillwell, after receiving Forsyth’s
instructions in regard to their dangerous errand, and being provided
with his compass and map, started as soon as it was sufficiently
dark on their long, weary tramp over a wild, desert country, thickly
infested with deadly enemies. After their departure the wounded were
brought in, the dead animals unsaddled, and the horse blankets used
to make the wounded as comfortable as possible. The earthworks were
strengthened by using the dead animals and saddles. A well was dug
inside the intrenchments, and large quantities of horse and mule meat
were cut off and buried in the sand to prevent it from putrefying. It
began to rain, and the wounded were rendered less feverish by their
involuntary but welcome bath.
As was expected, the night passed without incident or disturbance from
the savages; but early the next morning the fight was renewed by the
Indians again surrounding the island as before, and opening fire from
the rifles of their dismounted warriors. They did not attempt to charge
the island as they had done the previous day, when their attempts in
this direction had cost them too dearly; but they were none the less
determined and eager to overpower the little band which had been the
cause of such heavy loss to them already. The scouts, thanks to their
efforts during the night, were now well protected, and suffered but
little from the fire of the Indians, while the latter, being more
exposed, paid the penalty whenever affording the scouts a chance with
their rifles. The day was spent without any decided demonstration
on the part of the red men, except to keep up as constant a fire as
possible on the scouts, and to endeavor to provoke the latter to
reply as often as possible, the object, no doubt, being to induce the
frontiersmen to exhaust their supply of ammunition. But they were not
to be led into this trap; each cartridge they estimated as worth to
them one Indian, and nothing less would satisfy them.
On the night of the 18th two more men were selected to proceed to
Fort Wallace, as it was not known whether Trudeau and Stillwell had
made their way safely through the Indian lines or not. The last two
selected, however, failed to elude the watchful eyes of the Indians,
and were driven back to the island. This placed a gloomy look upon
the probable fate of Trudeau and Stillwell, and left the little
garrison in anxious doubt not only as to the safety of the two daring
messengers, but as to their own final relief. On the morning of the
19th the Indians promptly renewed the conflict, but with less energy
than before. They evidently did not desire or intend to come to
close quarters again with their less numerous but more determined
antagonists, but aimed as on the previous day to provoke a harmless
fire from the scouts, and then, after exhausting their ammunition in
this manner, overwhelm them by mass of numbers, and finish them with
tomahawk and scalping knife. This style of tactics did not operate as
desired. There is but little doubt that some of the Indians who had
participated in the massacre of Fetterman and his party a few months
before, when three officers and ninety-one men were killed outright,
were also present and took part in the attack upon Forsyth and his
party; and they must have been not a little surprised to witness the
stubborn defence offered by this little party, which, even at the
beginning, numbered but little over fifty men.
About noon the women and children, who had been constant and excited
spectators of the fight from the neighboring hilltops, began to
withdraw. It is rare indeed that in an attack by Indians their women
and children are seen. They are usually sent to a place of safety
until the result of the contest is known, but in this instance, with
the overwhelming numbers of the savages and the recollection of the
massacre of Fetterman and his party, there seemed to the Indians to be
but one result to be expected, and that a complete, perhaps bloodless
victory for them; and the women and children were permitted to gather
as witnesses of their triumph, and perhaps at the close would be
allowed to take part by torturing those of the white men who should be
taken alive. The withdrawal of the women and children was regarded as a
favorable sign by the scouts.
Soon after and as a last resort the Indians endeavored to hold a parley
with Forsyth, by means of a white flag; but this device was too shallow
and of too common adoption to entrap the frontiersman, the object
simply being to accomplish by stratagem and perfidy what they had
failed in by superior numbers and open warfare. Everything now seemed
to indicate that the Indians had had enough of the fight, and during
the night of the third day it was plainly evident that they had about
decided to withdraw from the contest.
Forsyth now wrote the following despatch, and after nightfall
confided it to two of his best men, Donovan and Plyley; and they,
notwithstanding the discouraging result of the last attempt, set out to
try and get through to Fort Wallace with it, which they successfully
accomplished:
_On Delaware Creek, Republican River_, Sept. 19, 1868.
_To Colonel Bankhead, or Commanding Officer, Fort Wallace._
I sent you two messengers on the night of the 17th instant,
informing you of my critical condition. I tried to send two more
last night, but they did not succeed in passing the Indian pickets,
and returned. If the others have not arrived, then hasten at once
to my assistance. I have eight badly wounded and ten slightly
wounded men to take in, and every animal I had was killed save
seven which the Indians stampeded. Lieutenant Beecher is dead, and
Acting Assistant Surgeon Movers probably cannot live the night out.
He was hit in the head Thursday, and has spoken but one rational
word since. I am wounded in two places, in the right thigh and my
left leg broken below the knee. The Cheyennes numbered 450 or more.
Mr. Grover says they never fought so before. They were splendidly
armed with Spencer and Henry rifles. We killed at least thirty-five
of them and wounded many more, besides killing and wounding a
quantity of their stock. They carried off most of their killed
during the night, but three of their men fell into our hands. I am
on a little island and have still plenty of ammunition left. We are
living on mule and horse meat, and are entirely out of rations.
If it was not for so many wounded, I would come in and take the
chances of whipping them if attacked. They are evidently sick of
their bargain.
I had two of the members of my company killed on the 17th, namely,
William Wilson and George W. Calner. You had better start with not
less than seventy-five men and bring all the wagons and ambulances
you can spare. Bring a six-pound howitzer with you. I can hold out
here for six days longer, _if absolutely necessary_, but please
lose no time.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
(Signed) GEORGE A. FORSYTH,
U. S. Army. Commanding Co. Scouts
P. S. My surgeon having been mortally wounded, none of my wounded
have had their wounds dressed yet, so please bring out a surgeon
with you.
A small party of warriors remained in the vicinity watching the
movements of the scouts; the main body, however, had departed.
The well men, relieved of the constant watching and fighting, were
now able to give some attention to the wounded. Their injuries, which
had grown very painful, were rudely dressed. Soup was made out of
horse-flesh, and shelters were constructed protecting them from the
heat, damp, and wind. On the sixth day the wounds of the men began to
exhibit more decided and alarming signs of neglect. Maggots infested
them and the first traces of gangrene had set in. To multiply the
discomforts of their situation, the entire party was almost overpowered
by the intolerable stench created by the decomposing bodies of the
dead horses. Their supply was nearly exhausted. Under these trying
circumstances Forsyth assembled his men. He told them “they knew their
situation as well as he. There were those who were helpless, but aid
must not be expected too soon. It might be difficult for the messengers
to reach the fort, or there might be some delay by their losing their
way. Those who wished to go should do so and leave the rest to take
their chances.” With one voice they resolved to stay, and, if all hope
vanished, to die together.
At last the supply of jerked horse meat was exhausted, and the chances
of getting more were gone. By this time the carcasses of the animals
were a mass of corruption. There was no alternative--strips of putrid
flesh were cut and eaten. The effect of this offensive diet was
nauseating in the extreme. An experiment was made, with a view to
improving the unpalatable flesh, of using gunpowder as salt, but to
no purpose. The men allayed only their extreme cravings of hunger,
trusting that succor might reach them before all was over.
On the morning of September 25, the sun rose upon Forsyth and his
famished party with unusual splendor, and the bright colors of the
morning horizon seemed like a rainbow of promise to their weary,
longing spirits. Hope, grown faint with long waiting, gathered renewed
strength from the brightness of nature. The solitary plain receding in
all directions possessed a deeper interest than ever before, though it
still showed no signs of life and presented the same monotonous expanse
upon which the heroic band had gazed for so many trying days. Across
the dim and indefinable distance which swept in all directions, the eye
often wandered and wondered what might be the revelations of the next
moment. Suddenly several dark figures appeared faintly on the horizon.
The objects were moving. The question uppermost in the minds of all
was, Are they savages or messengers of relief? As on such occasions of
anxiety and suspense, time wore heavily, minutes seemed like hours,
yet each moment brought the sufferers nearer the realization whether
this was their doom or their escape therefrom. Over an hour had elapsed
since the objects first came in sight, and yet the mystery remained
unsolved. Slowly but surely they developed themselves, until finally
they had approached sufficiently near for their character as friends or
foes to be unmistakably established. To the joy of the weary watchers,
the parties approaching proved to be troops; relief was at hand, the
dangers and anxieties of the past few days were ended, and death either
by starvation or torture at the hands of the savages no longer stared
them in the face. The strong set up a shout such as men seldom utter.
It was the unburdening of the heart of the weight of despair. The
wounded lifted their fevered forms and fixed their glaring eyes upon
the now rapidly approaching succor, and in their delirium involuntarily
but feebly reiterated the acclamations of their comrades.
The troops arriving for their relief were a detachment from Fort
Wallace under command of Colonel Carpenter of the regular cavalry, and
had started from the fort promptly upon the arrival of Trudeau and
Stillwell with intelligence of the condition and peril in which Forsyth
and his party were.
When Colonel Carpenter and his men reached the island they found
its defenders in a most pitiable condition, yet the survivors were
determined to be plucky to the last. Forsyth himself, with rather
indifferent success, affected to be reading an old novel that he had
discovered in a saddlebag; but Colonel Carpenter said his voice was a
little unsteady and his eyes somewhat dim when he held out his hand to
Carpenter and bade him welcome to “Beecher’s Island,” a name that has
since been given to the battle-ground.
During the fight Forsyth counted thirty-two dead Indians within rifle
range of the island. Twelve Indian bodies were subsequently discovered
in one pit, and five in another. The Indians themselves confessed to
a loss of seventy-five killed in action, and when their proclivity
for concealing or diminishing the number of their slain in battle is
considered, we can readily believe that their actual loss in this fight
must have been much greater than they would have us believe.
Of the scouts, Lieutenant Beecher, Surgeon Movers, and six of the men
were either killed outright or died of their wounds; eight more were
disabled for life; of the remaining twelve who were wounded, nearly
all recovered completely. During the fight innumerable interesting
incidents occurred, some laughable and some serious. On the first day
of the conflict a number of young Indian boys from fifteen to eighteen
years of age crawled up and shot about fifty arrows into the circle
in which the scouts lay. One of these arrows struck one of the men,
Frank Herrington, full in the forehead. Not being able to pull it
out, one of his companions, lying in the same hole with him, cut off
the arrow with his knife, leaving the iron arrowhead sticking in his
frontal bone; in a moment a bullet struck him in the side of the head,
glanced across his forehead, impinged upon the arrowhead, and the two
fastened together fell to the ground--a queer but successful piece of
amateur surgery. Herrington wrapped a cloth around his head, which bled
profusely, and continued fighting as if nothing had happened.
Howard Morton, another of the scouts, was struck in the head by a
bullet, which finally lodged in the rear of one of his eyes, completely
destroying its sight forever; but Morton never faltered, but fought
bravely until the savages finally withdrew. Hudson Farley, a young
stripling of only eighteen, whose father was mortally wounded in the
first day’s fight, was shot through the shoulder, yet never mentioned
the fact until dark, when the list of wounded was called for. McCall,
the First Sergeant, Vilott, Clark, Farley the elder, and others
who were wounded, continued to bear their full share of the fight,
notwithstanding their great sufferings, until the Indians finally gave
up and withdrew. These incidents, of which many similar ones might be
told, only go to show the remarkable character of the men who composed
Forsyth’s party.
Considering this engagement in all its details and with all its
attendant circumstances, remembering that Forsyth’s party, including
himself, numbered all told but fifty-one men, and that the Indians
numbered about seventeen to one, this fight was one of the most
remarkable and at the same time successful contests in which our forces
on the Plains have ever been engaged; and the whole affair, from the
moment the first shot was fired until the beleaguered party was finally
relieved by Colonel Carpenter’s command, was a wonderful exhibition
of daring courage, stubborn bravery, and heroic endurance, under
circumstances of greatest peril and exposure. In all probability there
will never occur, in our future hostilities with the savage tribes
of the West, a struggle the equal of that in which were engaged the
heroic men who defended so bravely “Beecher’s island.” Forsyth, the
gallant leader, after a long period of suffering and leading the life
of an invalid for nearly two years, finally recovered from the effects
of his severe wounds, and is now, I am happy to say, as good as new,
contentedly awaiting the next war to give him renewed excitement.
XI.
The winter of 1867–68 found me comfortably quartered at Fort
Leavenworth, Kansas, on the banks of the Missouri. A considerable
portion of my regiment had been ordered to locate at that post in
the fall, and make that their winter quarters. General Sheridan,
then commanding that military department, had also established his
headquarters there, so that the post became more than ever the favorite
military station in the West. I had not been on duty with my regiment
since my rapid ride from Fort Wallace to Fort Harker in July, nor was
I destined to serve with it in the field for some time to come. This,
at the time, seemed a great deprivation to me, but subsequent events
proved most conclusively that it was all for the best, and the result
could not have been to me more satisfactory than it was, showing
as it did that the best laid plans of mice and men, etc. But I am
anticipating.
Those who have read the tabulated list of depredations committed by the
Indians, as given in the article describing General Forsyth’s desperate
fight on Arickaree Fork, may have noticed the name of William Comstock
in the column of killed. Comstock was the favorite and best known
scout on the central plains. Frequent reference has been made to him
in preceding numbers, particularly in the description of the attack of
the Indians on the detachment commanded by Robbins and Cook. Strange
as it may seem, when his thorough knowledge of the Indian character
is considered, he fell a victim to their treachery and barbarity.
The Indians were encamped with their village not far from Big Spring
station, in western Kansas, and were professedly at peace. Still, no
one familiar with the deceit and bad faith invariably practised by
the Indians when free to follow the bent of their inclinations, ought
to have thought of trusting themselves in their power. Yet Comstock,
with all his previous knowledge and experience, did that which he
would certainly have disapproved in others. He left the camp of the
troops, which was but a few miles from the Indian village, and with
but a single companion rode to the latter, and spent several hours in
friendly conversation with the chiefs. Nothing occurred during their
visit to excite suspicion. The Indians assumed a most peaceable bearing
toward them, and were profuse in their demonstrations of friendship.
When the time came for Comstock and his comrade to take their
departure, they were urged by the Indians to remain and spend the night
in the village.
The invitation was declined, and after the usual salutations the
two white men mounted their horses and set out to return to their
camp. Comstock always carried in his belt a beautiful white-handled
revolver, and wore it on this occasion. This had often attracted the
covetous eyes of the savages, and while in the village propositions to
barter for it had been made by more than one of the warriors. Comstock
invariably refused all offers to exchange it, no matter how tempting.
Months before, when riding together at the head of the column, in
pursuit of Indians, Comstock, who had observed that I carried a
revolver closely resembling his, remarked that I ought to have the
pair, and then laughingly added that he would carry his until we found
the Indians, and after giving them a sound whipping he would present
me the revolver. Frequently during the campaign, when on the march
and while sitting around the evening camp fire, Comstock would refer
to his promise concerning the revolver. After hunting Indians all
summer, but never finding them just when we desired them, Comstock was
not unfrequently joked upon the conditions under which he was to part
with his revolver, and fears were expressed that if he carried it until
we caught and whipped the Indians, he might be forced to go armed for
a long time. None of us imagined then that the revolver which was so
often the subject of jest, and of which Comstock was so proud, would be
the pretext for his massacre.
Comstock and his companion rode out of the village in the direction of
their own camp, totally unconscious of coming danger, and least of all
from those whose guests they had just been. They had proceeded about
a mile from the village when they observed about a dozen of the young
warriors galloping after them. Still suspecting no unfriendly design,
they continued their ride until joined by the young warriors. The
entire party then rode in company until, as was afterward apparent, the
Indians succeeded in separating the two white men, the one riding in
front, the other, Comstock, following in rear, each with Indians riding
on either side of them. At a preconcerted signal a combined attack was
made by the savages upon the two white men. Both the latter attempted
to defend themselves, but the odds and the suddenness of the attack
deprived them of all hope of saving their lives. Comstock was fatally
wounded at the first onslaught, and soon after was shot from his horse.
His companion, being finely mounted, wisely intrusted his life to the
speed of his horse, and soon outstripped his pursuers, and reached camp
with but a few slight wounds. The Indians did not seem disposed to
press him as closely as is their usual custom, but seemed only anxious
to secure Comstock. He, after falling to the ground severely wounded,
was completely riddled by steel-pointed arrows, and his scalp taken.
The principal trophy, however, in the opinion of the savages, was the
beautifully finished revolver with its white ivory handle, and, as they
afterward confessed when peace was proclaimed with their tribe, it
was to obtain this revolver that the party of young warriors left the
village and followed Comstock to his death. Thoroughly reliable in his
reports, brave, modest, and persevering in character, with a remarkable
knowledge of the country and the savage tribes infesting it, he was the
superior of all men who were scouts by profession with whom I have had
any experience.
While sitting in my quarters one day at Fort Leavenworth, late in the
fall of 1867, a gentleman was announced whose name recalled a sad and
harrowing sight. It proved to be the father of Lieutenant Kidder, whose
massacre, with that of his entire party of eleven men, was described
in preceding pages. It will be remembered that the savages had hacked,
mangled, and burned the bodies of Kidder and his men to such an extent
that it was impossible to recognize the body of a single one of the
party; even the clothing had been removed, so that we could not
distinguish the officer from his men, or the men from each other, by
any fragment of their uniform or insignia of their grade. Mr. Kidder,
after introducing himself, announced the object of his visit; it was to
ascertain the spot where the remains of his son lay buried, and, after
procuring suitable military escort to proceed to the grave and disinter
his son’s remains preparatory to transferring them to a resting place
in Dakota, of which territory he was at that time one of the judiciary.
It was a painful task I had to perform when I communicated to the
father the details of the killing of his son and followers. And equally
harassing to the feelings was it to have to inform him that there was
no possible chance of his being able to recognize his son’s remains.
“Was there not the faintest mark or fragment of his uniform by which
he might be known?” inquired the anxious parent. “Not one,” was the
reluctant reply. “And yet, since I now recall the appearance of the
mangled and disfigured remains, there was a mere trifle which attracted
my attention, but it could not have been your son who wore it.” “What
was it?” eagerly inquired the father. “It was simply the collar-band of
one of those ordinary check overshirts so commonly worn on the plains,
the color being black and white; the remainder of the garment, as well
as all other articles of dress, having been torn or burned from the
body.” Mr. Kidder then requested me to repeat the description of the
collar and material of which it was made; happily I had some cloth of
very similar appearance, and upon exhibiting this to Mr. Kidder, to
show the kind I meant, he declared that the body I referred to could
be no other than that of his murdered son. He went on to tell how his
son had received his appointment in the army but a few weeks before his
lamentable death, he only having reported for duty with his company a
few days before being sent on the scout which terminated his life; and
how, before leaving his home to engage in the military service, his
mother, with that thoughtful care and tenderness which only a mother
can feel, prepared some articles of wearing apparel, among others a few
shirts made from the checked material already described. Mr. Kidder
had been to Fort Sedgwick on the Platte, from which post his son had
last departed, and there learned that on leaving the post he wore one
of the checked shirts and put an extra one in his saddle pockets. Upon
this trifling link of evidence Mr. Kidder proceeded four hundred miles
west to Fort Wallace, and there being furnished with military escort
visited the grave containing the bodies of the twelve massacred men.
Upon disinterring the remains a body was found as I had described it,
bearing the simple checked collar-band; the father recognized the
remains of his son, and thus, as was stated at the close of a preceding
chapter, was the evidence of a mother’s love made the means by which
her son’s body was recognized and reclaimed, when all other had failed.
The winter and spring of 1868 were uneventful, so far as Indian
hostilities or the movements of troops were concerned. To be on the
ground when its services could be made available in case the Indians
became troublesome, the Seventh Cavalry left its winter quarters at
Fort Leavenworth in April, and marched two hundred and ninety miles
west to a point near the present site of Fort Hays, where the troops
established their summer rendezvous in camp. It not being my privilege
to serve with the regiment at that time, I remained at Fort Leavenworth
some time longer, and later in the summer repaired to my home in
Michigan, there amid the society of friends to enjoy the cool breezes
of Erie until the time came which would require me to go west.
In the mean time, until I can relate some of the scenes which were
enacted under my own eye, and which were afterwards the subject of
excited and angry comment, as well as of emphatic and authoritative
approval, it will not be uninteresting to examine into some of the
causes which led to the memorable winter campaign of 1868–’69,
including the battle of the Washita; and the reader may also be
enabled to judge as to what causes the people of the frontier are
most indebted for the comparatively peaceable condition of the savage
tribes of the plains during the past three years. The question may
also arise as to what influence the wild nomadic tribes of the West
are most likely to yield and become peaceably inclined toward their
white neighbors, willing to forego their accustomed raids and attacks
upon the frontier settlements, and content to no longer oppose the
advance of civilization. Whether this desirable condition of affairs
can be permanently and best secured by the display and exercise of a
strong but just military power, or by the extension of the olive-branch
on one hand and government annuities on the other, or by a happy
combination of both, has long been one of the difficult problems
whose solution has baffled the judgment of our legislators from the
formation of the government to the present time. My firm conviction,
based upon an intimate and thorough analysis of the habits, traits of
character, and natural instinct of the Indian, and strengthened and
supported by the almost unanimous opinion of all persons who have made
the Indian problem a study, and have studied it, not from a distance,
but in immediate contact with all the facts bearing thereupon, is
that the Indian cannot be elevated to that great level where he can
be induced to adopt any policy or mode of life varying from those to
which he has ever been accustomed by any method of teaching, argument,
reasoning, or coaxing which is not preceded and followed closely in
reserve by a superior physical force. In other words, the Indian is
capable of recognizing no controlling influence but that of stern
arbitrary power. To assume that he can be guided by appeals to his
ideas of moral right and wrong, independent of threatening or final
compulsion, is to place him far above his more civilized brothers of
the white race, who, in the most advanced stage of refinement and
morality, still find it necessary to employ force, sometimes resort
to war, to exact justice from a neighboring nation. And yet there are
those who argue that the Indian with all his lack of moral privileges,
is so superior to the white race as to be capable of being controlled
in his savage traits and customs, and induced to lead a proper life,
simply by being politely requested to do so. The campaign of 1868–’69,
under the direction of General Sheridan, who had entire command of
the country infested by the five troublesome and warlike tribes, the
Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches, and Apaches, was fruitful in
valuable results. At the same time the opponents of a war policy raised
the cry that the military were making war on friendly Indians; one
writer, an Indian agent, even asserting that the troops had attacked
and killed Indians half civilized, who had fought on the side of the
Government during the war with the Confederate States. It was claimed
by the adherents of the peace party that the Indians above named had
been guilty of no depredations against the whites, and had done nothing
deserving of the exercise of military power. I believe it is a rule
in evidence that a party coming into court is not expected to impeach
his own witnesses. I propose to show by the official statements of the
officers of the Indian Department, including some of those who were
loudest and most determined in their assertions of the innocence of the
Indians after prompt punishment had been administered by the military,
that the Indian tribes whose names have been given were individually
and collectively guilty of unprovoked and barbarous assaults on the
settlers of the frontier; that they committed these depredations at
the very time they were receiving arms and other presents from the
Government; and that no provocation had been offered either by the
Government or the defenceless citizens of the border. In other words,
by those advocating the Indian side of the dispute it will be clearly
established that a solemn treaty had been reluctantly entered into
between the Indians and the Government, by which the demands of the
Indians were complied with, and the conditions embraced in the treaty
afterwards faithfully carried out on the part of the Government; and at
the very time that the leading chiefs and old men of the tribes were
pledging themselves and their people that “they will not attack any
persons at home or travelling, or disturb any property belonging to
the people of the United States, or to persons friendly therewith,” and
that “they will never capture or carry off from the settlements women
or children, and they will never kill or scalp white men or attempt
to do them harm,” the young men and warriors of these same tribes,
embracing the sons of the most prominent chiefs and signers of the
treaty, were actually engaged in devastating the settlements on the
Kansas frontier, murdering men, women, and children, and driving off
the stock. Now to the evidence. First glance at the following brief
summary of the terms of the treaty which was ratified between the
Government and the Cheyennes and Arapahoes on the 19th of August, 1868,
and signed and agreed to by all the chiefs of these two tribes known or
claiming to be prominent, and men of influence among their own people.
As the terms of the treaty are almost identical with those contained
in most of the treaties made with other tribes, excepting the limits
and location of reservations, it will be interesting for purposes of
reference.
First. Peace and friendship shall forever continue.
Second. Whites or Indians committing wrongs to be punished according to
law.
Third. The following district of country, to wit, “commencing at
the point where the Arkansas river crosses the 37th parallel of
north latitude; thence west on said parallel--the said line being
the southern boundary of the State of Kansas--to the Cimarron river
(sometimes called the Red fork of the Arkansas river); thence down
said Cimarron river, in the middle of the main channel thereof, to
the Arkansas river; thence up the Arkansas river in the middle of the
main channel thereof to the place of beginning, is set apart for the
Cheyenne and Arapahoe Indians.”
Fourth. The said Indians shall have the right to hunt on the unoccupied
lands of the United States so long as game may be found thereon, and so
long as peace subsists among the whites and Indians on the border of
the hunting districts.
Fifth. Is a provision for the selection and occupation of lands for
those of said Indians who desire to commence farming on said reserve,
and for expenditures for their benefit.
Sixth. The United States further provides for an annual distribution of
clothing for a term of years.
The treaty with the Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache tribes, ratified August
25, 1868, embraced substantially the same provisions as those just
quoted, excepting that relating to their reservation, which was as
follows: “Commencing at a point where the Washita river crosses the
98th meridian west from Greenwich, thence up the Washita river, in
the middle of the main channel thereof, to a point thirty miles west
of Fort Cobb, as now established; thence due west to the north fork
of Red river, provided said line strikes said river east of the 100th
meridian of west longitude; if not, then only to said meridian line,
and thence south on said meridian line to the said north fork of Red
river; thence down said north fork, in the middle of the main channel
thereof, from the point where it may be first intersected by the lines
above described, to the main Red river; thence down said river, in the
main channel thereof, to its intersection with the 98th meridian of
longitude west from Greenwich; thence north on said meridian line to
the place of beginning.”
To those who propose to follow the movements of the troops during the
winter campaign of 1868–’69, it will be well to bear in mind the limits
of the last named reservation, as the charge was made by the Indian
agents that the military had attacked the Indians when the latter were
peacefully located within the limits of their reservation.
To show that the Government through its civil agents was doing
everything required of it to satisfy the Indians, and that the agent
of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes was firmly of the opinion that every
promise of the Government had not only been faithfully carried out, but
that the Indians themselves had no complaint to make, the following
letter from the agent to the Superintendent of Indian Affairs is
submitted:
FORT LARNED, KANSAS, August 10, 1868.
SIR: I have the honor to inform you that I yesterday made the
whole issue of annuity goods, arms, and ammunition to the Cheyenne
chiefs [the Arapahoes and Apaches had received their portion in
July. G. A. C.] and people of their nation; they were delighted
at receiving the goods, particularly the arms and ammunition, and
never before have I known them to be better satisfied and express
themselves as being so well contented previous to the issue. I
made them a long speech, following your late instructions with
reference to what I said to them. They have now left for their
hunting-grounds, and _I am perfectly satisfied that there will be
no trouble with them this season, and consequently with no Indians
of my agency_.
I have the honor to be, with much respect, your obedient servant,
E. W. WYNKOOP, United States Indian Agent.
Hon. THOMAS MURPHY, Superintendent Indian Affairs.
The italics are mine, but I desire to invite attention to the
confidence and strong reliance placed in these Indians by a man who
was intimately associated with them, interested in their welfare, and
supposed to be able to speak authoritatively as to their character and
intentions. If they could deceive him, it is not surprising that other
equally well-meaning persons further east should be equally misled.
The above letter is dated August 10, 1868. The following extract is
from a letter written by the same party and to the Superintendent of
Indian Affairs, dated at same place on the 10th of September, 1868,
exactly one month after his positive declaration that the Cheyennes
“were perfectly satisfied, and there will be no trouble with them this
season.”
Here is the extract referred to: “Subsequently I received permission
from the Department to issue to them their arms and ammunition, which I
accordingly did. But a short time before the issue was made a war party
had started north from the Cheyenne village, on the war path against
the Pawnees; and they, not knowing of the issue and smarting under
their _supposed_ wrongs, committed the outrages on the Saline river
which have led to the present unfortunate aspect of affairs. The United
States troops are now south of the Arkansas river in hot pursuit of the
Cheyennes, the effect of which I think will be to plunge other tribes
into difficulty and finally culminate in a general Indian war.” It will
be observed that no justification is offered for the guilty Indians
except that had they been aware of the wise and beneficent intention
of the Government to issue them a fresh supply of arms, they might
have delayed their murderous raid against the defenceless settlers
until after the issue. Fears are also expressed that other tribes may
be plunged into difficulty, but by the same witness and others it is
easily established that the other tribes referred to were represented
prominently in the war party which had devastated the settlements on
the Saline. First I will submit an extract of a letter dated Fort
Larned, August 1, 1868, from Thomas Murphy, Superintendent of Indian
Affairs, to the Hon. N. G. Taylor, Commissioner of Indian Affairs,
Washington, D. C.:
SIR: I have the honor to inform you that I held a council to-day
with the Arapahoes and Apache Indians, at which I explained to them
why their arms and ammunition had been withheld; that the white
settlers were now well armed and determined that no more raids
should be made through their country by large bodies of Indians;
and that while the whites were friendly and well disposed toward
the Indians, yet if the Indians attempted another raid such as they
recently made on the Kaw reservation, I feared themselves and the
whites would have a fight, and that it would bring on war.
The head chief of the Arapahoes, Little Raven, replied “that no
more trips would be made by his people into the settlements: that
their hearts were good toward the whites, and they wished to remain
at peace with them.” I told him I would now give them their arms
and ammunition; that I hoped they would use them for the sole
purpose of securing food for themselves and families, and that in
no case would I ever hear of their using these arms against their
white brethren. Little Raven and the other chiefs then promised
that these arms should never be used against the whites, and Agent
Wynkoop then delivered to the Arapahoes one hundred pistols,
eighty Lancaster rifles, twelve kegs of powder, one and one-half
kegs of lead, and fifteen thousand caps; and to the Apaches he
gave forty pistols, twenty Lancaster rifles, three kegs of powder,
one-half keg of lead, and five thousand caps, for which they
seemed much pleased.... I would have remained here to see the
Cheyennes did I deem it important to do so. From what I can learn
there will be no trouble whatever with them. They will come here,
get their ammunition and leave immediately to hunt buffalo. They
are well and peacefully disposed toward the whites, and, unless
some unlooked-for event should transpire to change their present
feelings, they will keep their treaty pledges.
This certainly reads well, and at Washington or further east would
be regarded as a favorable indication of the desire for peace on
the part of the Indians. The reader is asked to remember that the
foregoing letters and extracts are from professed friends of the
Indian and advocates of what is known as the peace policy. The letter
of Superintendent Murphy was written the day of council, August 1.
Mark his words of advice to Little Raven as to how the arms were to be
used, and note Little Raven’s reply containing his strong promises of
maintaining friendly relations with the whites. Yet the second night
following the issue of arms, a combined war party of Cheyennes and
Arapahoes, numbering over two hundred warriors, almost the exact number
of pistols issued at the council, left the Indian village to inaugurate
a bloody raid in the Kansas settlements; and among the Arapahoes was
the son of Little Raven. By reading the speech made by this chief
in the council referred to by Mr. Murphy, a marked resemblance will
be detected to the stereotyped responses delivered by Indian chiefs
visiting the authorities at Washington, or when imposing upon the
credulous and kind-hearted people who assemble at Cooper Institute
periodically to listen to these untutored orators of the plains. The
statements and promises uttered in the one instance are fully as
reliable as those listened to so breathlessly in the others. Regarding
the raid made by the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, it will be considered
sufficient perhaps when I base my statements upon the following “Report
of an interview between Colonel E. W. Wynkoop, United States Indian
Agent, and Little Rock, a Cheyenne chief, held at Fort Larned, Kansas,
August 19, 1868, in the presence of Lieutenant S. M. Robbins, Seventh
United States Cavalry, John S. Smith, United States interpreter, and
James Morrison, scout for Indian agency.”
Question by Colonel Wynkoop: “Six nights ago I spoke to you in regard
to depredations committed on the Saline. I told you to go and find out
by whom these depredations were committed and to bring me straight
news. What news do you bring?”
Little Rock: “I took your advice and went there. I am now here to
tell you all I know. This war party of Cheyennes which left the camp
of these tribes above the forks of Walnut creek about the 2d or 3d of
August, went out against the Pawnees, crossed the Smoky Hill about
Fort Hays, and thence proceeded to the Saline, where there were ten
lodges of Sioux in the Cheyenne camp when this war party left, and
about twenty men of them and four Arapahoes accompanied the party.
The Cheyennes numbered about two hundred; nearly all the young men in
the village went; _Little Raven’s son was one of the four Arapahoes_.
When the party reached the Saline they turned down the stream, with
the exception of twenty, who, being fearful of depredations being
committed against the whites by the party going in the direction of the
settlements, kept on north toward the Pawnees. The main party continued
down the Saline until they came in sight of the settlement; they then
camped there. A Cheyenne named Oh-e-ah-mo-he-a, a brother of White
Antelope, who was killed at Sand Creek, and another named Red Nose,
proceeded to the first house; they afterwards returned to the camp
and with them a woman captive. The main party was surprised at this
action, and forcibly took possession of her, and returned her to her
house. The two Indians had outraged the woman before they brought her
to the camp. After the outrage had been committed, the parties left the
Saline and went north toward the settlement of the south fork of the
Solomon, _where they were kindly received and fed by the white people_.
They left the settlements on the south fork and proceeded toward the
settlements on the north fork. When in sight of these settlements, they
came upon a body of armed settlers, who fired upon them; they avoided
the party, went around them, and approached a house some distance
off. In the vicinity of the house they came upon a white man alone
upon the prairie. Big Head’s son[D] rode at him and knocked him down
with a club. The Indian who had committed the outrage upon the white
woman, known as White Antelope’s brother, then fired upon the white
man without effect, while the third Indian rode up and killed him.
Soon after they killed a white man, and, close by, a woman--all in the
same settlement. At the time these people were killed, the party was
divided in feeling, the majority being opposed to any outrages being
committed; but finding it useless to contend against these outrages
being committed without bringing on a strife among themselves, they
gave way and all went in together. They then went to another house
in the same settlement, and there killed two men and took two little
girls prisoners; this on the same day. After committing this last
outrage the party turned south toward the Saline, where they came upon
a body of mounted troops; the troops immediately charged the Indians,
and the pursuit was continued a long time. The Indians having the two
children, their horses becoming fatigued, dropped the children without
hurting them. Soon after the children were dropped the pursuit ceased;
but the Indians continued on up the Saline. A portion of the Indians
afterward returned to look for the children, but they were unable to
find them. After they had proceeded some distance up the Saline, the
party divided, the majority going north toward the settlements on the
Solomon, but thirty of them started toward their village, supposed
to be some distance northwest of Fort Larned. _Another small party
returned to Black Kettle’s village_, from which party I got this
information.[E] I am fearful that before this time the party that
started north had committed a great many depredations.”
[D] Afterward captured by my command and killed in a difficulty
with the guard at Fort Hays, Kansas, in the summer of 1869.
[E] Little Rock was a chief of Black Kettle’s band of
Cheyennes, and second in rank to Black Kettle.
Question by Colonel Wynkoop: “Do you know the names of the principal
men of this party that committed the depredations, besides White
Antelope’s brother?”
Answer by Little Rock: “There were Medicine Arrow’s oldest son, named
Tall Wolf; Red Nose, who was one of the men who outraged the woman, Big
Head’s son named Porcupine Bear; and Sand Hill’s brother, known as the
Bear that Goes Ahead.”
Question by Colonel Wynkoop: “You told me your nation wants peace; will
you, in accordance with your treaty stipulations, deliver up the men
whom you have named as being the leaders of the party who committed the
outrages named?”
Answer by Little Rock: “I think that the only men who ought to suffer
and be responsible for these outrages are White Antelope’s brother and
Red Nose, the men who ravished the woman; and when I return to the
Cheyenne camp and assemble the chiefs and head men, I think those two
men will be delivered up to you.”
Question by Colonel Wynkoop: “I consider the whole party guilty; but it
being impossible to punish all of them, I hold the principal men, whom
you mentioned, responsible for all. They had no right to be led and
governed by two men. If no depredations had been committed after the
outrage on the woman, the two men whom you have mentioned alone would
have been guilty.”
Answer by Little Rock: “After your explanation I think your demand for
the men is right. I am willing to deliver them up, and will go back to
the tribe and use my best endeavors to have them surrendered. I am but
one man, and cannot answer for the entire nation.”
Other questions and answers of similar import followed.
The terms of the interview between Colonel Wynkoop and Little Rock were
carefully noted down and transmitted regularly to his next superior
officer, Superintendent Murphy, who but a few days previous, and within
the same month, had officially reported to the Indian Commissioner
at Washington that peace and good will reigned undisturbed between
the Indians under his charge and the whites. Even he, with his strong
leaning toward the adoption of morbid measures of a peaceful character,
and his disinclination to believe the Indians could meditate evil
toward their white neighbors, was forced, as his next letter shows, to
alter his views.
OFFICE SUPERINTENDENT INDIAN AFFAIRS, ATCHISON, KANSAS,
August 22, 1868.
SIR: I have the honor herewith to transmit a letter of the 19th
inst. from Agent Wynkoop, enclosing report of a talk which he had
with Little Rock, a Cheyenne chief, whom he had sent to ascertain
the facts relative to the recent troubles on the Solomon and Saline
rivers, in this State. The agent’s letter and report are full, and
explain themselves. I fully concur in the views expressed by the
agent that the innocent Indians, who are trying to keep, in good
faith, their treaty pledges, be protected in the manner indicated
by him, while I earnestly recommend that the Indians who have
committed these gross outrages be turned over to the military,
and that they be severely punished. When I reflect that at the
very time these Indians were making such loud professions of
friendship at Larned, receiving their annuities, etc., they were
then contemplating and planning this campaign, I can no longer have
confidence in what they say or promise. War is surely upon us,
and in view of the importance of the case, I earnestly recommend
that Agent Wynkoop be furnished promptly with the views of the
Department, and that full instructions be given him for his future
action.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
(Signed) THOMAS MURPHY, Superintendent Indian Affairs.
Hon. C. E. MIX, Acting Commissioner of Indian Affairs,
Washington, D. C.
What were the recommendations of Agent Wynkoop referred to in Mr.
Murphy’s letter? They were as follows: “Let me take those Indians whom
I know to be guiltless and desirous of remaining at peace, and locate
them with their lodges and families at some good place that I may
select in the vicinity of this post (Larned); and let those Indians
be entirely subsisted by the Government until this trouble is over,
and be kept within certain bounds; and let me be furnished with a
small battalion of United States troops, for the purpose of protecting
them from their own people, and from being forced by them into war;
let those who refuse to respond to my call and come within the bounds
prescribed, be considered at war, and let them be properly punished. By
this means, if war takes place--which I consider inevitable--we can be
able to discriminate between those who deserve punishment and those who
do not; otherwise it will be a matter of impossibility.”
This proposition seems, from its wording, to be not only a feasible
one, but based on principles of justice to all concerned, and no doubt
would be so interpreted by the theorizers on the Indian question who
study its merits from afar. Before acting upon Colonel Wynkoop’s plan,
it was in the regular order referred to General Sherman, at that time
commanding the Military Division of the Missouri, in which the Indians
referred to were located. His indorsement in reply briefly disposed of
the proposition by exposing its absurdity:
HEADQUARTERS MILITARY DIVISION OF THE MISSOURI, ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI,
September 19, 1868.
I now regard the Cheyennes and Arapahoes at war, and that it
will be impossible for our troops to discriminate between the
well-disposed and the warlike parts of these bands, unless an
absolute separation be made. I prefer that the agents collect all
of the former and conduct them to their reservation within the
Indian territory south of Kansas, there to be provided for under
their supervision, say about old Fort Cobb. I cannot consent to
their being collected and held near Fort Larned. So long as Agent
Wynkoop remains at Fort Larned the vagabond part of the Indians
will cluster about him for support, and to beg of the military. The
vital part of these tribes are committing murders and robberies
from Kansas to Colorado, and it is an excess of generosity on our
part to be feeding and supplying the old, young, and feeble, while
their young men are at war.
I do not pretend to say what should be done with these, but it will
simplify our game of war, already complicated enough, by removing
them well away from our field of operations.
I have the honor to be, your obedient servant,
(Signed) W. T. SHERMAN, Lieutenant-General, commanding.
Again, on the 26th of the same month, General Sherman, in a letter
to General Schofield, then Secretary of War, writes: “The annuity
goods for these Indians, Kiowas and Comanches, should be sent to Fort
Cobb, and the Indian agent for these Indians should go there at once.
And if the Secretary of the Interior has any contingent fund out of
which he could provide food, or if he could use a part of the regular
appropriation for food instead of clothing, it may keep these Indians
from joining the hostile Cheyennes and Arapahoes. The latter should
receive nothing, and now that they are at war, I propose to give them
enough of it to satisfy them to their hearts’ content, and General
Sheridan will not relax his efforts till the winter will put them at
our mercy. He reports that he can already account for about seventy
dead Indians, and his forces are right in among these hostile Indians
on the Upper Republican, and on the head of the Canadian south of Fort
Dodge.”
Still another letter from General Sherman to the Secretary of War
argues the case as follows: “All the Cheyennes and Arapahoes are now
at war. Admitting that some of them have not done acts of murder,
rape, etc., still they have not restrained those who have, nor have
they on demand given up the criminals as they agreed to do. The treaty
made at Medicine Lodge is, therefore, already broken by them, and the
War Department should ask the concurrence of the Indian Department,
or invoke the superior orders of the President against any goods
whatever, even clothing, going to any part of the tribes named, until
this matter is settled. As military commander I have the right, unless
restrained by superior orders, to prevent the issue of any goods
whatever to Indians outside of these reservations; and if the agency
for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes be established at or near old Fort
Cobb, the agent should if possible be able to provide for and feed
such as may go there of their own volition, or who may be driven there
by our military movements.... I have despatched General Hazen to the
frontier, with a limited amount of money wherewith to aid the said
agents to provide for the peaceful parts of those tribes this winter,
while _en route_ to and after their arrival at their new homes. No
better time could be possibly chosen than the present for destroying
or humiliating those bands that have so outrageously violated
their treaties and begun a devastating war without one particle of
provocation; and after a reasonable time given for the innocent to
withdraw, I will solicit an order from the President declaring all
Indians who remain outside of their lawful reservations to be outlaws,
and commanding all people, soldiers and citizens, to proceed against
them as such. We have never heretofore been in a condition to adopt
this course, because until now we could not clearly point out to these
Indians where they may rightfully go to escape the consequences of the
hostile acts of their fellows. The right to hunt buffaloes, secured
by the treaties, could also be regulated so as to require all parties
desiring to hunt to procure from the agent a permit, which permit
should be indorsed by the commanding officer of the nearest military
post; but I think, the treaty having been clearly violated by the
Indians themselves, this hunting right is entirely lost to them, if we
so declare it.”
The foregoing extracts from letters and official correspondence which
passed between high dignitaries of the Government, who were supposed
not only to be thoroughly conversant with Indian affairs, but to
represent the civil and military phase of the question, will, when
read in connection with the statements of the superintendent and agent
of the Indians, and that of the chief, Little Rock, give the reader
some idea of the origin and character of the difficulties between the
whites and Indians in the summer and fall of 1868. The tabulated list
of depredations by Indians, accompanying the chapter descriptive of
General Forsyth’s campaign, will give more extended information in a
condensed form.
While Forsyth was moving his detachment of scouts through the valleys
of the Republican, in the northwestern portion of Kansas, General
Sheridan had also arranged to have a well-equipped force operating
south of the Arkansas river, and in this way to cause the two favorite
haunts of the Indians to be overrun simultaneously, and thus prevent
them when driven from one haunt from fleeing in safety and unmolested
to another. The expedition intended to operate south of the Arkansas
was composed of the principal portion of the Seventh Cavalry and a few
companies of the Third Regular Infantry, the entire force under command
of Brigadier-General Alfred Sully, an officer of long experience
among the Indians, and one who had in times gone by achieved no
little distinction as an Indian fighter, and at a later date became a
partial advocate of the adoption of the peace policy. General Sully’s
expedition, after being thoroughly equipped and supplied, under his
personal supervision, with everything needful in a campaign such as was
about to be undertaken, crossed the Arkansas river about the 1st of
September, at Fort Dodge, and marching a little west of south struck
the Cimarron river, where they first encountered Indians. From the
Cimarron the troops moved in a southeasterly direction, one day’s march
to Beaver creek, the savages opposing and fighting them during the
entire day. That night the Indians came close enough to fire into the
camp, an unusual proceeding in Indian warfare, as they rarely molest
troops during the hours of night. The next day General Sully directed
his march down the valley of the Beaver; but just as his troops were
breaking camp, the long wagon train having already “pulled out,” and
the rear guard of the troops having barely got into their saddles, a
party of between two and three hundred warriors, who had evidently in
some inexplicable manner contrived to conceal their approach until the
proper moment, dashed into the deserted camp within a few yards of the
rear of the troops, and succeeded in cutting off a few led horses and
two of the cavalrymen who, as is so often the case, had lingered a
moment behind the column. General Sully and staff were at that moment
near the head of the column, a mile or more from camp. The General,
as was his custom on the march, being comfortably stowed away in his
ambulance, of course it was impossible that he or his staff, from
their great distance from the scene of actual attack, could give the
necessary orders in the case.
Fortunately, the acting adjutant of the cavalry, Brevet Captain A. E.
Smith, was riding at the rear of the column and witnessed the attack
of the Indians. Captain Hamilton of the cavalry was also present in
command of the rear guard. Wheeling his guard to the right about, he
at once prepared to charge the Indians and to attempt the rescue of
the two troopers who were being carried off as prisoners before his
very eyes. At the same time Captain Smith, as representative of the
commanding officer of the cavalry, promptly took the responsibility
of directing a squadron of cavalry to wheel out of column and advance
in support of Captain Hamilton’s guard. With this hastily formed
detachment, the Indians, still within pistol range, but moving off with
their prisoners, were gallantly charged and so closely pressed that
they were forced to relinquish possession of one of their prisoners,
but not before shooting him through the body and leaving him on the
ground, as they supposed, mortally wounded. The troops continued to
charge the retreating Indians, upon whom they were gaining, determined
if possible to effect the rescue of their remaining comrade. They were
advancing down one slope while the Indians just across a ravine were
endeavoring to escape with their prisoner up the opposite ascent, when
a peremptory order reached the officers commanding the pursuing force
to withdraw their men and reform the column at once. Delaying only long
enough for an ambulance to arrive from the train in which to transport
their wounded comrade, the order was obeyed. Upon rejoining the column
the two officers named were summoned before the officer commanding
their regiment, and, after a second-hand reprimand, were ordered in
arrest and their sabres taken from them, for leaving the column without
orders--the attempted and half successful rescue of their comrades and
the repulse of the Indians to the contrary notwithstanding. Fortunately
wiser and better-natured counsels prevailed in a few hours, and their
regimental commander was authorized to release these two officers from
their brief durance, their sabres were restored to them, and they
became, as they deserved, the recipients of numerous complimentary
expressions from their brother officers. The terrible fate awaiting
the unfortunate trooper carried off by the Indians spread a deep gloom
throughout the command. All were too familiar with the horrid customs
of the savages to hope for a moment that the captive would be reserved
for aught but a slow lingering death, from torture the most horrible
and painful which savage, bloodthirsty minds could suggest. Such was
in truth his sad fate, as we learned afterwards when peace (?) was
established with the tribes then engaged in war. Never shall I forget
the consummate coolness and particularity of detail with which some of
the Indians engaged in the affair related to myself and party the exact
process by which the captured trooper was tortured to death; how he was
tied to a stake, strips of flesh cut from his body, arms, and legs,
burning brands thrust into the bleeding wounds, the nose, lips, and
ears cut off, and finally, when from loss of blood, excessive pain, and
anguish, the poor, bleeding, almost senseless mortal fell to the ground
exhausted, the younger Indians were permitted to rush in and despatch
him with their knives.
The expedition proceeded on down the valley of Beaver creek, the
Indians contesting every step of the way. In the afternoon, about
three o’clock, the troops arrived at a ridge of sand-hills, a few
miles southeast of the present site of “Camp Supply,” where quite a
determined engagement took place with the savages, the three tribes,
Cheyennes, Arapahoes and Kiowas, being the assailants. The Indians
seemed to have reserved their strongest efforts until the troops and
train had advanced well into the sand-hills, when a most obstinate
and well-conducted resistance was offered to the further advance of
the troops. It was evident to many of the officers, and no doubt to
the men, that the troops were probably nearing the location of the
Indian villages, and that this last display of opposition to their
further advance was to save the villages. The character of the country
immediately about the troops was not favorable to the operations of
cavalry; the surface of the rolling plain was cut up by irregular and
closely located sand-hills, too steep and sandy to allow cavalry to
move with freedom, yet capable of being easily cleared of savages by
troops fighting on foot. The Indians took post on the hilltops and
began a harassing fire on the troops and train. Had the infantry been
unloaded from the wagons promptly, instead of adding to the great
weight, sinking the wheels sometimes almost in to the axles, and had
they, with the assistance of a few of the dismounted cavalry, been
deployed on both sides of the train, the latter could have been safely
conducted through what was then decided to be impassable sand-hills,
but which were a short time afterward proved to be perfectly
practicable. And once beyond the range of sand-hills but a short
distance, the villages of the attacking warriors would have been found
exposed to an easy and important capture, probably terminating the
campaign by compelling a satisfactory peace. Captain Yates, with his
single troop of cavalry, was ordered forward to drive the Indians away.
This was a proceeding which did not seem to meet with favor from the
savages. Captain Yates could drive them wherever he encountered them,
but it was only to cause the redskins to appear in increased numbers
at some other threatened point. After contending in this non-effective
manner for a couple of hours, the impression arose in the minds of some
that the train could not be conducted through the sand-hills in the
face of the strong opposition offered by the Indians. The order was
issued to turn about and withdraw. This order was executed, and the
troop and train, followed by the exultant Indians, retired a few miles
to the Beaver, and encamped for the night on the ground now known as
“Camp Supply.”
Captain Yates had caused to be brought off the field, when his troop
was ordered to retire, the body of one of his men who had been slain in
the fight by the Indians. As the troops were to continue their backward
movement next day, and it was impossible to transport the dead body
further, Captain Yates ordered preparations made for interring it in
camp that night; but knowing that the Indians would thoroughly search
the deserted camp-ground almost before the troops should get out of
sight, and would be quick with their watchful eyes to detect a grave,
and if successful in discovering it would unearth the body in order
to obtain the scalp, directions were given to prepare the grave after
nightfall, and the spot selected would have baffled the eye of any one
but that of an Indian. The grave was dug under the picket line to which
the seventy or eighty horses of the troops would be tethered during the
night, so that their constant tramping and pawing should completely
cover up and obliterate all traces of the grave containing the body of
the dead trooper. The following morning even those who had performed
the sad rites of burial to their fallen comrade could scarcely have
been able to indicate the exact location of the grave. Yet when we
returned to that point a few weeks afterward it was discovered that the
wily savages had found the grave, unearthed the body, and removed the
scalp of their victim, on the day following the interment.
Early on the morning succeeding the fight in the sand-hills General
Sully resumed his march toward Fort Dodge, the Indians following and
harassing the movements of the troops until about two o’clock in the
afternoon, when, apparently satisfied with their success in forcing the
expedition back, thus relieving their villages and themselves from the
danger which had threatened them, they fired their parting shots and
rode off in triumph. That night the troops camped on Bluff creek, from
which point General Sully proceeded to Fort Dodge, on the Arkansas,
leaving the main portion of the command in camp on Bluff creek, where
we shall see them again.
XII.
In a late chapter I promised to submit testimony from those high
in authority, now the highest, showing that among those who had
given the subject the most thoughtful attention, the opinion was
unanimous in favor of the “abolition of the civil Indian agents and
licensed traders,” and the transfer of the Indian Bureau back to
the War Department, where it originally belonged. The question as
to which cabinet minister, the Secretary of War or the Secretary of
the Interior, should retain control of the bureau regulating Indian
affairs, has long been and still is one of unending discussion, and is
of far more importance to the country than the casual observer might
imagine. The army as a unit, and from motives of peace and justice,
favors giving this control to the Secretary of War. Opposed to this
view is a large, powerful, and at times unscrupulous party, many of
whose strongest adherents are dependent upon the fraudulent practices
and profits of which the Indian is the victim for the acquirement of
dishonest wealth--practices and profits which only exist so long as
the Indian Bureau is under the supervision of the Interior Department.
The reasons in favor of the War Department having the control of
the government of the Indians exist at all times. But the struggle
for this control seems to make its appearance, like an epidemic,
at certain periods, and for a brief time will attract considerable
comment and discussion both in and out of Congress, then disappear
from public view. To a candid, impartial mind I believe the reasons
why the Indians should be controlled by the Department of War, the
department which must assume the reins of power when any real control
is exercised, are convincing. It may be asked, Then why, if the
reasons are so convincing, are not proper representations made to
the authorities at Washington and the transfer secured? This inquiry
seems natural enough. But the explanation is sufficiently simple. The
army officers, particularly those stationed on the frontier, have but
little opportunity, even had they the desire, to submit their views
or recommendations to Congress as a body or to members individually.
When impressed with ideas whose adoption is deemed essential to the
Government, the usual and recognized mode of presenting them for
consideration is by written communications forwarded through the
intermediate and superior commanders until laid before the Secretary
of War, by whom, if considered sufficiently important, they are
submitted to the President, and by him to Congress. Having made this
recommendation and furnished the Department with his reasons therefor,
an officer considers that he has discharged his duty in the premises,
and the responsibility of the adoption or rejection of his ideas then
rests with a superior power. Beyond the conscientious discharge of
his duty he has no interest, certainly none of a pecuniary nature,
to serve. In the periodical contests which prevail between the
military and civil aspirants for the control of the Indian Bureau, the
military content themselves as above stated with a brief and unbiassed
presentation of their views, and having submitted their argument to the
proper tribunal, no further steps are taken to influence the decision.
Not so with those advocating the claims of the civil agents and traders
to public recognition. The preponderance of testimony and the best
of the argument rest with the military. But there are many ways of
illustrating that the battle is not always to the strong nor the race
to the swift. The ways of Congress are sometimes peculiar--not to
employ a more expressive term.
Under the Constitution of the United States there are but two houses
of Congress, the Senate and the House of Representatives, and most
people residing within the jurisdiction of its laws suppose this to
be the extent of the legislative body; but to those acquainted with
the internal working of that important branch of the Government, there
is still a third house of Congress, better known as the lobby. True,
its existence is neither provided for nor recognized by law; yet it
exists nevertheless, and so powerful, although somewhat hidden, is its
influence upon the other branches of Congress, that almost any measure
it is interested in becomes a law. It is somewhat remarkable that those
measures which are plainly intended to promote the public interests are
seldom agitated or advocated in the third house, while those measures
of doubtful propriety or honesty usually secure the almost undivided
support of the lobby. There are few prominent questions connected
with the feeble policy of the Government which can and do assemble
so powerful and determined a lobby as a proposed interference with
the system of civilian superintendents, agents, and traders for the
Indians. Let but some member of Congress propose to inquire into the
workings of the management of the Indians, or propose a transfer of
the bureau to the War Department, and the leaders of the combination
opposed raise a cry which is as effective in rallying their supporters
as was the signal of Roderick Dhu. From almost every State and
territory the retainers of the bureau flock to the national capital.
Why this rallying of the clans? Is there any principle involved? With
the few, yes; with the many, no. Then what is the mighty influence
which brings together this hungry host? Why this determined opposition
to any interference with the management of the Indians? I remember
making this inquiry years ago, and the answer then, which is equally
applicable now, was: “There is too much money in the Indian question
to allow it to pass into other hands.” This I believe to be the true
solution of our difficulties with the Indians at the present day. It
seems almost incredible that a policy which is claimed and represented
to be based on sympathy for the red man and a desire to secure to him
his rights, is shaped in reality and manipulated behind the scenes with
the distinct and sole object of reaping a rich harvest by plundering
both the Government and the Indians. To do away with the vast army of
agents, traders, and civilian employees which is a necessary appendage
of the civilian policy, would be to deprive many members of Congress
of a vast deal of patronage which they now enjoy. There are few, if
any, more comfortable or desirable places of disposing of a friend who
has rendered valuable political service or electioneering aid, than to
secure for him the appointment of Indian agent. The salary of an agent
is comparatively small. Men without means, however, eagerly accept
the position; and in a few years, at furthest, they almost invariably
retire in wealth. Who ever heard of a retired Indian agent or trader
in limited circumstances? How do they realize fortunes upon so small a
salary? In the disposition of the annuities provided for the Indians
by the Government, the agent is usually the distributing medium.
Between himself and the Indian there is no system of accountability, no
vouchers given or received, no books kept, in fact no record except the
statement which the agent chooses to forward to his superintendent.
The Indian has no means of knowing how much in value or how many
presents of any particular kind the Government, the “Great Father”
as he terms it, has sent him. For knowledge on this point he must
accept the statement of the agent. The goods sent by the Government are
generally those which would most please an Indian’s fancy. The Indian
trader usually keeps goods of a similar character. The trader is most
frequently a particular friend of the agent, often associated with him
in business, and in many instances holds his position of trader at the
instance of the agent. They are always located near each other. The
trader is usually present at the distribution of annuities. If the
agent, instead of distributing to the Indians all of the goods intended
for them by the Government, only distributes one half and retains the
other half, who is to be the wiser? Not the Indian, defrauded though
he may be, for he is ignorant of how much is coming to him. The word
of the agent is his only guide. He may complain a little, express some
disappointment at the limited amount of presents, and intimate that the
“Great Father” has dealt out the annuities with a sparing hand; but the
agent explains it by referring to some depredations which he knows the
tribe to have been guilty of in times past; or if he is not aware of
any particular instance of guilt, he charges them generally with having
committed such acts, knowing one can scarcely go amiss in accusing
a tribe of occasionally slaying a white man, and ends up his charge
by informing them that the “Great Father,” learning of these little
irregularities in their conduct and being pained greatly thereat, felt
compelled to reduce their allowance of blankets, sugar, coffee, etc.,
when at the same time the missing portion of said allowance is safely
secured in the storehouse of the agent near by. Well, but how can he
enrich himself in this manner? it may be asked. By simply, and unseen
by the Indians, transferring the unissued portion of the annuities from
his government storehouse to the trading establishment of his friend
the trader. There the boxes are unpacked and their contents spread out
for barter with the Indians. The latter, in gratifying their wants,
are forced to purchase from the trader at prices which are scores of
times the value of the article offered. I have seen Indians dispose
of buffalo robes to traders, which were worth from fifteen to twenty
dollars each, and get in return only ten to twenty cups of brown sugar,
the entire value of which did not exceed two or three dollars. This
is one of the many ways agents and traders have of amassing sudden
wealth. I have known the head chiefs of a tribe to rise in a council in
the presence of other chiefs and of officers of the army, and accuse
his agent, then present, of these or similar dishonest practices. Is
it to be wondered at that the position of agent or trader among the
Indians is greatly sought after by men determined to become rich, but
not particular as to the manner of doing so? Or is it to be wondered
at that army officers, who are often made aware of the injustice done
the Indian yet are powerless to prevent it, and who trace many of
our difficulties with the Indians to these causes, should urge the
abolishment of a system which has proven itself so fruitful in fraud
and dishonest dealing toward those whose interests it should be their
duty to protect?
In offering the testimony which follows, and which to those at all
interested in the subject of our dealings with the Indian must have no
little weight, I have given that of men whose interest in the matter
could only spring from experience and a supposed thorough knowledge
of the Indian character, and a desire to do justice to him as well as
to the Government. At the present writing a heavy cloud portending
a general Indian war along our entire frontier, from the British
possessions on the north to the Mexican border on the south, hangs
threateningly over us. Whether it will really result in war or in
isolated acts of barbarity remains to be seen. But enough is known to
prove that the day has not yet arrived when the lawless savage of the
plains is prepared or willing to abandon his favorite pastime of war
and depredation upon the defenceless frontier, and instead to settle
quietly down and study the arts and callings of a quiet and peaceful
life. It is impossible for the Indian to comprehend the force of any
law or regulation which is not backed up by a power sufficiently strong
to compel its observance. This is not surprising, as a large proportion
of their white brethren are equally obtuse. Lieutenant-General
Sheridan showed his thorough appreciation of the Indian character,
in an endorsement recently written by him upon a complaint relating
to Indian depredations, forwarded from one of his subordinates to
the War Department. General Sheridan writes, “We can never stop the
wild Indians from murdering and stealing until we punish them. If a
white man in this country commits a murder, we hang him; if he steals
a horse, we put him in the penitentiary. If an Indian commits these
crimes, we give him better fare and more blankets. I think I may say
with reason, that under this policy the civilization of the wild red
man will progress slowly.”
As might naturally be expected, a massacre like that at Fort Phil
Kearny, in which ninety-one enlisted men and three officers were
slain outright, and no one left to tell the tale, excited discussion
and comment throughout the land, and raised inquiry as to who was
responsible for this lamentable affair. The military laid the blame
at the door of the Indian Bureau with its host of civil agents and
traders, and accused the latter of supplying the Indians with the arms
and ammunition which were afterward turned against the whites. The
supporters of the Indian Bureau not only did not deny the accusation,
but went so far as to claim that all our difficulties with the Indians
could be traced to the fact that the military commanders, particularly
Generals Hancock and Cooke, had forbidden the traders from furnishing
the Indians with arms and ammunition. This was the official statement
of the Commissioner of Indian Affairs in the spring of 1867. It was
rather a queer complaint upon which to justify a war that, because the
Government would not furnish the savages with implements for murdering
its subjects in approved modern method, these same savages would
therefore be reluctantly forced to murder and scalp such settlers and
travellers as fell in their paths, in the old-fashioned tomahawk, bow
and arrow style. The Commissioner of Indian Affairs, in his report to
the Secretary of the Interior in the spring of 1867, labored hard to
find a justification for the Indians in their recent outbreak at Fort
Phil Kearny. The withholding of arms and ammunition from the Indians
seemed to be the principal grievance. As the views of the Commissioner
find many supporters in quarters remote from the scene of Indian
depredations, and among persons who still cling to the traditionary
Indian, as wrought by the pen of Cooper, as their ideal red man, I
quote the Commissioner’s words: “An order issued by General Cooke at
Omaha on the 31st of July last, in relation to arms and ammunition, has
had a very bad effect. I am satisfied that such orders are not only
unwise but really cruel, and therefore calculated to produce the very
worst effect. Indians are men, and when hungry will like others resort
to any means to obtain food; and as the chase is their only means of
subsistence, if you deprive them of the power of procuring it, you
certainly produce great dissatisfaction. If it were true that arms and
ammunition could be accumulated by them to war against us, it would
certainly be unwise to give it to them, but this is not the fact. No
Indian will buy two guns. One he absolutely needs; and as he has no
means of taking care of powder, he necessarily will take, when offered
to him, but a very limited quantity. It is true that formerly they
hunted with bows and arrows, killing buffalo, antelope, and deer with
the same; but to hunt successfully with bow and arrows requires horses,
and as the valleys of that country are now more or less filled with
white men prospecting for gold and silver, their means of subsisting
their horses have passed away, and they now have but few horses. I
mention these facts so as to place before the country, as briefly as
possible, the condition as well as the wants of the Indians.”
Unfortunately for the Commissioner, his premises were entirely wrong,
and his conclusions necessarily so. It is a difficult task to prove
that men whose habits, instincts, and training incline them to deeds
of murder, will be less apt to commit those deeds, provided we place
in their hands every implement and facility for their commission;
yet such in effect was the reasoning of the Commissioner. Where or
from whom he could have obtained the opinions he expressed, it is
difficult to understand. He certainly derived no such ideas from a
personal knowledge of the Indians themselves. How well his statements
bear examination: “If it were true that arms and ammunition could be
accumulated by them to war against us, it would certainly be worse to
give it to them, but this is not the fact. No Indian will buy two guns.”
On the contrary, every person at all familiar with the conduct of the
Indians knows that there is no plan or idea which they study more
persistently than that of accumulating arms and ammunition, and in the
successful execution of this plan they have collected, and are to-day
collecting arms and ammunition of the latest and most approved pattern.
This supply of arms and ammunition is not obtained for purposes of
hunting, for no matter how bountifully the Indian may be supplied with
firearms, his favorite and most successful mode of killing the buffalo,
his principal article of food, is with the bow and arrow. It is, at
the same time, the most economical mode, as the arrows, after being
lodged in the bodies of the buffalo, may be recovered unimpaired, and
be used repeatedly. “No Indian will buy two guns!” If the honorable
Commissioner had added the words, provided he can steal them, his
statement would be heartily concurred in. From a knowledge of the
facts, I venture the assertion that there is scarcely an Indian on
the plains, no matter how fully armed and equipped, but will gladly
barter almost anything he owns, of proper value, in exchange for good
arms and ammunition. Even if his personal wants in this respect are
satisfied, the Indian is too shrewd at driving a bargain to throw away
any opportunity of possessing himself of arms or ammunition, as among
his comrades he is aware that no other articles of trade command the
prices that are paid for implements of war. An Indian may not desire
two guns for his own use, but he will buy or procure one gun and one
or more revolvers as a part of his equipment for war, and there are
few of the chiefs and warriors of the plains who to-day are not the
possessors of at least one breech-loading rifle or carbine, and from
one to two revolvers. This can be vouched for by any officer who has
been brought in contact with the hostile Indians of late years. As to
the Indian not having proper means to take care of his ammunition,
experience has shown that when he goes into action he carries a
greater number of rounds of ammunition than do our soldiers, and in
time of peace he exercises far better care of his supply than do our
men. The army declared itself almost unanimously against the issue
of arms to the Indians, while the traders, who were looking to the
profits, and others of the Indian Bureau, proclaimed loudly in favor
of the issue, unlimited and unrestrained. General Hancock, commanding
at that time one of the most important and extensive of the Indian
departments, issued orders to his subordinates throughout the Indian
country, similar to the order referred to of General Cooke. The order
simply required post commanders and other officers to prevent the
issue or sale of arms and ammunition to any Indians of the plains.
As we were then engaged in hostilities with nearly all the tribes,
it would have been simply assisting our enemies not to adopt this
course. A spontaneous outcry came from the traders who were to be
affected by this order--an outcry that did not cease until it resounded
in Washington. General Hancock reported his action in the matter to
his next superior officer, at that time Lieutenant-General Sherman.
General Sherman at once sent the following letter to General Hancock,
emphatically approving the course of the latter, and reiterating the
order:
HEADQUARTERS MILITARY DIVISION OF THE MISSOURI,
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI, January 26, 1867.
GENERAL: I have this moment received your letter of January 22,
about the sale of arms and ammunition to Indians by traders and
agents. We, the military, are held responsible for the peace of the
frontier, and it is an absurdity to attempt it if Indian agents
and traders can legalize and encourage so dangerous a traffic. I
regard the paper enclosed, addressed to Mr. D. A. Butterfield, and
signed by Charles Bogy, W. R. Irwin, J. H. Leavenworth, and others,
as an outrage upon our rights and supervision of the matter, and
I now authorize you to disregard that paper, and at once stop the
practice, keeping the issues and sales of arms and ammunition under
the rigid control and supervision of the commanding officers of the
posts and districts near which the Indians are.
If the Indian agents may, without limit, supply the Indians with
arms, I would not expose our troops and trains to them at all, but
would withdraw our soldiers, who already have a herculean task on
their hands.
This order is made for this immediate time, but I will, with all
expedition, send these papers with a copy of this, to General
Grant, in the hope that he will lay it before the President, who
alone can control both War and Indian Departments, under whom, at
present, this mixed control of the Indian question now rests in law
and practice.
Your obedient servant,
W. T. SHERMAN, Lieutenant-General Commanding.
General W. S. HANCOCK, commanding Department of the Missouri.
This was before the peace policy had become supreme, or the appointment
of agents from the Society of Friends had been discovered as a supposed
panacea for all our Indian difficulties.
General Sherman, as stated in his letter, forwarded all the papers
relating to the arms question to the headquarters of the army. General
Grant, then in command of the army, forwarded them to the Secretary of
War, accompanied by the following letter, which clearly expresses the
views he then held:
HEADQUARTERS ARMIES OF THE UNITED STATES,
WASHINGTON, D. C., February 1, 1867.
SIR: The enclosed papers, just received from General Sherman, are
respectfully forwarded, and your special attention invited. They
show the urgent necessity for an immediate transfer of the Indian
Bureau to the War Department, and the abolition of the civil agents
and licensed traders. If the present practice is to be continued,
I do not see that any course is left open to us but to withdraw
our troops to the settlements and call upon Congress to provide
means and troops to carry on formidable hostilities against the
Indians, until all the Indians or all the whites on the great
plains, and between the settlements on the Missouri and the Pacific
slope, are exterminated. The course General Sherman has pursued in
this matter, in disregarding the permits of Mr. Bogy and others,
is just right. I will instruct him to enforce his order until
it is countermanded by the President or yourself. I would also
respectfully ask that this matter be placed before the President,
and his disapproval of licensing the sale of arms to Indians asked.
We have treaties with all tribes of Indians from time to time.
If the rule is to be followed that all tribes with which we have
treaties, and pay annuities, can procure such articles without
stint or limit, it will not be long before the matter becomes
perfectly understood by the Indians, and they avail themselves of
it to equip themselves for war. They will get the arms either by
making treaties themselves or through tribes who have such treaties.
I would respectfully recommend that copies of the enclosed
communications be furnished to the Military Committee of each house
of Congress.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
U. S. GRANT, General.
Hon. E. M. STANTON, Secretary of War.
In response to a request from General Grant to furnish the Department
with a statement of his views on the question of a transfer of the
Indian Bureau from the Interior to the War Department, General John
Pope, whose great experience among and knowledge of the Indians of
the plains eminently qualified him to judge of the real merits of the
question, wrote an able letter, briefly stating the prominent reasons
favoring the proposed change. As the question of the transfer of the
Indian Bureau from the control of the Interior to that of the War
Department is constantly being brought up, and after the failure of
the present policy is most likely to be raised again, the arguments
advanced by General Pope, being those generally maintained by the army,
and still having full force, are here given:
WASHINGTON, D. C., January 25, 1867.
GENERAL: In compliance with your suggestions, I have the honor to
submit the following leading reasons why the Indian Bureau should
be retransferred to the War Department. The views which I shall
submit are by no means original, but are well-settled opinions of
every officer of the army who has had experience on the subject,
and are and have been entertained for years by nearly every citizen
of the territories not directly or indirectly connected with the
present system of Indian management.
Under present circumstances there is a divided jurisdiction
over Indian affairs. While the Indians are officially at peace,
according to treaties negotiated with them by the civil officers
of the Indian Bureau, the military forces stationed in the Indian
country have no jurisdiction over the Indians, and of consequence
no certain knowledge of their feelings or purposes, and no power
to take any action, either of a precautionary or aggressive
character. The first that is known of Indian hostilities is a
sudden report that the Indians have commenced a war, and have
devastated many miles of settlements or massacred parties of
emigrants or travellers. By the time such information reaches
the military commander, the worst has been accomplished, and the
Indians have escaped from the scene of outrage. Nothing is left
to the military except pursuit, and generally unavailing pursuit.
The Indian agents are careful never to locate their agencies at
the military posts, for reasons very well understood. It is not in
human nature that two sets of officials, responsible to different
heads, and not in accord either in opinion or purpose, should act
together harmoniously; and instead of combined, there is very
certain to be conflicting action. The results are what might be
expected. It would be far better to devolve the whole management of
Indian affairs upon one or the other department, so as to secure
at least consistent and uniform policy. At war the Indians are
under the control of the military, at peace under the control of
the civil officers. Exactly what constitutes Indian hostilities is
not agreed on; and, besides this, as soon as the military forces,
after a hard campaign, conducted with great hardship and at large
expense, have succeeded in forcing the Indians into such a position
that punishment is possible, the Indian, seeing the result and
the impossibility of avoiding it, immediately proclaims his wish
to make peace. The Indian agent, anxious, for manifest reasons,
to negotiate a treaty, at once interferes “to protect” (as he
expresses it) the Indians from the troops, and arrests the further
prosecution of the military expedition just at the moment when
results are to be obtained by it, and the whole labor and cost of
the campaign are lost. The Indian makes a treaty to avoid immediate
danger by the troops, without the slightest purpose of keeping it,
and the agent knows very well that the Indian does not intend to
observe it. While the army is fighting the Indians at one end of
the line, Indian agents are making treaties and furnishing supplies
at the other end, which supplies are at once used to keep up the
conflict. With this divided jurisdiction and responsibility it is
impossible to avoid these unfortunate transactions. If the Indian
department, as at present constituted, were given sole jurisdiction
of the Indians, and the troops removed, it is certain that a
better condition of things would be obtained than now exists,
since the whole responsibility of Indian wars, and their results
to unprotected citizens, would belong to the Indian Bureau alone,
without the power of shifting the responsibility of consequences
upon others. The military officer is the representative of force,
a logic which the Indian understands, and with which he does
not invest the Indian agent. It is a fact which can be easily
authenticated, that the Indians, in mass, prefer to deal entirely
with military commanders, and would unanimously vote for the
transfer of the Indian department to the War Department. In this
they are mainly influenced by the knowledge that they can rely upon
what the military commander tells or promises them, as they see he
has power to fulfil his promise.
The first and great interest of the army officer is to preserve
peace with the Indians. His home during his life is to be at some
military post in the Indian country, and aside from the obligations
of duty, his own comfort and quiet, and the possibility of escaping
arduous and harassing field service against Indians at all seasons
of the year, accompanied by frequent changes of station, which
render it impossible for him to have his family with him, render
a state of peace with Indians the most desirable of all things to
him. He therefore omits no proper precautions, and does not fail
to use all proper means, by just treatment, honest distribution of
annuities, and fair dealing, to secure quiet and friendly relations
with the Indian tribes in his neighborhood. His honest distribution
of the annuities appropriated to the Indians is further secured by
his life commission in the army, and the odium which would blast
his life and character by any dishonest act. If dismissed from
the service for such malfeasance, he would be publicly branded
by his own profession, and would be powerless to attribute his
removal from office to any but the true cause. The Indian agent,
on the other hand, accepts his office for a limited time and for
a specific purpose, and he finds it easy when he has secured his
ends (the rapid acquisition of money) to account for his removal
from office on political grounds or the personal enmity of some
other official of his department superior in rank to himself. The
eagerness to secure an appointment as Indian agent, on a small
salary, manifested by many persons of superior ability, ought of
itself to be a warning to Congress as to the objects sought by
it. It is a common saying in the West that next to, if not indeed
before, the consulship to Liverpool, an Indian agency is the
most desirable office in the gift of the Government. Of course
the more treaties an Indian agent can negotiate, the larger the
appropriation of money and goods which passes through his hands,
and the more valuable his office. An Indian war on every other day,
with treaty-making on intermediate days, would be therefore the
condition of affairs most satisfactory to such Indian agents. I by
no means say that all Indian agents are dishonest. In truth I know
some who are very sincere and honorable men, who try to administer
their offices with fidelity to the Government; but that the mass
of Indian agents on the frontier are true only to their personal
and pecuniary interests, I am very sure no one familiar with the
subject will dispute. I repeat, then, that a condition of peace
with the Indians is above all things desirable to the military
officer stationed in their country: something very like the reverse
to the Indian agent.
The transfer of the Indian Bureau to the War Department would at
once eliminate from our Indian system the formidable army of Indian
superintendents, agents, sub-agents, special agents, jobbers,
contractors, and hangers-on, who now infest the frontier States and
territories, and save to the Government annually a sum of money
which I will not venture to estimate. The army officers detailed
to perform duty in their places would receive no compensation
in addition to their army pay. Previous to the creation of the
Interior Department and the transfer of the Indian Bureau to that
department, army officers performed well and honestly the duties
of Indian agents, and it is only necessary to refer to our past
history to demonstrate that our relations at that time with the
Indians were far more friendly and satisfactory than they have
been since.... The military are absolutely necessary in the Indian
country to protect the lives and property of our citizens. Indian
agents and superintendents are not necessary, since their duties
have been and can still be faithfully and efficiently performed
by the army officers stationed with the troops. Harmonious and
concerted action can never be secured while both parties are
retained. The military are necessary--the civil officers are not;
and as it is essential that the one or the other be displaced,
I cannot see what doubt exists as to which party must give way.
These are only the general reasons for the retransfer of the
Indian Bureau to the War Department--reasons which are well
understood by every one familiar with the subject.... In order
that any policy whatever may be consistently and efficiently
pursued, a change in our present administration of Indian affairs
is absolutely essential. The retransfer of the Indian Bureau to
the War Department is believed to be the first step toward a
reformation, and until that step is taken it is useless to expect
any improvement in the present condition of our Indian relations.
I am, General, respectfully your obedient servant,
JOHN POPE, Brevet Major-General U. S. Army.
GENERAL U. S. GRANT, General-in-Chief, Washington, D. C.
General Grant was at that time so impressed with the importance of
General Pope’s letter that he forwarded it to the Secretary of War,
with the request that it might be laid before both branches of Congress.
It might be urged that the above letters and statements are furnished
by officers of the army, who are exponents of but one side of the
question. Fortunately it is possible to go outside the military circle
and introduce testimony which should be considered impartial and free
from bias. At this particular period in the discussion of the Indian
question, Colonel E. S. Parker, a highly educated and thoroughly
cultivated gentleman, was asked to submit a plan for the establishment
of a permanent and perpetual peace, and for settling all matters of
difference between the United States and the various Indian tribes.
Colonel Parker is well known as a distinguished chief of the once
powerful Six Nations, and since the time referred to has been better
known as Commissioner of Indian Affairs during the early part of
the present administration. Being an Indian, his sympathies must
be supposed to have been on the side of his own people, and in
his endeavor to establish a permanent peace he would recommend no
conditions prejudicial or unjust to their interests. He recommended:
“First, the transfer of the Indian Bureau from the Interior Department
back to the War Department, or military branch of the Government, where
it originally belonged, until within the last few years. The condition
and disposition of all the Indians west of the Mississippi river, as
developed in consequence of the great and rapid influx of immigration
by reason of the discovery of the precious metals throughout the entire
West, renders it of the utmost importance that military supervision
should be extended over the Indians. Treaties have been made with a
very large number of the tribes, and generally reservations have been
provided as homes for them. Agents, appointed from civil life, have
generally been provided to protect their lives and property, and to
attend to the prompt and faithful observance of treaty stipulations.
But as the hardy pioneer and adventurous miner advanced into the
inhospitable regions occupied by the Indians, in search of the precious
metals, they found no rights possessed by the Indians that they were
bound to respect. The faith of treaties solemnly entered into was
totally disregarded, and Indian territory wantonly violated. If any
tribe remonstrated against the violation of their natural and treaty
rights, members of the tribe were inhumanly shot down, and the whole
treated as mere dogs. Retaliation generally followed, and bloody
Indian wars have been the consequence, costing many lives and much
treasure. In all troubles arising in this manner, the civil agents
have been totally powerless to avert the consequences, and when too
late the military have been called in to protect the whites and punish
the Indians, when if, in the beginning, the military had had the
supervision of the Indians, their rights would not have been improperly
molested, or if disturbed in their quietude by any lawless whites, a
prompt and summary check to any further aggression could have been
given. In cases where the Government promises the Indians the quiet
and peaceable possession of a reservation, and precious metals are
discovered or found to exist upon it, the military alone can give the
Indians the needed protection, and keep the adventurous miner from
encroaching upon the Indians until the Government has come to some
understanding with them. In such cases the civil agent is absolutely
powerless.
“Most of the Indian treaties contain stipulations for the payment to
Indians of annuities, either in money or goods, or both, and agents
are appointed to make these payments whenever Government furnishes
them the means. I know of no reason why officers of the army could not
make all these payments as well as civilians. The expense of agencies
would be saved, and I think the Indians would be more honestly dealt
by. An officer’s honor and interest are at stake, which impels him to
discharge his duty honestly and faithfully, while civil agents have
none of these incentives, the ruling passion with them being generally
to avoid all trouble and responsibility and to make as much money
as possible out of their offices. In the retransfer of this bureau,
I would provide for the complete abolishment of the system of Indian
traders, which in my opinion, is a great evil to Indian communities.
I would make Government the purchaser of all articles usually brought
in by Indians, giving them a fair equivalent for the same in money,
or goods at cost prices. In this way it would be an easy matter to
regulate the sale or issue of arms and ammunition to Indians, a
question which of late has agitated the minds of the civil and military
authorities. If the entry of large numbers of Indians to any military
post is objectionable, it can easily be arranged that only limited
numbers shall be admitted daily.”
Colonel Parker next quotes from messages of Washington and Jefferson,
showing that they had favored the exclusion of civil agents and
traders. His recommendation then proceeds: “It is greatly to be
regretted that this beneficent and humane policy had not been adhered
to, for it is a fact not to be denied, that at this day Indian trading
licenses are very much sought after, and when once obtained, although
it may be for a limited period, the lucky possessor is considered as
having already made his fortune. The eagerness also with which Indian
agencies are sought after, and large fortunes made by the agents in a
few years, notwithstanding the inadequate salary given, is presumptive
evidence of frauds against the Indians and the Government. Many other
reasons might be suggested why the Indian department should altogether
be under military control, but a familiar knowledge of the practical
working of the present system would seem to be the most convincing
proof of the propriety of the measure. It is pretty generally advocated
by those most familiar with our Indian relations, and, so far as I
know, the Indians themselves desire it. Civil officers are not usually
respected by the tribes, but they fear and regard the military, and
will submit to their counsels, advice, and dictation, when they would
not listen to a civil agent.”
In discussing the establishment of reservations, and the locating of
the Indians upon them, Colonel Parker says: “It may be imagined that
a serious obstacle would be presented to the removal of the Indians
from their homes on account of the love they bear for the graves of
their ancestors. This, indeed, would be the least and last objection
that would be raised by any tribe. Much is said in the books about the
reverence paid by Indians to the dead, and their antipathy to deserting
their ancestral graves. Whatever may have been the customs for the dead
in ages gone by, and whatever pilgrimages may have been made to the
graves of their loved and distinguished dead, none of any consequence
exist at the present day. They leave their dead without any painful
regrets, or the shedding of tears. And how could it be otherwise with
a people who have such indefinite and vague ideas of a future state of
existence? And to my mind it is unnatural to assume or suppose that the
wild or untutored Indian can have more attachment for his home, or love
for the graves of his ancestors, than the civilized and enlightened
Christian.”
I regret that I cannot, in this brief space, give all the suggestions
and recommendations submitted by this eminent representative of the red
man, displaying as they do sound judgment and thorough mastery of his
subject. In regard to the expense of his plan he says: “I believe it to
be more economical than any other plan that could be suggested. A whole
army of Indian agents, traders, contractors, jobbers, and hangers-on
would be dispensed with, and from them would come the strongest
opposition to the adoption of this plan, as it would effectually close
to them the corrupt sources of their wealth.”
General Grant, then commanding the army, must have approved at that
time of the views of the distinguished Indian; for a few years later,
on entering upon the duties of President of the United States, he
appointed him Commissioner of Indian Affairs, thus giving Colonel
Parker an opportunity to inaugurate the system which he had urged
as being most conducive to the welfare of his people and tending to
restrain them from acts of war. The influences brought to bear by the
exponents of the peace policy, as it was termed, were too powerful
to be successfully resisted, and Colonel Parker felt himself forced
to resign his position, for the reason, as stated by him, that the
influences operating against him were so great that he was unable to
give effect to the principles which he believed should prevail in
administering the affairs of his important bureau.
The latter part of the summer and fall of 1867 was not characterized
by active operations either upon the part of the troops or that of the
Indians. A general council of all the tribes infesting the southern
plains was called to assemble on “Medicine Lodge creek.” This council
was called in furtherance of a plan of pacification proposed by
Congress with a view to uniting and locating all the tribes referred to
on a reservation to be agreed upon. Congress provided that the tribes
invited to the council should be met by a peace commission on the part
of the Government, composed of members of each house of Congress,
distinguished civilians, and officers of the army of high rank. At this
council all the southern tribes assembled; presents in profusion were
distributed among the Indians, the rule of distribution, I believe,
being as usual that the worst Indians received the greatest number of
valuable presents; an agreement was entered into between the Indians
and the representatives of the Government; reservations embracing a
large extent of the finest portions of the public lands were fixed
upon, to the apparent satisfaction of all concerned, and the promise of
the Indians to occupy them and to keep away from the settlements and
lines of travel was made without hesitation. This was the beginning of
the promised era of peace. The lion and the lamb had agreed to lie down
together, but the sequel proved that when they got up again “the lamb
was missing.”
XIII.
Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet ’tis early morn;
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.
In this instance, however, the bugle whose summoning notes I was
supposed to be listening for was one of peculiar structure, and its
tones could only be rendered effective when prompted by the will of the
director at Washington. In other words, I was living in involuntary but
unregretful retirement from active service. I had spent the winter of
1867–’68 most agreeably with many of my comrades at Fort Leavenworth,
but in the spring was forced to see them set out for their summer
rendezvous for operations against the Indians, and myself compelled
by superior authority, or rather by “circumstances over which I had
no control,” to remain in the rear, a non-combatant in every sense of
the word; so much so that I might have been eligible to election as
honorary member of some one of those preponderous departments referred
to by General Hazen in “The School and the Army,” as “holding military
rank, wearing the uniform,” but living in complete “official separation
from the line,” except that I was not “divided from it in heart and
sympathy.” It is a happy disposition that can content itself in all
phases of fortune by the saying that “that which cannot be cured must
be endured.” I had frequent recourse to this and similar consoling
expressions, in the endeavor to reconcile myself to the separation
from my command. For fear some of my readers may not comprehend my
situation at the time, I will briefly remark in parenthesis, and by
way of note of explanation, that for precisely what I have described
in some of the preceding chapters, the exact details of which would
be out of place here, it had apparently been deemed necessary that my
connection with certain events and transactions, every one of which has
been fully referred to heretofore, should be submitted to an official
examination in order to determine if each and every one of my acts had
been performed with a due regard to the customs of war in like cases.
To enter into a review of the proceedings which followed, would be
to introduce into these pages matters of too personal a character to
interest the general reader. It will suffice to say that I was placed
in temporary retirement from active duty, and this result seemed
satisfactory to those parties most intimately concerned in the matter.
When, in the spring of 1868, the time arrived for the troops to leave
their winter quarters, and march westward to the Plains, the command
with which I had been associated during the preceding year left its
station at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, and marched westward about three
hundred miles, there to engage in operations against the Indians. While
they, under command of General Sully, were attempting to kill Indians,
I was studying the problem of how to kill time in the most agreeable
manner. My campaign was a decided success. I established my base of
operations in a most beautiful little town on the western shores of
Lake Erie, from which I projected various hunting, fishing, and boating
expeditions. With abundance of friends and companions, and ample
success, time passed pleasantly enough; yet withal there was a constant
longing to be with my comrades in arms in the far West, even while
aware of the fact that their campaign was not resulting in any material
advantage I had no reason to believe that I would be permitted to
rejoin them until the following winter. It was on the evening of the
24th of September, and when about to “break bread” at the house of a
friend in the little town referred to that I received the following
telegram:
HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE MISSOURI,
IN THE FIELD, FORT HAYS, KANSAS, September 24, 1868.
GENERAL G. A. CUSTER, Monroe, Michigan:
Generals Sherman, Sully, and myself, and nearly all the officers
of your regiment, have asked for you, and I hope the application
will be successful. Can you come at once? Eleven companies of your
regiment will move about the 1st of October against the hostile
Indians, from Medicine Lodge creek toward the Wichita mountains.
(Signed) P. H. SHERIDAN, Major General Commanding.
The reception of this despatch was a source of unbounded gratification
to me, not only because I saw the opportunity of being actively
and usefully employed opened before me, but there were personal
considerations inseparable from the proposed manner of my return,
which in themselves were in the highest degree agreeable; so much so
that I felt quite forbearing toward each and every one who, whether
intentionally or not, had been a party to my retirement, and was
almost disposed to favor them with a copy of the preceding despatch,
accompanied by an expression of my hearty thanks for the unintentional
favor they had thrown in my way.
Knowing that the application of Generals Sherman and Sheridan and the
other officers referred to would meet with a favorable reply from the
authorities at Washington, I at once telegraphed to General Sheridan
that I would start to join him by the next train, not intending to wait
the official order which I knew would be issued by the War Department.
The following day found me on a railway train hastening to the plains
as fast as the iron horse could carry me. The expected order from
Washington overtook me that day in the shape of an official telegram
from the Adjutant General of the Army, directing me to proceed at once
and report for duty to General Sheridan.
At Fort Leavenworth I halted in my journey long enough to cause my
horses to be shipped by rail to Fort Hays. Nor must I omit two other
faithful companions of my subsequent marches and campaigns, named
Blucher and Maida, two splendid specimens of the Scotch staghound, who
were destined to share the dangers of an Indian campaign and finally
meet death in a tragic manner--the one by the hand of the savage, the
other by an ill-directed bullet from a friendly carbine. Arriving at
Fort Hays on the morning of the 30th, I found General Sheridan, who had
transferred his headquarters temporarily from Fort Leavenworth to that
point in order to be nearer the field of operations, and better able to
give his personal attention to the conduct of the coming campaign. My
regiment was at that time on or near the Arkansas river in the vicinity
of Fort Dodge, and about three easy marches from Fort Hays. After
remaining at General Sheridan’s headquarters one day and receiving his
instructions, I set out with a small escort across the country to Fort
Dodge to resume command of my regiment. Arriving at Fort Dodge without
incident, I found General Sully, who at that time was in command of
the district in which my regiment was serving. With the exception of a
few detachments, the main body of the regiment was encamped on Bluff
creek, a small tributary of the Arkansas, the camp being some thirty
miles southeast from Fort Dodge. Taking with me the detachment at the
fort, I proceeded to the main camp, arriving there in the afternoon. I
had scarcely assumed command when a band of Indians dashed close up
to our camp and fired upon us. This was getting into active service
quite rapidly. I was in the act of taking my seat for dinner, my ride
having given me a splendid relish for the repast, when the shouts
and firing of the savages informed me that more serious duties were
at hand. Every man flew to arms and almost without command rushed to
oppose the enemy. Officers and men provided themselves with rifles
or carbines, and soon began delivering a deliberate but ineffective
fire against the Indians. The latter, as usual, were merely practising
their ordinary _ruse de guerre_, which was to display a very small
venturesome force in the expectation of tempting pursuit by an equal
or slightly superior force, and, after having led the pursuing force
well away from the main body, to surround and destroy it by the aid of
overwhelming numbers, previously concealed in a ravine or ambush until
the proper moment. On this occasion the stratagem did not succeed. The
Indians, being mounted on their fleetest ponies, would charge in single
file past our camp, often riding within easy carbine range of our men,
displaying great boldness and unsurpassable horsemanship. The soldiers,
unaccustomed to firing at such rapidly moving objects, were rarely able
to inflict serious damage upon their enemies. Occasionally a pony would
be struck and brought to the ground, but the rider always succeeded in
being carried away upon the pony of a comrade. It was interesting to
witness their marvellous abilities as horsemen; at the same time one
could not but admire the courage they displayed. The ground was level,
open, and unobstructed; the troops were formed in an irregular line
of skirmishers dismounted, the line extending a distance of perhaps
two hundred yards. The Indians had a rendezvous behind a hillock on
the right, which prevented them from being seen or disturbed by the
soldiers. Starting out singly, or by twos and threes, the warriors
would suddenly leave the cover of the hillock, and with war whoops and
taunts dash over the plain in a line parallel to that occupied by the
soldiers, and within easy carbine range of the latter. The pony seemed
possessed of the designs and wishes of his dusky rider, as he seemed
to fly unguided by bridle, rein, or spur. The warrior would fire and
load and fire again as often as he was able to do, while dashing along
through the shower of leaden bullets fired above, beneath, in front,
and behind him by the excited troopers, until finally, when the aim of
the latter improved and the leaden messengers whistled uncomfortably
close, the warrior would be seen to cast himself over on the opposite
side of his pony, until his foot on the back and his face under the
neck of the pony were all that could be seen, the rest of his person
being completely covered by the body of the pony. This manœuvre would
frequently deceive the recruits among the soldiers; having fired
probably about the time the warrior was seen to disappear, the recruit
would shout exultingly and call the attention of his comrades to his
lucky shot. The old soldiers, however, were not so easily deceived, and
often afterwards would remind their less experienced companion of the
terrible fatality of his shots.
After finding that their plan to induce a small party to pursue them
did not succeed, the Indians withdrew their forces, and, concealment
being no longer necessary, we were enabled to see their full numbers
as that portion of them which had hitherto remained hidden behind a
bluff rode boldly out on the open plain. Being beyond rifle range, they
contented themselves with taunts and gestures of defiance, then rode
away. From the officers of the camp I learned that the performance of
the Indians which had occupied our attention on this afternoon was
of almost daily occurrence, and that the savages, from having been
allowed to continue in their course unmolested, had almost reduced
the camp to a state of siege; so true had this become that at no hour
of the day was it safe for individuals to pass beyond the chain of
sentinels which enveloped the immediate limits of the camp. Before
it became known that the Indians were so watchful and daring, many
narrow escapes were made, and many laughable although serious incidents
occurred--laughable, however, only to those who were not the parties
most interested. Two of these serio-comic affairs now recur to me.
There was a beautiful clear stream of water, named Bluff creek, running
through camp, which supplied bathing facilities to the officers and
men, a privilege which but few allowed to pass unimproved. Whether to
avoid the publicity attending localities near camp, or to seek a point
in the bed of the stream where the water was fresh and undisturbed, or
from a motive different from either of these, two of our young officers
mounted their horses one day without saddles and rode down the valley
of the stream perhaps a mile or more in search of a bathing place.
Discovering one to their taste, they dismounted, secured their horses,
and, after disposing of their apparel on the greensward covering the
banks, were soon floating and floundering in the water like a pair
of young porpoises. How long they had been enjoying this healthful
recreation, or how much longer they might have remained, is not
necessary to the story. One of them happening to glance toward their
horses observed the latter in a state of great trepidation. Hastening
from the water to the bank, he discovered the cause of the strange
conduct on the part of the horses, which was nothing more nor less
than a party of about thirty Indian warriors, mounted, and stealthily
making their way toward the bathing party, evidently having their eyes
on the latter, and intent upon their capture. Here was a condition of
affairs that was at least as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Quickly
calling out to his companion, who was still in the water unconscious
of approaching danger, the one on shore made haste to unfasten their
horses and prepare for flight. Fortunately the Indians, who were now
within a few hundred yards of the two officers, were coming from
the direction opposite camp, leaving the line of retreat of the
officers open. No sooner did the warriors find that their approach was
discovered than they put their ponies to their best speed, hoping to
capture the officers before the latter could have time to mount and
get their horses under headway. The two officers in the meanwhile were
far from idle; no flesh brushes or bathing towels were required to
restore a healthy circulation, nor was time wasted in an idle attempt
to make a toilet. If they had sought their bathing ground from motives
of retirement or delicacy, no such sentiments were exhibited now, for,
catching up their wardrobe from the ground in one hand and seizing the
bridle rein with the other, one leap and they were on their horses’
backs and riding toward camp for dear life. They were not exactly
in the condition of Flora McFlimsy with nothing to wear, but to all
intents and purposes might as well have been so. Then followed a race
which, but for the risk incurred by two of the riders, might well be
compared to that of John Gilpin. Both of the officers were experienced
horsemen; but what experienced horseman would willingly care to be
thrust upon the bare back of a flying steed, minus all apparel, neither
boots, breeches, nor saddle, not even the spurs and shirt collar which
are said to constitute the full uniform of a Georgian colonel, and
when so disposed of, to have three or four score of hideously painted
and feathered savages, well mounted and near at hand, straining every
nerve and urging their fleet-footed war ponies to their highest speed
in order that the scalps of the experienced horsemen might be added
to the other human trophies which grace their lodges? Truly this was
one of the occasions when personal appearance is nothing, and “a man’s
a man for a’ that,” so at least thought our amateur Mazeppas as they
came dashing toward camp, ever and anon casting anxious glances over
their shoulders at their pursuers, who, despite every exertion of the
former, were surely overhauling their pale-faced brothers. To the
pursued, camp seemed a long way in the distance, while the shouts of
the warriors, each time seeming nearer than before, warned them to urge
their steeds to their fastest pace. In a few moments the occupants of
camp discovered the approach of this strangely appearing party. It was
an easy matter to recognize the warriors, but who could name the two
who rode at the front? The pursuing warriors, seeing that they were not
likely to overtake and capture the two knights of the bath, slackened
their pace and sent a volley of arrows after them. A few moments later
and the two officers were safe inside the lines, where they lost no
time in making their way to their tents to attend to certain matters
relating to their toilet which the sudden appearance of their dusky
visitors had prevented. It was a long time before they ceased to hear
allusions made by their comrades to the cut and style of their riding
suit.
The other affair to which I have alluded occurred about the same
time, but in a different direction from camp. One of the officers,
who was commanding a troop, concluded one day that it would be safe
to grant permission to a part of his command to leave camp for the
purpose of hunting buffalo and obtaining fresh meat for the men. The
hunting party, being strong enough to protect itself against almost
any ordinary war party of Indians that might present itself, left
camp at an early hour in the morning and set out in the direction in
which the buffalo were reported to be. The forenoon passed away, noon
came, and still no signs of the return of the hunters. The small hours
of the afternoon began to come and go, and still no tidings from the
hunters, who were expected to return to camp after an absence of two
or three hours. The officer to whose troop they belonged, and who was
of an exceedingly nervous temperament, began to regret having accorded
them permission to leave camp, knowing that Indians had been seen in
the vicinity. The hunting party had gone by a route across the open
country which carried them up a long but very gradual ascent of perhaps
two miles, beyond which, on the level plain, the buffalo were supposed
to be herding in large numbers. Anxious to learn something concerning
the whereabouts of his men, and believing he could obtain a view of
the country beyond which might prove satisfactory, the officer, whose
suspense was constantly increasing, determined to mount his horse and
ride to the summit of the ridge beyond which his men had disappeared
in the morning. Taking no escort with him, he leisurely rode off,
guided by the trail made by the hunters. The distance to the crest
proved much further than it had seemed to the eye before starting. A
ride of over two miles had to be made before the highest point was
reached, but once there the officer felt well repaid for his exertion,
for in the dim deceptions of a beautiful mirage he saw what to him
was his hunting party leisurely returning toward camp. Thinking they
were still a long distance from him and would not reach him for a
considerable time, he did what every prudent cavalryman would have
done under similar circumstances--dismounted to allow his horse an
opportunity to rest. At the same time he began studying the extended
scenery, which from his exalted position lay spread in all directions
beneath him. The camp, seen nestling along the banks of the creek at
the base of the ridge, appeared as a pleasant relief to the monotony of
the view, which otherwise was undisturbed. Having scanned the horizon
in all directions, he turned to watch the approach of his men; when,
behold! instead of his own trusty troopers returning laden with the
fruits of the chase, the mirage had disappeared, and he saw a dozen
well-mounted warriors riding directly toward him at full speed. They
were still far enough away to enable him to mount his horse and have
more than an even chance to outstrip them in the race to camp. But no
time was to be thrown away; the beauties of natural scenery had, for
the time at least, lost their attraction. Camp never seemed so inviting
before. Heading his horse toward camp and gathering the reins in one
hand and holding his revolver in the other, the officer set out to
make his escape. Judgment had to be employed in riding this race, for
the distance being fully two miles before a place of safety could be
reached, his horse, not being high-bred and accustomed to going such
a distance at full speed, might, if forced too rapidly at first, fail
before reaching camp. Acting upon this idea, a tight rein was held and
as much speed kept in reserve as safety would permit. This enabled the
Indians to gain on the officer, but at no time did he feel that he
could not elude his pursuers. His principal anxiety was confined to the
character of the ground, care being taken to avoid the rough and broken
places. A single misstep or a stumble on the part of his horse, and
his pursuers would be upon him before he could rise. The sensations he
experienced during that flying ride could not have been enviable. Soon
the men in camp discerned his situation, and seizing their carbines
hastened out to his assistance. The Indians were soon driven away and
the officer again found himself among his friends. The hunters also
made their appearance shortly after, well supplied with game. They had
not found the buffalo as near camp as they had expected, and after
finding them were carried by a long pursuit in a different direction
from that taken by them in the morning. Hence their delay in returning
to camp.
These and similar occurrences, added to the attack made by the Indians
on the camp the afternoon I joined, proved that unless we were to
consider ourselves as actually besieged and were willing to accept
the situation, some decisive course must be adopted to punish the
Indians for their temerity. No offensive measures had been attempted
since the infantry and cavalry forces of General Sully had marched up
the hill and then, like the forces of the king of France, had marched
down again. The effect of this movement, in which the Indians gained
a decided advantage, was to encourage them in their attempts to annoy
and disturb the troops, not only by prowling about camp in considerable
numbers and rendering it unsafe, as has been seen, to venture beyond
the chain of sentinels, but by waylaying and intercepting all parties
passing between camp and the base of supplies at Fort Dodge. Knowing,
from my recent interview with General Sheridan, that activity was to
characterize the future operations of the troops, particularly those
of the cavalry, and that the sooner a little activity was exhibited
on our part the sooner perhaps might we be freed from the aggressions
of the Indians, I returned from the afternoon skirmish to my tent
and decided to begin offensive movements that same night, as soon as
darkness should conceal the march of the troops. It was reasonable
to infer that the war parties which had become so troublesome in the
vicinity of camp, and made their appearance almost daily, had a hiding
place or rendezvous on some of the many small streams which flowed
within a distance of twenty miles of the point occupied by the troops;
and it was barely possible that if a simultaneous movement was made
by several well-conducted parties with a view of scouting up and down
the various streams referred to, the hiding place of the Indians might
be discovered and their forays in the future broken up. It was deemed
most prudent, and to promise greatest chance of success, to make these
movements at night, as during the hours of daylight the Indians no
doubt kept close watch over everything transpiring in the vicinity
of camp, and no scouting party could have taken its departure in
daylight unobserved by the watchful eyes of the savages. Four separate
detachments were at once ordered to be in readiness to move immediately
after dark. Each detachment numbered about one hundred cavalry well
mounted and well armed. Guides who knew the country well were assigned
to each, and each party was commanded and accompanied by zealous and
efficient officers. The country was divided into four sections, and
to each detachment was assigned one of the sections, with orders to
thoroughly scout the streams running through it. It was hoped that
some one of these parties might, if in no other way, stumble upon a
camp-fire or other indication of the rendezvous of the Indians; but
subsequent experience only confirmed me in the opinion that Indians
seldom, if ever, permit hostile parties to stumble upon them unless
the stumblers are the weaker party. Before proceeding further in my
narrative I will introduce to the reader a personage who is destined
to appear at different intervals, and upon interesting occasions, as
the campaign proceeds. It is usual on the plains, and particularly
during time of active hostilities, for every detachment of troops to
be accompanied by one or more professional scouts or guides. These
guides are employed by the government at a rate of compensation far
in excess of that paid to the soldiers, some of the most experienced
receiving pay about equal to that of a subaltern in the line. They
constitute a most interesting as well as useful and necessary portion
of our frontier population. Who they are, whence they come or whither
they go, their names even, except such as they choose to adopt or
which may be given them, are all questions which none but themselves
can answer. As their usefulness to the service depends not upon the
unravelling of either of these mysteries but little thought is bestowed
upon them. Do you know the country thoroughly? and can you speak any
of the Indian languages? constitute the only examination which civil
or uncivil service reform demands on the plains. If the evidence on
these two important points is satisfactory, the applicant for a vacancy
in the corps of scouts may consider his position as secured, and the
door to congenial employment, most often leading to a terrible death,
opens before him. They are almost invariably men of very superior
judgment or common sense, with education generally better than that
of the average frontiersman. Their most striking characteristics are
love of adventure, a natural and cultivated knowledge of the country
without recourse to maps, deep hatred of the Indian, and an intimate
acquaintance with all the habits and customs of the latter, whether
pertaining to peace or war, and last but most necessary to their
calling, skill in the use of firearms and in the management of a horse.
The possessor of these qualifications, and more than the ordinary
amount of courage, may feel equal to discharge the dangerous and trying
duties of a scout. In concentrating the cavalry which had hitherto been
operating in small bodies, it was found that each detachment brought
with it the scouts who had been serving with them. When I joined the
command I found quite a number of these scouts attached to various
portions of the cavalry, but each acting separately. For the purposes
of organization it was deemed best to unite them into a separate
detachment under command of one of their own number. Being unacquainted
personally with the merits or demerits of any of them, the selection of
a chief had necessarily to be made somewhat at random. There was one
among their number whose appearance would have attracted the notice of
any casual observer. He was a man about forty years of age, perhaps
older, over six feet in height, and possessing a well-proportioned
frame. His head was covered with a luxuriant crop of long, almost black
hair, strongly inclined to curl, and so long as to fall carelessly over
his shoulders. His face, at least so much of it as was not concealed by
the long, waving brown beard and moustache, was full of intelligence
and pleasant to look upon. His eye was undoubtedly handsome, black and
lustrous, with an expression of kindness and mildness combined. On his
head was generally to be seen, whether asleep or awake, a huge sombrero
or black slouch hat. A soldier’s overcoat with its large circular cape,
a pair of trousers with the legs tucked in the top of his long boots,
usually constituted the outside make-up of the man whom I selected
as chief scout. He was known by the euphonious title of “California
Joe”; no other name seemed ever to have been given him, and no other
name ever seemed necessary. His military armament consisted of a long
breech-loading Springfield musket, from which he was inseparable, and
a revolver and hunting-knife, both the latter being carried in his
waist-belt. His mount completed his equipment for the field, being
instead of a horse a finely-formed mule, in whose speed and endurance
he had every confidence. Scouts usually prefer a good mule to a
horse, and wisely too, for the reason that in making their perilous
journeys, either singly or by twos or threes, celerity is one principal
condition to success. The object with the scout is not to outrun or
overwhelm the Indians, but to avoid both by secrecy and caution in
his movements. On the plains at most seasons of the year the horse is
incapable of performing long or rapid journeys without being supplied
with forage on the route. This must be transported, and in the case
of scouts would necessarily be transported on the back of the horse,
thereby adding materially to the weight which must be carried. The mule
will perform a rapid and continuous march without forage, being able
to subsist on the grazing to be obtained in nearly all the valleys
on the plains during the greater portion of the year. California Joe
was an inveterate smoker, and was rarely seen without his stubby,
dingy-looking brierwood pipe in full blast. The endurance of his
smoking powers was only surpassed by his loquacity. His pipe frequently
became exhausted and required refilling, but California Joe seemed
never to lack for material or disposition to carry on a conversation,
principally composed of personal adventures among the Indians, episodes
in mining life, or experience in overland journeying before the days
of steam engines and palace cars rendered a trip across the plains
a comparatively uneventful one. It was evident from the scraps of
information volunteered from time to time, that there was but little
of the Western country from the Pacific to the Missouri river with
which California Joe was not intimately acquainted. He had lived in
Oregon years before, and had become acquainted from time to time with
most of the officers who had served on the plains or on the Pacific
coast. I once inquired of him if he had ever seen General Sheridan?
“What, Gineral Shuridun? Why, bless my soul, I knowed Shuridun way
up in Oregon more’n fifteen years ago, an’ he wuz only a second
lootenant uv infantry. He wuz quartermaster of the foot or something
uv that sort, an’ I hed the contract uv furnishin’ wood to the post,
and, would ye b’leve it? I hed a kind of a sneakin’ notion then that
he’d hurt somebody ef they’d ever turn him loose. Lord, but ain’t he
old lightnin’?” This was the man whom upon a short acquaintance I
decided to appoint as chief of the scouts. This thrust of professional
greatness, as the sequel will prove, was more than California Joe
aspired to, or, considering some of his undeveloped traits, was equal
to; but I am anticipating.
As the four detachments already referred to were to move as soon as it
was dark, it was desirable that the scouts should be at once organized
and assigned. So, sending for California Joe, I informed him of his
promotion and what was expected of him and his men. After this official
portion of the interview had been completed, it seemed proper to Joe’s
mind that a more intimate acquaintance between us should be cultivated,
as we had never met before. His first interrogatory, addressed to me
in furtherance of this idea, was frankly put as follows: “See hyar,
Gineral, in order that we hev no misonderstandin’, I’d jest like to ask
ye a few questions.” Seeing that I had somewhat of a character to deal
with, I signified my perfect willingness to be interviewed by him. “Are
you an ambulance man ur a hoss man?” Pretending not to discover his
meaning, I requested him to explain. “I mean do you b’leve in catchin’
Injuns in ambulances or on hossback?” Still assuming ignorance, I
replied, “Well, Joe, I believe in catching Indians wherever we can find
them, whether they are found in ambulances or on horseback.” This did
not satisfy him. “That ain’t what I’m drivin’ at. S’pose you’re after
Injuns and really want to hev a tussle with ’em, would ye start after
’em on hossback, or would ye climb into an ambulance and be haulded
after ’em? That’s the pint I’m headin’ fur.” I answered that “I would
prefer the method on horseback provided I really desired to catch the
Indians; but if I wished them to catch me, I would adopt the ambulance
system of attack.” This reply seemed to give him complete satisfaction.
“You’ve hit the nail squar on the hed. I’ve bin with ’em on the plains
whar they started out after the Injuns on wheels, jist as ef they war
goin’ to a town funeral in the States, an’ they stood ’bout as many
chances uv catchin’ Injuns az a six-mule team wud uv catchin’ a pack of
thievin’ Ki-o-tees, jist as much. Why that sort uv work is only fun fur
the Injuns; they don’t want anything better. Ye ort to’ve seen how they
peppered it to us, an’ we a doin’ nuthin’ a’ the time. Sum uv ’em wuz
’fraid the mules war goin’ to stampede and run off with the train an’
all our forage and grub, but that wuz impossible; fur besides the big
loads uv corn an’ bacon an’ baggage the wagons hed in them, thar war
from eight to a dozen infantry men piled into them besides. Ye ort to
hev heard the quartermaster in charge uv the train tryin’ to drive the
infantry men out of the wagons and git them into the fight. I ’spect
he wuz an Irishman by his talk, fur he sed to them, ‘Git out uv thim
wagons, git out uv thim wagons; yez’ll hev me tried fur disobadience uv
ordhers fur marchin’ tin min in a wagon whin I’ve ordhers but fur ait!’”
How long I might have been detained listening to California Joe’s
recital of incidents of first campaigns, sandwiched here and there by
his peculiar but generally correct ideas of how to conduct an Indian
campaign properly, I do not know; time was limited, and I had to remind
him of the fact to induce him to shorten the conversation. It was only
deferred, however, as on every occasion thereafter California Joe would
take his place at the head of the column on the march, and his nearest
companion was made the receptacle of a fresh instalment of Joe’s facts
and opinions. His career as “chief scout” was of the briefest nature.
Everything being in readiness, the four scouting columns, the men
having removed their sabres to prevent clanging and detection, quietly
moved out of camp as soon as it was sufficiently dark, and set out in
different directions. California Joe accompanied that detachment whose
prospects seemed best of encountering the Indians. The rest of the
camp soon afterward returned to their canvas shelter, indulging in all
manner of surmises and conjectures as to the likelihood of either or
all of the scouting parties meeting with success. As no tidings would
probably be received in camp until a late hour of the following day,
taps, the usual signal from the bugle for “lights out,” found the main
camp in almost complete darkness, with only here and there a stray
glimmering of light from the candle of some officer’s tent, who was
probably reckoning in his own mind how much he was losing or perhaps
gaining by not accompanying one of the scouting parties. What were the
chances of success to the four detachments which had departed on this
all night’s ride? Next to nothing. Still, even if no Indians could be
found, the expeditions would accomplish this much: they would leave
their fresh trails all over the country within a circuit of twenty
miles of our camp, trails which the practised eyes of the Indians would
be certain to fall upon in daylight, and inform them for the first time
that an effort was being made to disturb them if nothing more.
Three of the scouting columns can be disposed of now by the simple
statement that they discovered no Indians, nor the remains of any
camps or lodging places indicating the recent presence of a war party
on any of the streams visited by them. The fourth detachment was that
one which California Joe had accompanied as scout. What a feather it
would be in his cap if, after the failure of the scouts accompanying
the other columns to discover Indians, the party guided by him should
pounce upon the savages, and by a handsome fight settle a few of the
old scores charged against them!
The night was passing away uninterrupted by any such event, and but a
few hours more intervened before daylight would make its appearance.
The troops had been marching constantly since leaving camp; some were
almost asleep in their saddles when the column was halted, and word
was passed along from man to man that the advance guard had discovered
signs indicating the existence of Indians near at hand. Nothing more
was necessary to dispel all sensations of sleep, and to place every
member of the command on the alert. It was difficult to ascertain
from the advance guard, consisting of a non-commissioned officer and
a few privates, precisely what they had seen. It seemed that in the
valley beyond, into which the command was about to descend, and which
could be overlooked from the position the troops then held, something
unusual had been seen by the leading troopers just as they had reached
the crest. What this mysterious something was, or how produced, no one
could tell; it appeared simply for a moment, and then only as a bright
flash of light of varied colors; how far away it was impossible to
determine in the heavy darkness of the night. A hasty consultation of
the officers took place at the head of the column, when it was decided
that in the darkness which then reigned it would be unwise to move to
the attack of an enemy until something more was known of the numbers
and position of the foe. As the moon would soon rise and dispel one of
the obstacles to conducting a careful attack, it was determined to hold
the troops in readiness to act upon a moment’s notice, and at the same
time send a picked party of men, under guidance of California Joe, to
crawl as close to the supposed position of the Indians as possible,
and gather all the information available. But where was California Joe
all this time? Why was he not at the front where his services would be
most likely to be in demand? Search was quietly made for him all along
both flanks of the column, but on careful inquiry it seemed that he had
not been seen for some hours, and then at a point many miles from that
at which the halt had been ordered. This was somewhat remarkable, and
admitted of no explanation--unless, perhaps, California Joe had fallen
asleep during the march and been carried away from the column; but this
theory gained no supporters. His absence at this particular time, when
his advice and services might prove so invaluable, was regarded as
most unfortunate. However, the party to approach the Indian camp was
being selected when a rifle shot broke upon the stillness of the scene,
sounding in the direction of the mysterious appearance which had first
attracted the attention of the advanced troopers. Another moment, and
the most powerful yells and screams rose in the same direction, as if
a terrible conflict was taking place. Every carbine was advanced ready
for action, each trigger was carefully sought, no one as yet being able
to divine the cause of this sudden outcry, when in a moment who should
come charging wildly up to the column, now dimly visible by the first
rays of the moon, but California Joe, shouting and striking wildly to
the right and left as if beset by a whole tribe of warriors. Here,
then, was the solution of the mystery. Not then, but in a few hours,
everything was rendered clear. Among the other traits or peculiarities
of his character, California Joe numbered an uncontrollable fondness
for strong drink; it was his one great weakness--a weakness to which
he could only be kept from yielding by keeping all intoxicating drink
beyond his reach. It seemed, from an after development of the affair,
that the sudden elevation of California Joe, unsought and unexpected
as it was, to the position of chief scout, was rather too much good
fortune to be borne by him in a quiet or undemonstrative manner. Such
a profusion of greatness had not been thrust upon him so often as to
render him secure from being affected by his preferment. At any rate
he deemed the event deserving of celebration--professional duties
to the contrary notwithstanding--and before proceeding on the night
expedition had filled his canteen with a bountiful supply of the
worst brand of whiskey, such as is only attainable on the frontier.
He, perhaps, did not intend to indulge to that extent which might
disable him from properly performing his duties; but in this, like many
other good men whose appetites are stronger than their resolutions,
he failed in his reckoning. As the liquor which he imbibed from time
to time after leaving camp began to produce the natural or unnatural
effect, Joe’s independence greatly increased until the only part of
the expedition which he recognized as at all important was California
Joe. His mule, no longer restrained by his hand, gradually carried him
away from the troops, until the latter were left far in the rear. This
was the relative position when the halt was ordered. California Joe,
having indulged in drink sufficiently for the time being, concluded
that the next best thing would be a smoke; nothing would be better to
cheer him on his lonely night ride. Filling his ever present brierwood
with tobacco, he next proceeded to strike a light, employing for this
purpose a storm or tempest match; it was the bright and flashing colors
of this which had so suddenly attracted the attention of the advance
guard. No sooner was his pipe lighted than the measure of his happiness
was complete, his imagination picturing him to himself, perhaps, as
leading in a grand Indian fight. His mule by this time had turned
toward the troops, and when California Joe set up his unearthly howls,
and began his imaginary charge into an Indian village, he was carried
at full speed straight to the column, where his good fortune alone
prevented him from receiving a volley before he was recognized as not
an Indian. His blood was up, and all efforts to quiet or suppress him
proved unavailing, until finally the officer in command was forced to
bind him hand and foot, and in this condition secured him on the back
of his faithful mule. In this sorry plight the chief scout continued
until the return of the troops to camp, when he was transferred to the
tender mercies of the guard as a prisoner for misconduct. Thus ended
California Joe’s career as chief scout. Another was appointed in his
stead, but we must not banish him from our good opinion yet. As a
scout, responsible only for himself, he will reappear in these pages
with a record which redounds to his credit.
Nothing was accomplished by the four scouting parties except, perhaps,
to inspire the troops with the idea that they were no longer to be
kept acting merely on the defensive, while the Indians, no doubt,
learned the same fact, and at the same time. The cavalry had been lying
idle, except when attacked by the Indians, for upward of a mouth. It
was reported that the war parties, which had been so troublesome for
some time, came from the direction of Medicine Lodge creek, a stream
running in the same general direction as Bluff creek, and about two
marches from the latter in a northeasterly direction. It was on this
stream--Medicine Lodge creek--that the great peace council had been
held with all the southern tribes with whom we had been and were then
at war, the Government being represented at the council by Senators
and other members of Congress, officers high in rank in the army, and
prominent gentlemen selected from the walks of civil life. The next
move, after the unsuccessful attempt in which California Joe created
the leading sensation, was to transfer the troops across from Bluff
creek to Medicine Lodge creek, and to send scouting parties up and
down the latter in search of our enemies. This movement was made soon
after the return of the four scouting expeditions sent out from Bluff
creek. As our first day’s march was to be a short one, we did not break
camp on Bluff creek until a late hour in the morning. Soon everything
was in readiness for the march, and like a travelling village of
Bedouins, the troopers and their train of supplies stretched out into
column. First came the cavalry, moving in column of fours; next came
the immense wagon train, containing the tents, forage, rations, and
extra ammunition of the command, a very necessary but unwieldy portion
of a mounted military force. Last of all came the rear guard, usually
consisting of about one company. On this occasion it was the company
commanded by the officer whose narrow escape from the Indians while in
search of a party of his men who had gone buffalo hunting, has been
already described in this chapter. The conduct of the Indians on this
occasion proved that they had been keeping an unseen but constant watch
on everything transpiring in or about camp. The column had scarcely
straightened itself out in commencing the march, and the rear guard had
barely crossed the limits of the deserted camp, when out from a ravine
near by dashed a war party of fully fifty well-mounted, well-armed
warriors. Their first onslaught was directed against the rear guard,
and a determined effort was made to drive them from the train, and
thus place the latter at their mercy, to be plundered of its contents.
After disposing of flankers, for the purpose of resisting any efforts
which might be made to attack the train from either flank, I rode back
to where the rear guard were engaged, to ascertain if they required
reinforcements. At the same time orders were given for the column of
troops and train to continue the march, as it was not intended that so
small a party as that attacking us should delay our march by any vain
effort on our part to ride them down, or overhaul them, when we knew
they could outstrip us if the contest was to be decided by a race.
Joining the rear guard, I had an opportunity to witness the Indian
mode of fighting in all its perfection. Surely no race of men, not
even the famous Cossacks, could display more wonderful skill in feats
of horsemanship than the Indian warrior on his native plains, mounted
on his well-trained war pony, voluntarily running the gauntlet of his
foes, drawing and receiving the fire of hundreds of rifles, and in
return sending back a perfect shower of arrows, or, more likely still,
well-directed shots from some souvenir of a peace commission, in the
shape of an improved breech-loader. The Indian warrior is capable of
assuming positions on his pony, the latter at full speed, which no
one but an Indian could maintain for a single moment without being
thrown to the ground. The pony, of course, is perfectly trained, and
seems possessed of the spirit of his rider. An Indian’s wealth is most
generally expressed by the number of his ponies. No warrior or chief
is of any importance or distinction who is not the owner of a herd of
ponies numbering from twenty to many hundreds. He has for each special
purpose a certain number of ponies, those that are kept as pack animals
being the most inferior in quality and value; then the ordinary riding
ponies used on the march or about camp, or when visiting neighboring
villages; next in consideration is the “buffalo pony,” trained to the
hunt, and only employed when dashing into the midst of the huge buffalo
herds, when the object is either food from the flesh or clothing and
shelter for the lodges, to be made from the buffalo hide; last, or
rather first, considering its value and importance, is the “war pony,”
the favorite of the herd, fleet of foot, quick in intelligence, and
full of courage. It may be safely asserted that the first place in the
heart of the warrior is held by his faithful and obedient war pony.
Indians are extremely fond of bartering, and are not behindhand
in catching the points of a good bargain. They will sign treaties
relinquishing their lands, and agree to forsake the burial ground of
their forefathers; they will part, for due consideration, with their
bow and arrows, and their accompanying quiver, handsomely wrought in
dressed furs; their lodges even may be purchased at not an unfair
valuation, and it is not an unusual thing for a chief or warrior to
offer to exchange his wife or daughter for some article which may have
taken his fancy. This is no exaggeration; but no Indian of the plains
has ever been known to trade, sell, or barter away his favorite “war
pony.” To the warrior his battle horse is as the apple of his eye.
Neither love nor money can induce him to part with it. To see them in
battle, and to witness how the one almost becomes a part of the other,
one might well apply to the warrior the lines--
But this gallant
Had witchcraft in ’t; he grew into his seat,
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse,
As he had been encorps’d and demi-natur’d
With the brave beast; so far he passed my thought
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks,
Come short of what he did.
The officer in command of the rear guard expressed the opinion that he
could resist successfully the attacks of the savages until a little
later, when it was seen that the latter were receiving accessions
to their strength and were becoming correspondingly bolder and more
difficult to repulse, when a second troop of cavalry was brought from
the column, as a support to the rear guard. These last were ordered
to fight on foot, their horses, in charge of every fourth trooper,
being led near the train. The men being able to fire so much more
accurately when on foot, compelled the Indians to observe greater
caution in their manner of attack. Once a warrior was seen to dash out
from the rest in the peculiar act of “circling,” which was simply to
dash along in front of the line of troopers, receiving their fire and
firing in return. Suddenly his pony, while at full speed, was seen
to fall to the ground, showing that the aim of at least one of the
soldiers had been effective. The warrior was thrown over and beyond
the pony’s head, and his capture by the cavalry seemed a sure and easy
matter to be accomplished. I saw him fall, and called to the officer
commanding the troop which had remained mounted to gallop forward and
secure the Indian. The troop advanced rapidly, but the comrades of the
fallen Indian had also witnessed his mishap, and were rushing to his
rescue. He was on his feet in a moment, and the next moment another
warrior, mounted on the fleetest of ponies, was at his side, and with
one leap the dismounted warrior placed himself astride the pony of his
companion; and thus doubly burdened, the gallant little steed, with
his no less gallant riders, galloped lightly away, with about eighty
cavalrymen, mounted on strong domestic horses, in full cry after them.
There is no doubt but that by all the laws of chance the cavalry should
have been able to soon overhaul and capture the Indians in so unequal
a race; but whether from lack of zeal on the part of the officer
commanding the pursuit, or from the confusion created by the diversion
attempted by the remaining Indians, the pony, doubly weighted as he
was, distanced his pursuers and landed his burden in a place of safety.
Although chagrined at the failure of the pursuing party to accomplish
the capture of the Indians, I could not wholly suppress a feeling of
satisfaction, if not gladness, that for once the Indian had eluded the
white man. I need not add that any temporary tenderness of feeling
toward the two Indians was prompted by their individual daring and
the heroic display of comradeship in the successful attempt to render
assistance to a friend in need.
Without being able to delay our march, yet it required the combined
strength and resistance of two full troops of cavalry to defend the
train from the vigorous and dashing attacks of the Indians. At last,
finding that the command was not to be diverted from its purpose,
or hindered in completing its regular march, the Indians withdrew,
leaving us to proceed unmolested. These contests with the Indians,
while apparently yielding the troops no decided advantage, were of the
greatest value in view of future and more extensive operations against
the savages. Many of the men and horses were far from being familiar
with actual warfare, particularly of this irregular character. Some
of the troopers were quite inexperienced as horsemen, and still more
inexpert in the use of their weapons, as their inaccuracy of fire when
attempting to bring down an Indian within easy range clearly proved.
Their experience, resulting from these daily contests with the red
men, was to prove of incalculable benefit, and fit them for the duties
of the coming campaign. Our march was completed to Medicine Lodge
creek, where a temporary camp was established, while scouting parties
were sent both up and down the stream as far as there was the least
probability of finding Indians. The party, consisting of three troops,
which scouted down the valley of Medicine Lodge creek, proceeded down
to the point where was located and then standing the famous “medicine
lodge,” an immense structure erected by the Indians, and used by
them as a council house, where once in each year the various tribes
of the southern plains were wont to assemble in mysterious conclave
to consult the Great Spirit as to the future, and to offer up rude
sacrifices and engage in imposing ceremonies, such as were believed to
be appeasing and satisfactory to the Indian Deity. In the conduct of
these strange and interesting incantations, the presiding or directing
personages are known among the Indians as “medicine men.” They are
the high priests of the red man’s religion, and in their peculiar
sphere are superior in influence and authority to all others in the
tribe, not excepting the head chief. No important step is proposed or
put in execution, whether relating to war or peace, even the probable
success of a contemplated hunt, but is first submitted to the powers
of divination confidently believed to be possessed by the medicine man
of the tribe. He, after a series of enchantments, returns the answer
supposed to be prompted by the Great Spirit, as to whether the proposed
step is well advised and promises success or not. The decisions given
by the medicine men are supreme, and admit of no appeal. The medicine
lodge just referred to had been used as the place of assembly of the
grand council held between the warlike tribes and the representatives
of the Government, referred to in preceding pages. The medicine lodge
was found in a deserted but well-preserved condition. Here and there,
hanging overhead, were collected various kinds of herbs and plants,
vegetable offerings no doubt to the Great Spirit; while, in strange
contrast to these peaceful specimens of the fruits of the earth, were
trophies of the war path and the chase, the latter being represented
by the horns and dressed skins of animals killed in the hunt, some of
the skins being beautifully ornamented in the most fantastic of styles
peculiar to the Indian idea of art. Of the trophies relating to war,
the most prominent were human scalps, representing all ages and sexes
of the white race. These scalps, according to the barbarous custom,
were not composed of the entire covering of the head, but of a small
surface surrounding the crown, and usually from three to four inches
in diameter, constituting what is termed the scalp lock. To preserve
the scalp from decay, a small hoop of about double the diameter of
the scalp is prepared from a small withe, which grows on the banks
of some of the streams in the West. The scalp is placed inside the
hoop, and properly stretched by a network of thread connecting the
edges of the scalp with the circumference of the hoop. After being
properly cured, the dried fleshy portion of the scalp is ornamented
in bright colors, according to the taste of the captor, sometimes the
addition of beads of bright and varied colors being made to heighten
the effect. In other instances the hair is dyed, either to a beautiful
yellow or golden, or to crimson. Several of these horrible evidences
of past depredations upon the defenceless inhabitants of the frontier,
or overland emigrants, were brought back by the troopers on their
return from their scout. Old trails of small parties of Indians were
discovered, but none indicating the recent presence of war parties in
that valley were observable. The command was then marched back to near
its former camp on Bluff creek, from whence, after a sojourn of three
or four days, it marched to a point on the north bank of the Arkansas
river, about ten miles below Fort Dodge, there to engage in earnest
preparation and reorganization for the winter campaign, which was soon
to be inaugurated, and in which the Seventh Cavalry was to bear so
prominent a part. We pitched our tents on the banks of the Arkansas on
the 21st of October, 1868, there to remain usefully employed until the
12th of the following month, when we mounted our horses, bade adieu to
the luxuries of civilization, and turned our faces toward the Wichita
mountains in the endeavor to drive from their winter hiding places the
savages who had during the past summer waged such ruthless and cruel
war upon our exposed settlers on the border. How far and in what way
we were successful in this effort, will be learned in the following
chapter.
XIV.
In concluding to go into camp for a brief period on the banks of the
Arkansas, two important objects were in view: first, to devote the
time to refitting, reorganizing, and renovating generally that portion
of the command which was destined to continue active operations
during the inclement winter season; second, to defer our movement
against the hostile tribes until the last traces of the fall season
had disappeared, and winter in all its bitter force should be upon
us. We had crossed weapons with the Indians time and again during the
mild summer months, when the rich verdure of the valleys served as
bountiful and inexhaustible granaries in supplying forage to their
ponies, and the immense herds of buffalo and other varieties of game
roaming undisturbed over the Plains supplied all the food that was
necessary to subsist the war parties, and at the same time allow their
villages to move freely from point to point; and the experience of both
officers and men went to prove that in attempting to fight Indians in
the summer season we were yielding to them the advantages of climate
and supplies--we were meeting them on ground of their own selection,
and at a time when every natural circumstance controlling the result
of a campaign was wholly in their favor; and as a just consequence the
troops, in nearly all these contests with the red men, had come off
second best. During the grass season nearly all Indian villages are
migratory, seldom remaining longer than a few weeks at most in any
one locality, depending entirely upon the supply of grass; when this
becomes exhausted the lodges are taken down, and the entire tribe or
band moves to some other point, chosen with reference to the supply
of grass, water, wood, and game. The distance to the new location is
usually but a few miles. During the fall, when the buffaloes are in
the best condition to furnish food, and the hides are suitable to be
dressed as robes, or to furnish covering for the lodges, the grand
annual hunts of the tribes take place, by which the supply of meat
for the winter is procured. This being done, the chiefs determine
upon the points at which the village shall be located; if the tribe
is a large one, the village is often subdivided, one portion or band
remaining at one point, other portions choosing localities within a
circuit of thirty or forty miles. Except during seasons of the most
perfect peace, and when it is the firm intention of the chiefs to
remain on friendly terms with the whites at least during the winter
and early spring months, the localities selected for their winter
resorts are remote from the military posts and frontier settlements,
and the knowledge which might lead to them carefully withheld from
every white man. Even during a moderate winter season, it is barely
possible for the Indians to obtain sufficient food for their ponies
to keep the latter in anything above a starving condition. Many of
the ponies actually die from want of forage, while the remaining ones
become so weak and attenuated that it requires several weeks of good
grazing in the spring to fit them for service--particularly such
service as is required from the war ponies. Guided by these facts, it
was evident that if we chose to avail ourselves of the assistance of
so exacting and terrible an ally as the frosts of winter--an ally who
would be almost as uninviting to friends as to foes--we might deprive
our enemy of his points of advantage, and force him to engage in a
combat in which we should do for him what he had hitherto done for us;
compel him to fight upon ground and under circumstances of our own
selection. To decide upon making a winter campaign against the Indians
was certainly in accordance with that maxim in the art of war which
directs one to do that which the enemy neither expects nor desires to
be done. At the same time it would dispel the old-fogy idea, which was
not without supporters in the army, and which was confidently relied on
by the Indians themselves, that the winter season was an insurmountable
barrier to the prosecution of a successful campaign. But aside from
the delay which was necessary to be submitted to before the forces
of winter should produce their natural but desired effect upon our
enemies, there was much to be done on our part before we could be ready
to coöperate in an offensive movement.
The Seventh Cavalry, which was to operate in one body during the coming
campaign, was a comparatively new regiment, dating its existence as an
organization from July, 1866. The officers and companies had not served
together before with much over half their full force. A large number
of fresh horses were required and obtained; these had to be drilled.
All the horses in the command were to be newly shod, and an extra fore
and hind shoe fitted to each horse; these, with the necessary nails,
were to be carried by each trooper in the saddle pocket. It has been
seen that the men lacked accuracy in the use of their carbines. To
correct this, two drills in target practice were ordered each day. The
companies were marched separately to the ground where the targets had
been erected, and, under the supervision of the troop officers, were
practised daily in firing at targets placed one hundred, two hundred,
and three hundred yards distant. The men had been previously informed
that out of the eight hundred men composing the command, a picked corps
of sharpshooters would be selected, numbering forty men, and made up
of the forty best marksmen in the regiment. As an incentive to induce
every enlisted man, whether non-commissioned officer or private, to
strive for appointment in the sharpshooters, it was given out from
headquarters that the men so chosen would be regarded, as they really
would deserve to be, as the _elite_ of the command; not only regarded
as such, but treated with corresponding consideration. For example,
they were to be marched as a separate organization, independently of
the column, a matter which in itself is not so trifling as it may
seem to those who have never participated in a long and wearisome
march. Then again no guard or picket duty was to be required of the
sharpshooters, which alone was enough to encourage every trooper to
excel as a marksman. Besides these considerations, it was known that,
should we encounter the enemy, the sharpshooters would be most likely
to be assigned a post of honor, and would have superior opportunities
for acquiring distinction and rendering good service. The most generous
as well as earnest rivalry at once sprung up, not only between the
various companies, as to which should secure the largest representation
among the sharpshooters, but the rivalry extended to individuals of
the same company, each of whom seemed desirous of the honor of being
considered as “one of the best shots.”
To be able to determine the matter correctly, a record of every shot
fired by each man of the command, throughout a period of upwards of
one month, was carefully kept. It was surprising to observe the marked
and rapid improvement in the accuracy of aim attained by the men
generally during this period. Two drills at target practice each day,
and allowing each man an opportunity at every drill to become familiar
with the handling of his carbine, and in judging of the distances
of the different targets, worked a most satisfactory improvement
in the average accuracy of fire; so that at the end of the period
named, by taking the record of each trooper’s target practice, I was
enabled to select forty marksmen in whose ability to bring down any
warrior, whether mounted or not, who might challenge us, as we had
often been challenged before, I felt every confidence. They were a
superb body of men, and felt the greatest pride in their distinction.
A sufficient number of non-commissioned officers, who had proven
their skill as marksmen, were included in the organization--among
them, fortunately, a first sergeant, whose expertness in the use of
any firearm was well established throughout the command. I remember
having seen him, while riding at full speed, bring down four buffaloes
by four consecutive shots from his revolver. When it is remembered
that even experienced hunters are usually compelled to fire half a
dozen shots or more to secure a single buffalo, this statement will
appear the more remarkable. The forty sharpshooters being supplied
with their complement of sergeant and corporals, and thus constituting
an organization by themselves, only lacked one important element, a
suitable commander--a leader who, aside from being a thorough soldier,
should possess traits of character which would not only enable him to
employ skilfully the superior abilities of those who were to constitute
his command, but at the same time feel that _esprit de corps_ which
is so necessary to both officers and soldiers when success is to be
achieved. Fortunately, in my command were a considerable number of
young officers, nearly all of whom were full of soldierly ambition,
and eager to grasp any opportunity which opened the way to honorable
preferment. The difficulty was not in finding an officer properly
qualified in every way to command the sharpshooters, but, among so
many who I felt confident would render a good account of themselves
if assigned to that position, to designate a leader _par excellence_.
The choice fell upon Colonel Cook, a young officer whose acquaintance
the reader will remember to have made in connection with the plucky
fight he had with the Indians near Fort Wallace the preceding summer.
Colonel Cook, at the breaking out of the rebellion, although then but
a lad of sixteen years, entered one of the New York cavalry regiments,
commencing at the foot of the ladder. He served in the cavalry arm of
the service throughout the war, participating in Sheridan’s closing
battles near Richmond, his services and gallantry resulting in his
promotion to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. While there were many
of the young officers who would have been pleased if they instead of
another had been chosen, there was no one in the command, perhaps, who
did not regard the selection as a most judicious one. Future events
only confirmed this judgment.
After everything in the way of reorganization and refitting which might
be considered as actually necessary had been ordered, another step,
bordering on the ornamental perhaps, although in itself useful, was
taken. This was what is termed in the cavalry “coloring the horses,”
which does not imply, as might be inferred from the expression, that
we actually changed the color of our horses, but merely classified or
arranged them throughout the different squadrons and troops according
to the color. Hitherto the horses had been distributed to the various
companies of the regiment indiscriminately, regardless of color, so
that in each company and squadron horses were found of every color.
For uniformity of appearance it was decided to devote one afternoon
to a general exchange of horses. The troop commanders were assembled
at headquarters and allowed, in the order of their rank, to select
the color they preferred. This being done, every public horse in
the command was led out and placed in line: the grays collected at
one point, the bays--of which there was a great preponderance in
numbers--at another, the blacks at another, the sorrels by themselves;
then the chestnuts, the blacks, the browns; and last of all came what
were jocularly designated the “brindles,” being the odds and ends so
far as colors were concerned--roans and other mixed colors--the junior
troop commander of course becoming the reluctant recipient of these
last, valuable enough except as to color. The exchanges having been
completed, the men of each troop led away to their respective picket or
stable lines their newly-acquired chargers. Arriving upon their company
grounds, another assignment in detail was made by the troop commanders.
First, the non-commissioned officers were permitted to select their
horses in the order of their rank; then the remaining horses were
distributed among the troopers generally, giving to the best soldiers
the best horses. It was surprising to witness what a great improvement
in the handsome appearance of the command was effected by this measure.
The change when first proposed had not been greeted with much favor by
many of the troopers who by long service and association in times of
danger had become warmly attached to their horses; but the same reasons
which had endeared the steed to the soldier in the one instance, soon
operate in the same manner to render the new acquaintances fast friends.
Among the other measures adopted for carrying the war to our enemy’s
doors, and in a manner “fight the devil with fire,” was the employment
of Indian allies. These were to be procured from the “reservation
Indians,” tribes who, from engaging in long and devastating wars with
the whites and with other hostile bands, had become so reduced in
power as to be glad to avail themselves of the protection and means of
subsistence offered by the reservation plan. These tribes were most
generally the objects of hatred in the eyes of their more powerful
and independent neighbors of the Plains, and the latter, when making
their raids and bloody incursions upon the white settlements of the
frontiers, did not hesitate to visit their wrath equally upon whites
and reservation Indians. To these smaller tribes it was a welcome
opportunity to be permitted to ally themselves to the forces of the
Government, and endeavor to obtain that satisfaction which acting alone
they were powerless to secure. The tribes against which we proposed to
operate during the approaching campaign had been particularly cruel
and relentless in their wanton attacks upon the Osages and Kaws, two
tribes living peaceably and contentedly on well-chosen reservations in
southwestern Kansas and the northern portion of the Indian Territory.
No assistance in fighting the hostile tribes was desired, but it
was believed, and correctly too, that in finding the enemy and in
discovering the location of his winter hiding-places, the experience
and natural tact and cunning of the Indians would be a powerful
auxiliary if we could enlist them in our cause. An officer was sent to
the village of the Osages to negotiate with the head chiefs, and was
successful in his mission, returning with a delegation consisting of
the second chief in rank of the Osage tribe, named “Little Beaver,”
“Hard Rope,” the counsellor or wise man of his people, and eleven
warriors, with an interpreter. In addition to the monthly rate of
compensation which the Government agreed to give them, they were also
to be armed, clothed, and mounted at Government expense.
Advices from General Sheridan’s headquarters, then at Fort Hays,
Kansas, were received early in November, informing us that the time
for resuming active operations was near at hand, and urging the early
completion of all preliminaries looking to that end. Fort Dodge,
on the Arkansas river, was the extreme post south in the direction
proposed to be taken by us, until the Red river should be crossed and
the northwestern posts of Texas could be reached, which were further
south than our movements would probably carry us. To use Fort Dodge
as our base of supplies, and keep open to that point our long line
of communications, would have been, considering the character of the
country and that of the enemy to be encountered, an impracticable
matter with our force. To remedy this a temporary base was decided
upon, to be established about one hundred miles south of Fort Dodge,
at some point yet to be determined, from which we could obtain our
supplies during the winter. With this object in view an immense
train, consisting of about four hundred army wagons, was loaded with
forage, rations, and clothing, for the supply of the troops composing
the expedition. A guard composed of a few companies of infantry was
detailed to accompany the trains and to garrison the point which was to
be selected as the new base of supplies. Everything being in readiness,
the cavalry moved from its camp on the north bank of the Arkansas
on the morning of the 12th of November, and after fording the river
began its march toward the Indian Territory. That night we encamped on
Mulberry creek, where we were joined by the infantry and the supply
train. General Sully, commanding the district, here took active command
of the combined forces. Much anxiety existed in the minds of some of
the officers, remembering no doubt their late experience, lest the
Indians should attack us while on the march, when, hampered as we
should be in the protection of so large a train of wagons, we might
fare badly. The country over which we were to march was favorable to
us, as we were able to move our trains in four parallel columns formed
close together. This arrangement shortened our flanks and rendered
them less exposed to attack. The following morning after reaching
Mulberry creek the march was resumed soon after daylight, the usual
order being: the four hundred wagons of the supply train and those
belonging to the troops formed in four equal columns; in advance of
the wagons at a proper distance rode the advance guard of cavalry; a
corresponding cavalry force formed the rear guard. The remainder of the
cavalry was divided into two equal parts, and these parts again divided
into three equal detachments; these six detachments were disposed
of along the flanks of the column, three on a side, maintaining a
distance between themselves and the train of from a quarter to half a
mile, while each of them had flanking parties thrown out opposite the
train, rendering it impossible for an enemy to appear in any direction
without timely notice being received. The infantry on beginning the
march in the morning were distributed throughout the train in such
manner that should the enemy attack, their services could be rendered
most effective. Unaccustomed, however, to field service, particularly
marching, the infantry apparently were only able to march for a few
hours in the early part of the day, when, becoming weary, they would
straggle from their companies and climb into the covered wagons, from
which there was no determined effort to rout them. In the afternoon
there would be little evidence perceptible to the eye that infantry
formed any portion of the expedition, save here and there the butt
of a musket or point of a bayonet peeping out from under the canvas
wagon-covers, or perhaps an officer of infantry “treading alone his
native heath,” or better still mounted on an Indian pony, the result of
some barter with the Indians when times were a little more peaceable,
and neither wars nor rumors of wars disturbed the monotony of garrison
life. Nothing occurred giving us any clue to the whereabouts of
Indians until we had been marching several days and were moving down
the valley of Beaver creek, when our Indian guides discovered the trail
of an Indian war party, numbering, according to their estimate, from
one hundred to one hundred and fifty warriors, mounted and moving in
a northeasterly direction. The trail was not over twenty-four hours
old, and by following it to the point where it crossed Beaver creek,
almost the exact numbers and character of the party could be determined
from the fresh signs at the crossing. Everything indicated that it
was a war party sent from the very tribes we were in search of, and
the object, judging from the direction they had been moving, and
other circumstances, was to make a raid on the settlements in Western
Kansas. As soon as we had reached camp for the night, which was but a
short distance from the point at which we crossed the Indian trail, I
addressed a communication to the senior officer, who was commanding the
expedition, and, after stating the facts learned in connection with
the trail, requested that I might be permitted to take the cavalry
belonging to the expedition, leaving the trains to be guarded by the
infantry, whose numbers were ample for this purpose, and with the
Indian scouts as trailers set out early the next morning, following the
trail of the war party, not in the direction taken by them, as this
would be an idle attempt, but in the direction from which they came,
expressing the conviction that such a course would in all probability
lead us direct to the villages of the marauders, which was the ultimate
object of the movement we were thus engaged in. By so doing we might
be able to strike a prompt blow against our enemies, and visit swift
punishment upon the war party, whose hostile purposes were but too
evident. In these views I was sustained by the opinions of our Indian
allies, who expressed confidence in their ability to take the trail
and follow it back to the villages. The officer to whom my application
was submitted, and whose sanction was necessary before I could be
authorized to execute my proposed plan, returned an elaborate argument
attempting to prove that no successful results could possibly attend
the undertaking I had suggested, and ended with the remark that it was
absurd to suppose for one moment that a large military force such as
ours was, and accompanied by such an immense train of wagons, could
move into the heart of the Indian country and their presence remain
undiscovered by the watchful savages for even a single day. This
specious reasoning sounded well--read well--but it gave no satisfaction
to the men and officers of the cavalry, all of whom thought they saw
a fine opportunity neglected. However, we shall strike this trail
again, but on different ground and under different circumstances.
Great as was our temporary disappointment at being restrained, the
result satisfied all of us that, for very different reasons from those
adduced to withhold us from making the proposed movement, all, as the
sequel proved, was for the best. On the sixth day after leaving our
camp on the north bank of the Arkansas the expedition arrived at the
point which was chosen as our future base, where the infantry were
to remain and erect quarters for themselves and storehouses for the
military supplies. The point selected--which was then given the name
it now bears, Camp Supply--was in the angle formed by Wolf and Beaver
creeks, about one mile above the junction of these two streams. These
streams by their union form the north fork of the Canadian river. The
exact geographical location of the point referred to is lat. 36 deg. 30
min., long. 99 deg. 30 min., being in the neighborhood of one hundred
miles in a southerly direction from Fort Dodge on the Arkansas. We
of the cavalry knew that our detention at this point would be but
brief. Within two or three days of our arrival the hearts of the entire
command were gladdened by the sudden appearance in our midst of strong
reinforcements. These reinforcements consisted of General Sheridan and
staff. Hearing of his near approach, I mounted my horse and was soon
galloping beyond the limits of camp to meet him. If there were any
persons in the command who hitherto had been in doubt as to whether the
proposed winter campaign was to be a reality or otherwise, such persons
soon had cause to dispel all mistrust on this point. Selecting from the
train a sufficient number of the best teams and wagons to transport
our supplies of rations and forage, enough to subsist the command upon
for a period of thirty days, our arrangements were soon completed by
which the cavalry, consisting of eleven companies and numbering between
eight and nine hundred men, were ready to resume the march. In addition
we were to be accompanied by a detachment of scouts, among the number
being California Joe; also our Indian allies from the Osage tribe,
headed by Little Beaver and Hard Rope. As the country in which we were
to operate was beyond the limits of the district which constituted the
command of General Sully, that officer was relieved from further duty
with the troops composing the expedition, and in accordance with his
instructions withdrew from Camp Supply and returned to his headquarters
at Fort Harker, Kansas, accompanied by Colonel Keogh, Seventh Cavalry,
then holding the position of staff officer at district headquarters.
After remaining at Camp Supply six days, nothing was required but the
formal order directing the movement to commence. This came in the shape
of a brief letter of instructions from Department headquarters. Of
course, as nothing was known positively as to the exact whereabouts
of the Indian villages, the instructions had to be general in terms.
In substance, I was to march my command in search of the winter
hiding-places of the hostile Indians, and wherever found to administer
such punishment for past depredations as my force was able to. On the
evening of November 22d, orders were issued to be in readiness to move
promptly at daylight the following morning. That night, in the midst
of other final preparations for a long separation from all means of
communication with absent friends, most of us found time to hastily
pen a few parting lines, informing them of our proposed expedition,
and the uncertainties with which it was surrounded, as none of us knew
when or where we should be heard from again once we bade adieu to the
bleak hospitalities of Camp Supply. Alas! some of our number were
destined never to return. It began snowing the evening of the 22d, and
continued all night, so that when the shrill notes of the bugle broke
the stillness of the morning air at reveille on the 23d, we awoke at
four o’clock to find the ground covered with snow to a depth of over
one foot, and the storm still raging in full force. Surely this was
anything but an inviting prospect as we stepped from our frail canvas
shelters and found ourselves standing in the constantly and rapidly
increasing depth of snow which appeared in every direction. “How will
this do for a winter campaign?” was the half sarcastic query of the
adjutant, as he came trudging back to the tent through a field of snow
extending almost to the top of his tall troop boots, after having
received the reports of the different companies at reveille. “Just
what we want,” was the reply. Little grooming did the shivering horses
receive from the equally uncomfortable troopers that morning. Breakfast
was served and disposed of more as a matter of form and regulation
than to satisfy the appetite; for who, I might inquire, could rally
much of an appetite at five o’clock in the morning, and when standing
around a camp fire almost up to the knees in snow? The signal, “The
general,” for tents to be taken down and wagons packed for the march,
gave every one employment. Upon the principle that a short horse is
soon curried, and as we were going to take but little with us in the
way of baggage of any description, the duties of packing up were soon
performed. It still lacked some minutes of daylight when the various
commanders reported their commands in readiness to move, save the final
act of saddling the horses, which only arrested the signal sounds of
the chief bugler at headquarters. “Boots and saddles” rang forth, and
each trooper grasped his saddle, and the next moment was busily engaged
arranging and disposing of the few buckles and straps upon which the
safety of his seat and the comfort of his horse depended. While they
were thus employed, my horse being already saddled and held near by, by
the orderly, I improved the time to gallop through the darkness across
the narrow plain to the tents of General Sheridan, and say good-by. I
found the headquarter tents wrapped in silence, and at first imagined
that no one was yet stirring except the sentinel in front of the
General’s tent, who kept up his lonely tread, apparently indifferent
to the beating storm. But I had no sooner given the bridle-rein to my
orderly than the familiar tones of the General called out, letting
me know that he was awake, and had been an attentive listener to our
notes of preparation. His first greeting was to ask what I thought
about the snow and the storm. To which I replied that nothing could
be more to our purpose. We could move and the Indian villages could
not. If the snow only remained on the ground one week, I promised to
bring the General satisfactory evidences that my command had met the
Indians. With an earnest injunction from my chief to keep him informed,
if possible, should anything important occur, and many hearty wishes
for a successful issue to the campaign, I bade him adieu. After I had
mounted my horse, and had started to rejoin my command, a staff officer
of the General, a particular friend, having just been awakened by
the conversation, called out, while standing in the door of his tent
enveloped in the comfortable folds of a huge buffalo robe, “Good-by,
old fellow; take care of yourself!” and in these brief sentences the
usual farewell greetings between brother officers separating for
service took place. By the time I rejoined my men they had saddled
their horses and were in readiness for the march. “To horse” was
sounded, and each trooper stood at his horse’s head. Then followed the
commands “Prepare to mount” and “Mount,” when nothing but the signal
“Advance” was required to put the column in motion. The band took its
place at the head of the column, preceded by the guides and scouts, and
when the march began it was to the familiar notes of that famous old
marching tune, “The girl I left behind me.”
If we had entered into solemn compact with the clerk of the
weather--this being before the reign of “Old Probabilities”--to be
treated to winter in its severest aspect, we could have claimed no
forfeiture on account of non-fulfilment of contract. We could not
refer to the oldest inhabitant, that mythical personage in most
neighborhoods, to attest to the fact that this was a storm unparalleled
in severity in that section of country. The snow continued to descend
in almost blinding clouds. Even the appearance of daylight aided us but
little in determining the direction of our march. So dense and heavy
were the falling lines of snow, that all view of the surface of the
surrounding country, upon which the guides depended to enable them to
run their course, was cut off. To such an extent was this true that it
became unsafe for a person to wander from the column a distance equal
to twice the width of Broadway, as in that short space all view of
the column was prevented by the storm. None of the command except the
Indian guides had ever visited the route we desired to follow, and
they were forced to confess that until the storm abated sufficiently
to permit them to catch glimpses of the landmarks of the country, they
could not undertake to guide the troops to the point where we desired
to camp that night. Here was a serious obstacle encountered quite early
in the campaign.
The point at which we proposed to encamp for the night was on Wolf
creek, only some twelve or fifteen miles from Camp Supply, it not
being intended that our first day’s progress should be very great. We
had started, however, and notwithstanding the discouraging statements
of our guides it would never do to succumb to opposition so readily.
There was but one course to pursue now that the guides could no
longer conduct us with certainty, and that was to be guided--like the
mariner in mid-ocean--by the never-failing compass. There are few
cavalry officers but what carry a compass in some more or less simple
form. Mine was soon in my hand, and having determined as accurately
as practicable, from my knowledge of the map of the country, the
direction in which we ought to move in order to strike Wolf creek at
the desired camping ground, I became for the time guide to the column,
and after marching until about two P. M. reached the valley of Wolf
creek, where a resting place for the night was soon determined upon.
There was still no sign of abatement on the part of the weather. Timber
was found along the banks of the creek in ample quantity to furnish
us with fuel, but so imbedded in snow as to render the prospect of
a camp fire very remote and uncertain. Our march of fifteen miles
through the deep snow and blinding storm had been more fatiguing to
our horses than an ordinary march of thirty miles would have been.
Our wagons were still far in rear. While they were coming up every
man in the command, officers as well as enlisted men, set briskly to
work in gathering a good supply of wood, as our personal comfort in
camp in such weather would be largely dependent on the quality and
quantity of our firewood. Fallen and partly seasoned trees were in
great demand, and, when discovered in the huge beds of snow, were
soon transformed, under the vigorous blows of a score of axes, into
available fuel. It was surprising as well as gratifying to witness the
contentment and general good humor everywhere prevailing throughout
the command. Even the chill of winter and the bitterest of storms
were insufficient to produce a feeling of gloom, or to suppress the
occasional ebullition of mirthful feeling which ever and anon would
break forth from some Celtic or Teutonic disciple of Mars. Fires were
soon blazing upon the grounds assigned to the different troops, and
upon the arrival of the wagons, which occurred soon after, the company
cooks were quickly engaged in preparing the troopers’ dinner, while
the servants of the officers were employed in a similar manner for the
benefit of the latter. While the cooks were so engaged, officers and
men were busily occupied in pitching the tents, an operation which
under the circumstances was most difficult to perform satisfactorily,
for the reason that before erecting the tent it was desirable, almost
necessary, to remove the snow from the surface of the ground intended
to form the floor of the tent; otherwise the snow, as soon as a fire
should be started within the tent, would melt and reduce the ground to
a very muddy condition. But so rapidly did the large flakes continue to
fall that the most energetic efforts of two persons were insufficient
to keep the ground properly clear; such at least was the experience
of Lieutenant Moylan, the adjutant, and myself, in our earnest
endeavors to render our temporary abiding place a fit habitation for
the night. Tents up at last, dinner was not long in being prepared,
and even less time employed in disposing of it. A good cup of strong
coffee went far toward reconciling us to everything that had but a few
moments before appeared somewhat uninviting. By this time a cheerful
fire was blazing in the centre of our tent; my comfortable bed of
buffalo robes was prepared on a framework of strong boughs, and with
my ever-faithful dogs lying near me, I was soon reclining in a state
of comparative comfort, watching the smoke as it ascended through the
narrow apex of the tent, there to mingle with the descending flakes
of snow. In regard to the storm still prevailing outside, and which
in itself or its effects we were to encounter the following morning
and for an indefinite period thereafter, I consoled myself with the
reflection that to us it was as an unpleasant remedy for the removal of
a still more unpleasant disease. If the storm seemed terrible to us, I
believed it would prove to be even more terrible to our enemies, the
Indians. Promptly at the appointed hour, four o’clock the following
morning, camp was bustling and active in response to the bugle notes
of reveille. The storm had abated, the snow had ceased falling, but
that which had fallen during the previous twenty-four hours now covered
the ground to a depth of upward of eighteen inches. The sky was clear,
however, or, to adopt the expressive language of California Joe,
“the travellin’ was good overhead.” It is always a difficult matter,
the first few days of a march, to inculcate upon the minds of the
necessary hangers-on of a camp, such as teamsters, wagon-masters, etc.,
the absolute necessity of promptness and strict obedience to orders,
particularly orders governing the time and manner of marching; and one
or two days usually are required to be devoted to disciplining these
unruly characters. When the hour arrived which had been previously
designated as the one at which the command would begin the second day’s
march, the military portion were in complete readiness to “move out,”
but it was found that several of the teams were still unharnessed
and the tents of the wagon-masters still standing. This was a matter
requiring a prompt cure. The officer of the day was directed to proceed
with his guard, and, after hastening the unfinished preparations
for the march, to arrest the wagon-masters and most dilatory of the
teamsters, and compel them to march on foot as a punishment for their
tardiness. This was no slight matter, considering the great depth of
the snow. So effective was this measure that not many hours had elapsed
before the deposed drivers and their equally unfortunate superiors
sent through the officer of the guard a humble request that they be
permitted to resume their places in the train, promising at the same
time never to give renewed cause for complaints of tardiness to be
made against them. Their request was granted, and their promise most
faithfully observed during the remainder of the campaign.
All of the second day we continued to march up the valley of the stream
we had chosen as our first camping ground. The second night we encamped
under circumstances very similar to those which attended us the first
night, except that the storm no longer disturbed us. The snow did not
add to our discomfort particularly, save by increasing the difficulty
of obtaining good and sufficient fuel. Our purpose was to strike the
Canadian river in the vicinity of “Antelope Hills,” which are famous
and prominent landmarks in that region, and then be governed in our
future course by circumstances. Resuming the march at daylight on the
morning of the third day, our route still kept us in the valley of Wolf
creek, on whose banks we were to encamp for the third time. Nothing
was particularly worthy of notice during our third day’s march, except
the immense quantities of game to be seen seeking the weak shelter
from the storm offered by the little strips of timber extending along
the valleys of Wolf creek and its tributaries. Even the buffalo, with
their huge, shaggy coats--sufficient, one would imagine, to render
the wearer indifferent to the blasts of winter--were frequently found
huddled together in the timber, and so drowsy or benumbed from the
effects of the cold as to not discover our approach until we were
within easy pistol range, when the Indian guides and our white scouts
who rode in advance would single out those appearing in best condition,
and by deliberate aim bring them down. Details of a few troopers from
each company were left at these points to cut up the butchered game
and see to its being loaded in the company wagons as the trains came
along. In this way a bountiful supply of good fresh meat was laid in,
the weather favoring the keeping of the meat for an indefinite period.
Occasionally we would discover a herd of buffaloes on the bluffs
overlooking the stream. Then would occur some rare scenes of winter
sport: a few of the officers and men would obtain permission to lead
the column and join in the chase--an indulgence that could be safely
granted, as no fears were entertained that hostile Indians were in our
immediate vicinity. The deep snow was a serious obstacle to exhibiting
speed either in the buffalo or his pursuers. It was most laughable to
witness the desperate and awkward efforts of buffalo, horse, and rider,
in the frantic endeavor to make rapid headway through the immense
fields of snow. Occasionally an unseen hole or ditch or ravine covered
up by the snow would be encountered, when the buffalo or his pursuer,
or perhaps all three--horse, rider, and buffalo--would disappear in
one grand tumble in the depths of the snowdrifts, and when seen to
emerge therefrom it was difficult to determine which of the three was
most badly frightened. Fortunately no accidents occurred to mar the
pleasure of the excitement. Seeing a fine herd of young buffaloes a
short distance in the advance, I determined to test the courage of my
stag-hounds “Blucher” and “Maida.” Approaching as near the herd as
possible before giving them the alarm, I managed to single out and
cut off from the main herd a fine yearling bull. My horse, a trained
hunter, was soon alongside, but I was unable to use my pistol to bring
the young buffalo down, as both the dogs were running close to either
side, and by resolutely attacking him endeavoring to pull him down. It
was a new experience to them; a stag they could easily have mastered,
but a lusty young buffalo bull was an antagonist of different calibre.
So determined had the dogs become, their determination strengthened no
doubt by the occasional vigorous blows received from the ready hoofs
of the buffalo, that I could not call them off; neither could I render
them assistance from my pistol, for fear of injuring them. There was
nothing left for me to do but to become a silent although far from
disinterested participant in the chase. The immense drifts of snow
through which we were struggling at our best pace would soon vanquish
one or the other of the party; it became a question of endurance
simply, and the buffalo was the first to come to grief. Finding escape
by running impossible, he boldly came to bay and faced his pursuers;
in a moment both dogs had grappled with him as if he had been a deer.
Blucher seized him by the throat, Maida endeavored to secure a firm
hold on the shoulders. The result was that Blucher found himself well
trampled in snow, and but for the latter would have been crushed to
death. Fearing for the safety of my dogs, I leaped from my horse, who I
knew would not leave me, and ran to the assistance of the stag-hounds.
Drawing my hunting-knife and watching a favorable opportunity, I
succeeded in cutting the hamstrings of the buffalo, which had the
effect to tumble him over in the snow, when I was enabled to despatch
him with my pistol.
On that afternoon we again encamped in the same valley up which we had
been moving during the past three days. The next morning, following
the lead of our Indian guides, who had been directed to conduct us to
a point on the Canadian river near the Antelope Hills, our course,
which so far had been westerly, now bore off almost due south. After
ascending gradually for some hours to the crest or divide which sloped
on the north down to the valley of the stream we had just left, we
reached the highest line and soon began to gradually descend again,
indicating that we were approaching a second valley; this the Indians
assured us was the valley of the Canadian. Delayed in our progress by
the deep snow and the difficulty from the same cause always experienced
by our guides in selecting a practicable route, darkness overtook us
before the entire command arrived at the point chosen for our camp on
the north bank of the Canadian. As there is little or no timber found
along the immediate banks of that river as far up as we then were,
we pitched our tents about one mile from the river, and near a small
fresh-water tributary whose valley was abundantly supplied with wood.
If any prowling bands or war parties belonging to either of the tribes
with which we were at war were moving across the Canadian in either
direction, it was more than probable that their crossing would be made
at some point above us, and not more than ten or fifteen miles distant.
The season was rather far advanced to expect any of these parties to
be absent from the village, but the trail of the war party, discovered
by our Indian guides just before the expedition reached Camp Supply,
was not forgotten, and the heavy storm of the past few days would be
apt to drive them away from the settlements and hasten their return
to their village. We had every reason to believe that the latter was
located somewhere south of the Canadian. After discussing the matter
with Little Beaver and Hard Rope, and listening to the suggestions of
California Joe and his confrères, I decided to start a strong force
up the valley of the Canadian at daybreak the following morning, to
examine the banks and discover, if possible, if Indians had been in the
vicinity since the snow had fallen. Three full troops of cavalry under
Major Joel H. Elliot, 7th Cavalry, were ordered to move without wagons
or _otro impedimiento_, each trooper to carry one hundred rounds of
ammunition, one day’s rations and forage. Their instructions were to
proceed up the north bank of the Canadian a distance of fifteen miles.
If any trail of Indians was discovered, pursuit was to be taken up at
once, at the same time sending information of the fact back to the
main command, indicating the number and character of the Indians as
determined by their trail, and particularly the direction in which they
were moving, in order that the main body of the troops might endeavor
if possible to intercept the Indians, or at least strike the trail by
a shorter route than by following the first detachment. A few of our
Indian trailers were designated to accompany the party, as well as
some of the white scouts. The latter were to be employed in carrying
despatches back to the main command, should anything be discovered of
sufficient importance to be reported. In the mean time I informed Major
Elliot that as soon as it was fairly daylight I would commence crossing
the main command over the Canadian--an operation which could not be
performed hastily, as the banks were almost overflowing, the current
being very rapid and the water filled with floating snow and ice. After
making the crossing I would, in the absence of any reports from him,
march up the bluffs forming Antelope Hills and strike nearly due south,
aiming to encamp that night on some one of the small streams forming
the headwaters of the Washita river, where we would again unite the two
portions of the command and continue our march to the south.
Major Elliot was a very zealous officer, and daylight found him and
his command on the march in the execution of the duty to which they
had been assigned. Those of us who remained behind were soon busily
occupied in making preparations to effect a crossing of the Canadian.
California Joe had been engaged since early dawn searching for a ford
which would be practicable for our wagons; the troopers and horses
could cross almost anywhere. A safe fording place barely practicable
was soon reported, and the cavalry and wagon train began moving over.
It was a tedious process; sometimes the treacherous quicksand would
yield beneath the heavily laden wagons, and double the usual number of
mules would be required to extricate the load. In less than three hours
the last wagon and the rear guard of the cavalry had made a successful
crossing. Looming up in our front like towering battlements were the
Antelope Hills. These prominent landmarks, which can be seen from a
distance of over twenty miles in all directions, are situated near the
south bank of the Canadian, and at 100 deg. W. longitude. The Antelope
Hills form a group of five separate hillocks, and are sometimes called
Boundary Mounts. They vary in height above the average level of the
plains between one hundred and fifty and three hundred feet. Two of the
hills are conical and the others oblong; they are composed of porous
sandstone, and are crowned with white and regular terraces about six
yards in depth. From the summit of these terraces one enjoys a most
commanding view. On the left is to be seen the red bed of the Canadian,
whose tortuous windings, coming from the southwest, direct their course
for a while northwards, and finally disappear in a distant easterly
direction. The horizon is but an immense circle of snowy whiteness,
of which the centre is the point of observation. Here and there a few
acclivities rise above the plains, divided by rows of stunted trees,
indicating a ravine, or more frequently a humble brook such as that on
whose banks we camped the night previous to crossing the Canadian. It
never occurred to any of us, when folding our tents that bleak winter
morning on the bank of the Canadian, that there were those among our
number who had bidden a last and final adieu to the friendly shelter
of their canvas-covered homes; that for some of us, some who could but
sadly be spared, the last reveille had sounded, and that when sleep
again closed their eyes it would be that sleep from which there is no
awakening. But I am anticipating.
One by one the huge army wagons, with their immense white covers, began
the long ascent which was necessary to be overcome before attaining
the level of the plains. As fast as they reached the high ground the
leading wagons were halted and parked to await the arrival of the
last to cross the river. In the mean time the cavalry had closed up
and dismounted, except the rear guard, which was just then to be seen
approaching from the river, indicating that “everything was closed
up.” I was about to direct the chief bugler to sound “To horse,” when
far in the distance, on the white surface of the snow, I descried a
horseman approaching us as rapidly as his tired steed could carry him.
The direction was that in which Elliot’s command was supposed to be,
and the horseman approaching could be none other than a messenger from
Elliot. What tidings would he bring? was my first thought. Perhaps
Elliot could not find a ford by which to cross the Canadian, and
simply desired instructions as to what his course should be. Perhaps he
has discovered an Indian trail--a fresh one; but it must be fresh if
one at all, as the snow is scarcely three days old. If a trail has been
discovered, then woe unto the luckless Indians whose footprints are
discoverable in the snow; for so long as that remains and the endurance
of men and horses holds out, just so long will we follow that trail,
until the pursuer and pursued are brought face to face, or the one or
the other succumbs to the fatigues and exhaustion of the race. These
and a host of kindred thoughts flashed in rapid succession through my
mind as soon as I had discovered the distant approach of the scout, for
a scout I knew it must be. As yet none of the command had observed his
coming, not being on as high ground as where I stood. By means of my
field glass I was able to make out the familiar form of “Corbin,” one
of the scouts. After due waiting, when minutes seemed like hours, the
scout galloped up to where I was waiting, and in a few hurried, almost
breathless words, informed me that Elliot’s command, after moving up
the north bank of the Canadian about twelve miles, had discovered the
trail of an Indian war party numbering upwards of one hundred and fifty
strong; that the trail was not twenty-four hours old, and the party had
crossed the Canadian and taken a course a little east of south. Elliot
had crossed his command, and at once token up the pursuit as rapidly as
his horses could travel. Here was news, and of a desirable character. I
asked the scout if he could overtake Elliot if furnished with a fresh
horse. He thought he could. A horse was at once supplied him, and he
was told to rejoin Elliot as soon as possible, with instructions to
continue the pursuit with all possible vigor, and I would move with
the main command in such direction as to strike his trail about dark.
If the Indians changed their general direction, he was to inform me of
the fact; and if I could not overtake him by eight o’clock that night,
Elliot was to halt his command and await my arrival, when the combined
force would move as circumstances might determine. My resolution was
formed in a moment, and as quickly put in train of execution. The bugle
summoned all the officers to report at once. There was no tardiness on
their part, for while they had not heard the report brought in by the
scout, they had witnessed his unexpected arrival and his equally sudden
departure--circumstances which told them plainer than mere words that
something unusual was in the air. The moment they were all assembled
about me I acquainted them with the intelligence received from Elliot,
and at the same time informed them that we would at once set out to
join in the pursuit--a pursuit which could and would only end when we
overtook our enemies. And in order that we should not be trammelled
in our movements, it was my intention then and there to abandon our
train of wagons, taking with us only such supplies as we could carry
on our persons and strapped to our saddles. The train would be left
under the protection of about eighty men detailed from the different
troops, and under command of one officer, to whom orders would be given
to follow us with the train as rapidly as the character of our route
would permit. Each trooper was to carry with him one hundred rounds
of ammunition, a small amount of coffee and hard bread, and on his
saddle an equally small allowance of forage for his horse. Tents and
extra blankets were to be left with the wagons. We were to move in
light marching order as far as this was practicable. Then taking out my
watch, the officers were notified that in twenty minutes from that time
“the advance” would be sounded and the march in pursuit begun--the
intervening time to be devoted to carrying out the instructions just
given. In a moment every man and officer in the command was vigorously
at work preparing to set out for a rough ride, the extent or result of
which no one could foresee. Wagons were emptied, mess chests called
upon to contribute from their stores, ammunition chests opened and
their contents distributed to the troopers. The most inferior of the
horses were selected to fill up the detail of eighty cavalry which
was to remain and escort the train; an extra amount of clothing was
donned by some who realized that when the bitter, freezing hours of
night came we would not have the comforts of tents and camp-fire to
sustain us. If we had looked with proper dread upon the discomforts of
the past three days, the severity of the storm, the deep snow, and our
limited facilities for withstanding the inclemencies of midwinter even
when provided with shelter, food, and fire, what was the prospect now
opened before us when we proposed to relinquish even the few comforts
we had at command, and start out on a mission not only full of danger,
but where food would be very limited, and then only of the plainest
kind? Shelterless we should be in the midst of the wide, open plains,
where the winds blow with greater force, and owing to our proximity
to the Indians even fires would be too costly an aid to our comfort
to be allowed. Yet these thoughts scarcely found a place in the minds
of any members of the command. All felt that a great opportunity was
before us, and to improve it only required determination and firmness
on our part. How thoroughly and manfully every demand of this kind
was responded to by my command, I will endeavor to relate in the next
chapter.
XV.
Before proceeding to narrate the incidents of the pursuit which led us
to the battle of the Washita, I will refer to the completion of our
hasty preparations to detach ourselves from the encumbrance of our
immense wagon train. In the last chapter it has been seen that the
train was to be left behind under the protection of an officer and
eighty cavalrymen, with orders to push after us, following our trail
in the snow as rapidly as the teams could move. Where or when it would
again join us no one could foretell; in all probability, however, not
until the pursuit had terminated and we had met and vanquished our
savage foes, or had been defeated by them. Under existing orders the
guard for the protection of our train was each day under the command
of the officer of the day, the tour of duty of the latter continuing
twenty-four hours, beginning in the morning. On that day the duties of
officer of the day fell in regular routine upon Captain Louis McLane
Hamilton, Seventh Cavalry, a grandson of Alexander Hamilton. Of course
this detail would require him to remain behind with the train while
his squadron, one of the finest in the command, would move forward to
battle under charge of another. To a soldier of Hamilton’s pride and
ambition, to be left behind in this inglorious manner was galling in
the extreme. He foresaw the situation at once, and the moment that
intelligence of the proposed movement reached him he came galloping
up from the rear in search of me. I was busily engaged at the time
superintending the hurried arrangements for commencing the pursuit.
Coming up to me, with a countenance depicting the most earnest anxiety,
his first words were to frame an inquiry as to whether I intended him
to remain behind. Fully appreciating his anxious desire to share with
his comrades the perils of the approaching conflict, and yet unable
to substitute, without injustice, another officer for him unless with
the consent of the former, I could not give him the encouragement he
desired. The moment that the plans for pursuit were being formed, I
remembered that the accidents of service were to deprive the pursuing
column of the presence and aid of one whose assistance in such an
emergency could always be confidently relied upon. Some of his brother
officers had bethought themselves of the same, and at once came to
me with the remark that “we ought to have Hamilton with us.” My only
reply was that while my desires were all one way my duty prescribed
that Hamilton should remain with the guard and train, it being his
detail, and it also being necessary that some officer should remain
upon this important duty. I answered his repeated request, that while
I desired him in command of his squadron, particularly then of all
times, I was powerless to have it so without being unjust to some other
officer. While forced to admit this to be true, he added, “It seems
hard that I must remain.” Finally I said to him that all I could do
would be to allow him to get some other officer to willingly take his
place with the train, adding that some officer might be found in the
command who, from indisposition or other causes, did not feel able to
undertake a rapid and tiresome pursuit such as we would probably have,
and under such circumstances I would gladly order the change. He at
once departed in search of some one who would assume his duties with
the train and leave him free to resume his post at the head of his
splendid squadron--that squadron in whose organization and equipment
he had displayed such energy and forethought, and whose superior
excellency and efficiency long bore the impress of his hand. I am
thus minute in detailing these circumstances affecting the transfer
of Captain Hamilton from one duty to another, as the sad sequel will
show how intimately connected the destiny of one of the parties was
with the slight matter of this change. Hamilton had been absent but a
few minutes when he returned overflowing with joy, and remarked that
an officer had been found who consented to take his place, ending with
the question, “Shall I join my squadron?” To this I gladly assented,
and he galloped to another part of the field, where his men were, to
hasten and superintend their preparations for the coming struggle. The
officer who had consented to take Hamilton’s place with the train had
that day been affected with partial snow-blindness, and felt himself
disqualified and unable to join in the pursuit, and it was exceedingly
proper for him under the circumstances to agree to the proposed change.
During all this time Elliot with his three companies of cavalry was
following hard and fast upon the trail left by the Indians in the deep
snow. By being informed, as we were, of the direction in which the
trail was leading, and that direction being favorable to our position,
the main command by moving due south would strike the trail of the
Indians, and of Elliot also, at some point not far in rear perhaps
of Elliot’s party. Everything being in readiness to set out at the
expiration of the allotted twenty minutes, “the advance” was sounded
and the pursuit on our part began. Our route carried us across the
broad, open plains, the snow over a foot in depth, with surface of
course unbroken. This rendered it exceedingly fatiguing to the horses
moving in the advance, and changes were frequently rendered necessary.
The weather, which during the past few days had been so bitterly cold,
moderated on that day sufficiently to melt the upper surface of the
snow. After leaving the wagon train, we continued our march rapidly
during the remaining hours of the forenoon and until the middle of
the afternoon. Still no tidings from Elliot’s party nor any sign of a
trail. No halt was made during the day either for rest or refreshment.
Toward evening we began to feel anxious concerning Elliot’s detachment.
Could it be that the Indians had discovered that they were pursued,
and had broken up into smaller parties or changed the direction of
their trail? If so, could Elliot’s messengers reach us in time to make
the information valuable to us? We had hurried along, our interest
increasing with each mile passed over, until the sun was not more than
one hour high above the western horizon; and still, strain our eyes as
we would, and scan the white surface of the plains in every direction
in our front, the snow seemed unbroken and undisturbed as far as the
eye could reach. Our scouts and Indian guides were kept far out in
front and on the proper flank, to discover, if possible, the trail.
At last one of the scouts gave the signal that the trail had been
discovered, and in a few moments the command had reached it, and we
were now moving with lighter and less anxious hearts. After studying
the trail our Osage warriors informed us that the Indians whose trail
we were pursuing were undoubtedly a war party, and had certainly passed
where we then were during the forenoon. This was encouraging, and a
free reign was given to our horses as we hastened along through the
snow. The object now was to overtake as soon as practicable the party
of Elliot, which from the heavy trail we could see was in advance of
us. The almost level and unbroken character of the country enabled
us to see for miles in all directions, and in this way we knew that
Elliot must be many miles ahead of our party. At the same time I could
see that we were gradually descending into a valley, probably of some
stream, and far in advance appeared the dim outline of timber, such as
usually fringes the banks of many of the Western streams. Selecting
a few well-mounted troopers and some of the scouts, I directed them
to set out at a moderate gallop to overtake Elliot, with orders to
the latter to halt at the first favorable point where wood and water
could be obtained, and await our arrival, informing him at the same
time that after allowing the men an hour to prepare a cup of coffee
and to feed and rest their horses, it was my intention to continue the
pursuit during the night--a measure to which I felt urged by the slight
thawing of the snow that day, which might result in our failure if
we permitted the Indians to elude us until the snow had disappeared.
Satisfied now that we were on the right course, our anxiety lessened,
but our interest increased. Soon after dark we reached the valley
whose timbered surface we had caught faint glimpses of hours before.
Down this valley and through this sparse timber the trail led us. Hour
after hour we struggled on, hoping to overtake the three troops in
advance, for hunger, unappeased since before daylight, began to assert
its demands in the strongest terms. Our faithful horses were likewise
in great need of both food and water, as well as rest, as neither had
been offered them since four o’clock in the morning. So far had Elliot
pushed his pursuit that our scouts were a long time in reaching him,
and it was nine o’clock at night when the main command arrived at the
point where he and his three troops were found halted. A stream of good
water with comparatively deep banks ran near by, while the valley at
this point was quite heavily timbered.
To enable the men to prepare a cup of coffee, and at the same time give
no evidence of our presence to the Indians, who, for all we knew, might
be not far from us, advantage was taken of the deep banks of the creek,
and by building small fires down under the edge of the bank, they were
prevented from being seen, except at a small distance. At the same time
the horses were relieved of their saddles and unbitted, and a good feed
of oats distributed to each. Officers and men were glad to partake
of the same quality of simple fare that night, consisting only of a
most welcome and refreshing cup of good strong coffee and a handful of
army crackers--“hard tack.” By waiting an hour we not only gained by
rest and refreshment, but the light of the moon would then probably
be sufficient to guide us on our night ride. When the hour had nearly
expired, we began our preparations in the most quiet manner to resume
the pursuit. No bugle calls were permitted, as in this peculiar country
sound travels a long distance, and we knew not but that our wily foes
were located near by. Before starting I conferred with our Indian
allies, all of whom were firmly convinced that our enemy’s village
was probably not far away, and most likely was in the valley in which
we then were, as the trail for some miles had led us down the stream
on whose banks we halted. “Little Beaver,” who acted as spokesman for
the Osages, seemed confident that we could overtake and surprise the
Indians we had been pursuing, and most probably follow them direct to
their village; but, much to my surprise, Little Beaver strongly advised
that we delay further pursuit until daylight, remaining concealed in
the timber as we were at the time. When asked for his reasons for
favoring such a course, he could give none of a satisfactory nature. I
then concluded that his disinclination to continue pursuit that night
arose from the natural reluctance, shared by all Indians, to attack
an unseen foe, whether concealed by darkness or other natural or
artificial means of shelter. Indians rarely attack between the hours
of dark and daylight, although their stealthy movements through the
country, either in search of an enemy or when attempting to elude them,
are often executed under cover of night.
As soon as each troop was in readiness to resume the pursuit, the troop
commander reported the fact at headquarters. Ten o’clock came and found
us in our saddles. Silently the command stretched out its long length
as the troopers filed off four abreast. First came two of our Osage
scouts on foot; these were to follow the trail and lead the command;
they were our guides, and the panther, creeping upon its prey, could
not have advanced more cautiously or quietly than did these friendly
Indians, as they seemed to glide rather than walk over the snow-clad
surface. To prevent the possibility of the command coming precipitately
upon our enemies, the two scouts were directed to keep three or four
hundred yards in advance of all others; then came, in single file, the
remainder of our Osage guides and the white scouts--among the rest
California Joe. With these I rode, that I might be as near the advance
guard as possible. The cavalry followed in rear, at the distance of
a quarter or half a mile; this precaution was necessary, from the
fact that the snow, which had thawed slightly during the day, was
then freezing, forming a crust which, broken by the tread of so many
hundreds of feet, produced a noise capable of being heard at a long
distance. Orders were given prohibiting even a word being uttered above
a whisper. No one was permitted to strike a match or light a pipe--the
latter a great deprivation to the soldier. In this silent manner we
rode mile after mile. Occasionally an officer would ride by my side and
whisper some inquiry or suggestion, but aside from this our march was
unbroken by sound or deed. At last we discovered that our two guides in
front had halted, and were awaiting my arrival. Word was quietly sent
to halt the column until inquiry in front could be made. Upon coming up
with the two Osages we were furnished an example of the wonderful and
peculiar powers of the Indian. One of them could speak broken English,
and in answer to my question as to “What is the matter?” he replied,
“Me don’t know, but me smell fire.” By this time several of the
officers had quietly ridden up, and upon being informed of the Osage’s
remark, each endeavored, by sniffing the air, to verify or disprove the
report. All united in saying that our guide was mistaken. Some said he
was probably frightened, but we were unable to shake the confidence of
the Osage warrior in his first opinion. I then directed him and his
companion to advance even more cautiously than before, and the column,
keeping up the interval, resumed its march. After proceeding about half
a mile, perhaps further, again our guides halted, and upon coming up
with them I was greeted with the remark, uttered in a whisper, “Me told
you so;” and sure enough, looking in the direction indicated, were to
be seen the embers of a wasted fire, scarcely a handful, yet enough to
prove that our guide was right, and to cause us to feel the greater
confidence in him. The discovery of these few coals of fire produced
almost breathless excitement. The distance from where we stood was from
seventy-five to a hundred yards, not in the line of our march, but
directly to our left, in the edge of the timber. We knew at once that
none but Indians, and they hostile, had built that fire. Where were
they at that moment? Perhaps sleeping in the vicinity of the fire.
It was almost certain to our minds that the Indians we had been
pursuing were the builders of the fire. Were they still there and
asleep? We were too near already to attempt to withdraw undiscovered.
Our only course was to determine the facts at once, and be prepared
for the worst. I called for a few volunteers to quietly approach the
fire and discover whether there were Indians in the vicinity; if not,
to gather such information as was obtainable, as to their numbers and
departure. All the Osages and a few of the scouts quickly dismounted,
and with rifles in readiness and fingers on the triggers silently made
their way to the nearest point of the timber, Little Beaver and Hard
Rope leading the way. After they had disappeared in the timber they
still had to pass over more than half the distance before reaching the
fire. These moments seemed like hours, and those of us who were left
sitting on our horses, in the open moonlight, and within easy range
from the spot where the fire was located, felt anything but comfortable
during this suspense. If Indians, as then seemed highly probable, were
sleeping around the fire, our scouts would arouse them and we would
be in fair way to be picked off without being in a position to defend
ourselves. The matter was soon determined. Our scouts soon arrived at
the fire, and discovered it to be deserted. Again did the skill and
knowledge of our Indian allies come in play. Had they not been with
us we should undoubtedly have assumed that the Indians who had had
occasion to build the fire and those we were pursuing constituted one
party. From examining the fire and observing the great number of pony
tracks in the snow, the Osages arrived at a different conclusion, and
were convinced that we were then on the ground used by the Indians
for grazing their herds of ponies. The fire had been kindled by the
Indian boys, who attend to the herding, to warm themselves by, and in
all probability we were then within two or three miles of the village.
I will not endeavor to describe the renewed hope and excitement that
sprung up. Again we set out, this time more cautiously if possible than
before, the command and scouts moving at a greater distance in rear.
In order to judge of the situation more correctly, I this time
accompanied the two Osages. Silently we advanced, I mounted, they on
foot, keeping at the head of my horse. Upon nearing the crest of each
hill, as is invariably the Indian custom, one of the guides would
hasten a few steps in advance and peer cautiously over the hill.
Accustomed to this, I was not struck by observing it until once, when
the same one who discovered the fire advanced cautiously to the crest
and looked carefully into the valley beyond. I saw him place his hand
above his eyes as if looking intently at some object, then crouch
down and come creeping back to where I waited for him. “What is it?”
I inquired as soon as he reached my horse’s side. “Heaps Injuns down
there,” pointing in the direction from which he had just come. Quickly
dismounting and giving the reins to the other guide, I accompanied the
Osage to the crest, both of us crouching low so as not to be seen in
the moonlight against the horizon. Looking in the direction indicated,
I could indistinctly recognize the presence of a large body of animals
of some kind in the valley below, and at a distance which then seemed
not more than half a mile. I looked at them long and anxiously, the
guide uttering not a word, but was unable to discover anything in their
appearance different from what might be presented by a herd of buffalo
under similar circumstances. Turning to the Osage, I inquired in a low
tone why he thought there were Indians there. “Me heard dog bark,”
was the satisfactory reply. Indians are noted for the large number of
dogs always found in their villages, but never accompanying their war
parties. I waited quietly to be convinced; I was assured, but wanted
to be doubly so. I was rewarded in a moment by hearing the barking of
a dog in the heavy timber off to the right of the herd, and soon after
I heard the tinkling of a small bell; this convinced me that it was
really the Indian herd I then saw, the bell being one worn around the
neck of some pony who was probably the leader of the herd. I turned to
retrace my steps when another sound was borne to my ear through the
cold, clear atmosphere of the valley--it was the distant cry of an
infant; and savages though they were, and justly outlawed by the number
and atrocity of their recent murders and depredations on the helpless
settlers of the frontier, I could not but regret that in a war such as
we were forced to engage in, the mode and circumstances of battle would
possibly prevent discrimination.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE OF THE WASHITA.]
Leaving the two Osages to keep a careful lookout, I hastened back until
I met the main party of the scouts and Osages. They were halted and
a message sent back to halt the cavalry, enjoining complete silence,
and directing every officer to ride to the point we then occupied. The
hour was then past midnight. Soon they came, and after dismounting
and collecting in a little circle, I informed them of what I had seen
and heard; and in order that they might individually learn as much
as possible of the character of the ground and the location of the
village, I proposed that all should remove their sabres, that their
clanking might make no noise, and proceed gently to the crest and there
obtain a view of the valley beyond. This was done; not a word was
spoken until we crouched together and cast our eyes in the direction
of the herd and village. In whispers I briefly pointed out everything
that was to be seen, then motioned all to return to where we had left
our sabres; then, standing in a group upon the ground or crust of snow,
the plan of the attack was explained to all and each assigned his part.
The general plan was to employ the hours between then and daylight to
completely surround the village, and, at daybreak, or as soon as it was
barely light enough for the purpose, to attack the Indians from all
sides. The command, numbering, as has been stated, about eight hundred
mounted men, was divided into four nearly equal detachments. Two of
them set out at once, as they had each to make a circuitous march of
several miles in order to arrive at the points assigned them from which
to make their attack. The third detachment moved to its position about
an hour before day, and until that time remained with the main or
fourth column. This last, whose movements I accompanied, was to make
the attack from the point from which we had first discovered the herd
and village. Major Elliot commanded the column embracing G, H, and M
troops, Seventh Cavalry, which moved around from our left to a position
almost in rear of the village; while Colonel Thompson commanded the
one consisting of B and F troops, which moved in a corresponding
manner from our right to a position which was to connect with that of
Major Elliot. Colonel Myers commanded the third column, composed of E
and I troops, which was to take position in the valley and timber a
little less than a mile to my right. By this disposition it was hoped
to prevent the escape of every inmate of the village. That portion of
the command which I proposed to accompany consisted of A, C, D, and
K troops, Seventh Cavalry, the Osages and scouts, and Colonel Cook
with his forty sharpshooters. Captain Hamilton commanded one of the
squadrons, Colonel West the other. After the first two columns had
departed for their posts--it was still four hours before the hour of
attack--the men of the other two columns were permitted to dismount,
but much intense suffering was unavoidably sustained. The night grew
extremely cold towards morning; no fires of course could be permitted,
and the men were even ordered to desist from stamping their feet and
walking back and forth to keep warm, as the crushing of the snow
beneath produced so much noise that it might give the alarm to our wily
enemies.
During all these long weary hours of this terribly cold and comfortless
night each man sat, stood, or lay on the snow by his horse, holding to
the rein of the latter. The officers, buttoning their huge overcoats
closely about them, collected in knots of four or five, and, seated
or reclining upon the snow’s hard crust, discussed the probabilities
of the coming battle--for battle we knew it would be, and we could
not hope to conquer or kill the warriors of an entire village without
suffering in return more or less injury. Some, wrapping their capes
about their heads, spread themselves at full length upon the snow and
were apparently soon wrapt in deep slumber. After being satisfied that
all necessary arrangements were made for the attack, I imitated the
example of some of my comrades, and gathering the cavalry cape of my
greatcoat about my head lay down and slept soundly for perhaps an hour.
At the end of that time I awoke, and on consulting my watch found there
remained nearly two hours before we would move to the attack. Walking
about among the horses and troopers, I found the latter generally
huddled at the feet of the former in squads of three and four, in the
endeavor to keep warm. Occasionally I would find a small group engaged
in conversation, the muttered tones and voices strangely reminding
me of those heard in the death-chamber. The officers had disposed of
themselves in similar but various ways; here at one place were several
stretched out together upon the snow, the body of one being used by the
others as a pillow. Nearly all were silent; conversation had ceased,
and those who were prevented by the severe cold from obtaining sleep
were no doubt fully occupied in their minds with thoughts upon the
morrow and the fate that might be in store for them. Seeing a small
group collected under the low branches of a tree which stood a little
distance from the ground occupied by the troops, I made my way there to
find the Osage warriors with their chiefs Little Beaver and Hard Rope.
They were wrapped up in their blankets sitting in a circle, and had
evidently made no effort to sleep during the night. It was plain to be
seen that they regarded the occasion as a momentous one, and that the
coming battle had been the sole subject of their conference. What the
views expressed by them were I did not learn until after the engagement
was fought, when they told me what ideas they had entertained regarding
the manner in which the white men would probably conduct and terminate
the struggle next day. After the success of the day was decided, the
Osages told me that, with the suspicion so natural and peculiar to the
Indian nature, they had, in discussing the proposed attack upon the
Indian village, concluded that we would be outnumbered by the occupants
of the village, who of course would fight with the utmost desperation
in defence of their lives and lodges, and to prevent a complete
defeat of our forces or to secure a drawn battle, we might be induced
to engage in a parley with the hostile tribe, and on coming to an
agreement we would probably, to save ourselves, offer to yield up our
Osage allies as a compromise measure between our enemies and ourselves.
They also mistrusted the ability of the whites to make a successful
attack upon a hostile village, located--as this one was known to be--in
heavy timber, and aided by the natural banks of the stream. Disaster
seemed certain in the minds of the Osages to follow us, if we attacked
a force of unknown strength and numbers; and the question with them
was to secure such a position in the attack as to be able promptly
to detect any move disadvantageous to them. With this purpose they
came to the conclusion that the standard-bearer was a very important
personage, and neither he nor his standard would be carried into danger
or exposed to the bullets of the enemy. They determined therefore to
take their station immediately behind my standard-bearer when the lines
became formed for attack, to follow him during the action, and thus be
able to watch our movements, and if we were successful over our foes to
aid us; if the battle should go against us, then they, being in a safe
position, could take advantage of circumstances and save themselves as
best they might.
Turning from our Osage friends, who were, unknown to us, entertaining
such doubtful opinions as to our fidelity to them, I joined another
group near by, consisting of most of the white scouts. Here were
California Joe and several of his companions. One of the latter
deserves a passing notice. He was a low, heavy-set Mexican, with
features resembling somewhat those of the Ethiopian--thick lips,
depressed nose, and low forehead. He was quite a young man, probably
not more than twenty-five years of age, but had passed the greater
portion of his life with the Indians, had adopted their habits of
life and modes of dress, and had married among them. Familiar with
the language of the Cheyennes and other neighboring tribes, he was
invaluable both as a scout and interpreter. His real name was Romero,
but some of the officers of the command, with whom he was a sort of
favorite, had dubbed him Romeo, and by this name he was always known, a
sobriquet to which he responded as readily as if he had been christened
under it; never protesting, like the original Romeo,
Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
The scouts, like nearly all the other members of the command, had
been interchanging opinions as to the result of the movements of
the following day. Not sharing the mistrust and suspicion of the
Osage guides, yet the present experience was in many respects new to
them, and to some the issue seemed at least shrouded in uncertainty.
Addressing the group, I began the conversation with the question as
to what they thought of the prospect of our having a fight. “Fight!”
responded California Joe; “I havn’t nary doubt concernin’ that part uv
the business; what I’ve been tryin’ to get through my topknot all night
is whether we’ll run aginst more than we bargain fur.” “Then you do not
think the Indians will run away, Joe?” “Run away! How in creation can
Injuns or anybody else run away when we’ll have ’em clean surrounded
afore daylight?” “Well, suppose then that we succeed in surrounding the
village, do you think we can hold our own against the Indians?” “That’s
the very pint that’s been botherin’ me ever since we planted ourselves
down here, and the only conclusion I kin come at is that it’s purty
apt to be one thing or t’other; if we pump these Injuns at daylight,
we’re either goin’ to make a spoon or spile a horn, an’ that’s my
candid judgment, sure. One thing’s certain, ef them Injuns doesn’t bar
anything uv us till we open on ’em at daylight, they’ll be the most
powerful ’stonished redskins that’s been in these parts lately--they
will, sure. An’ ef we git the bulge on ’em, and keep puttin’ it to
’em sort a lively like, we’ll sweep the platter--thar won’t be nary
trick left for ’em. As the deal stands now, we hold the keerds and are
holdin’ over ’em; they’ve got to straddle our blind or throw up their
hands. Howsomever, thar’s a mighty sight in the draw.”
California Joe continued in this strain, and, by a prolific use of
terms connected with other transactions besides fighting Indians, did
not fail to impress his hearers that his opinion in substance was that
our attack in the morning was to result in overwhelming success to us,
or that we would be utterly routed and dispersed--that there would be
no drawn battle.
The night passed in quiet. I anxiously watched the opening signs of
dawn in order to put the column in motion. We were only a few hundred
yards from the point from which we were to attack. The moon disappeared
about two hours before dawn, and left us enshrouded in thick and utter
darkness, making the time seem to drag even slower than before.
At last faint signs of approaching day were visible, and I proceeded
to collect the officers, awakening those who slept. We were standing
in a group near the head of the column, when suddenly our attention
was attracted by a remarkable sight, and for a time we felt that the
Indians had discovered our presence. Directly beyond the crest of
the hill which separated us from the village, and in a line with the
supposed location of the latter, we saw rising slowly but perceptibly,
as we thought, up from the village, and appearing in bold relief
against the dark sky as a background, something which we could only
compare to a signal rocket, except that its motion was slow and
regular. All eyes were turned to it in blank astonishment, and but one
idea seemed to be entertained, and that was that one or both of the two
attacking columns under Elliot or Thompson had encountered a portion
of the village, and this that we saw was the signal to other portions
of the band near at hand. Slowly and majestically it continued to rise
above the crest of the hill, first appearing as a small brilliant
flaming globe of bright golden hue. As it ascended still higher it
seemed to increase in size, to move more slowly, while its colors
rapidly changed from one to the other, exhibiting in turn the most
beautiful combinations of prismatic tints. There seemed to be not the
shadow of a doubt that we were discovered. The strange apparition in
the heavens maintained its steady course upward. One anxious spectator,
observing it apparently at a standstill, exclaimed, “How long it hangs
fire! why don’t it explode?” still keeping the idea of a signal rocket
in mind. It had risen perhaps to the height of half a degree above
the horizon as observed from our position, when, lo! the mystery was
dispelled. Rising above the mystifying influences of the atmosphere,
that which had appeared so suddenly before us, and excited our greatest
apprehensions, developed into the brightest and most beautiful of
morning stars. Often since that memorable morning have I heard officers
remind each other of the strange appearance which had so excited our
anxiety and alarm. In less perilous moments we probably would have
regarded it as a beautiful phenomenon of nature, of which so many are
to be witnessed through the pure atmosphere of the plains.
All were ordered to get ready to advance; not a word to officer or
men was spoken above undertone. It began growing lighter in the
east, and we moved forward toward the crest of the hill. Up to this
time two of the officers and one of the Osages had remained on the
hill overlooking the valley beyond, so as to detect any attempt at
a movement on the part of the occupants of the village below. These
now rejoined the troops. Colonel West’s squadron was formed in line
on the right, Captain Hamilton’s squadron in line on the left, while
Colonel Cook with his forty sharpshooters was formed in advance of the
left, dismounted. Although the early morning air was freezingly cold,
the men were directed to remove their overcoats and haversacks, so as
to render them free in their movements. Before advancing beyond the
crest of the hill, strict orders were issued prohibiting the firing of
a single shot until the signal to attack should be made. The other
three detachments had been informed before setting out that the main
column would attack promptly at daylight, without waiting to ascertain
whether they were in position or not. In fact it would be impracticable
to communicate with either of the first two until the attack began.
The plan was for each party to approach as closely to the village as
possible without being discovered, and there await the approach of
daylight. The regimental band was to move with my detachment, and it
was understood that the band should strike up the instant the attack
opened. Colonel Myers, commanding the third party, was also directed
to move one-half his detachment dismounted. In this order we began to
descend the slope leading down to the village. The distance to the
timber in the valley proved greater than it had appeared to the eye in
the darkness of the night. We soon reached the outskirts of the herd
of ponies. The latter seemed to recognize us as hostile parties and
moved quickly away. The light of day was each minute growing stronger,
and we feared discovery before we could approach near enough to charge
the village. The movement of our horses over the crusted snow produced
considerable noise, and would doubtless have led to our detection but
for the fact that the Indians, if they heard it at all, presumed it
was occasioned by their herd of ponies. I would have given much at
that moment to know the whereabouts of the first two columns sent out.
Had they reached their assigned positions, or had unseen and unknown
obstacles delayed or misled them? These were questions which could not
then be answered. We had now reached the level of the valley, and began
advancing in line toward the heavy timber in which and close at hand we
knew the village was situated.
Immediately in rear of my horse came the band, all mounted, and each
with his instrument in readiness to begin playing the moment their
leader, who rode at their head, and who kept his cornet to his lips,
should receive the signal. I had previously told him to play “Garry
Owen” as the opening piece. We had approached near enough to the
village now to plainly catch a view here and there of the tall white
lodges as they stood in irregular order among the trees. From the
openings at the top of some of them we could perceive faint columns of
smoke ascending, the occupants no doubt having kept up their feeble
fires during the entire night. We had approached so near the village
that from the dead silence which reigned I feared the lodges were
deserted, the Indians having fled before we advanced. I was about to
turn in my saddle and direct the signal for attack to be given--still
anxious as to where the other detachments were--when a single rifle
shot rang sharp and clear on the far side of the village from where we
were. Quickly turning to the band leader, I directed him to give us
“Garry Owen.” At once the rollicking notes of that familiar marching
and fighting air sounded forth through the valley, and in a moment
were reëchoed back from the opposite sides by the loud and continued
cheers of the men of the other detachments, who, true to their orders,
were there and in readiness to pounce upon the Indians the moment the
attack began. In this manner the battle of the Washita commenced. The
bugles sounded the charge, and the entire command dashed rapidly into
the village. The Indians were caught napping; but realizing at once
the dangers of their situation, they quickly overcame their first
surprise and in an instant seized their rifles, bows, and arrows, and
sprang behind the nearest trees, while some leaped into the stream,
nearly waist deep, and using the bank as a rifle-pit, began a vigorous
and determined defence. Mingled with the exultant cheers of my men
could be heard the defiant war-whoop of the warriors, who from the
first fought with a desperation and courage which no race of men could
surpass. Actual possession of the village and its lodges was ours
within a few moments after the charge was made, but this was an empty
victory unless we could vanquish the late occupants, who were then
pouring in a rapid and well-directed fire from their stations behind
trees and banks. At the first onset a considerable number of the
Indians rushed from the village in the direction from which Elliot’s
party had attacked. Some broke through the lines, while others came in
contact with the mounted troopers, and were killed or captured.
Before engaging in the fight, orders had been given to prevent
the killing of any but the fighting strength of the village; but
in a struggle of this character it is impossible at all times to
discriminate, particularly when, in a hand-to-hand conflict, such as
the one the troops were then engaged in, the squaws are as dangerous
adversaries as the warriors, while Indian boys between ten and fifteen
years of age were found as expert and determined in the use of the
pistol and bow and arrow as the older warriors. Of these facts we had
numerous illustrations. Major Benteen, in leading the attack of his
squadron through the timber below the village, encountered an Indian
boy, scarcely fourteen years of age; he was well mounted, and was
endeavoring to make his way through the lines. The object these Indians
had in attempting this movement we were then ignorant of, but soon
learned to our sorrow. This boy rode boldly toward the Major, seeming
to invite a contest. His youthful bearing, and not being looked upon as
a combatant, induced Major Benteen to endeavor to save him by making
“peace signs” to him and obtaining his surrender, when he could be
placed in a position of safety until the battle was terminated; but the
young savage desired and would accept no such friendly concessions. He
regarded himself as a warrior, and the son of a warrior, and as such he
purposed to do a warrior’s part. With revolver in hand he dashed at the
Major, who still could not regard him as anything but a harmless lad.
Levelling his weapon as he rode, he fired, but either from excitement
or the changing positions of both parties, his aim was defective and
the shot whistled harmlessly by Major Benteen’s head. Another followed
in quick succession, but with no better effect. All this time the
dusky little chieftain boldly advanced, to lessen the distance between
himself and his adversary. A third bullet was sped on its errand, and
this time to some purpose, as it passed through the neck of the Major’s
horse, close to the shoulder. Making a final but ineffectual appeal to
him to surrender, and seeing him still preparing to fire again, the
Major was forced in self-defence to level his revolver, and despatch
him, although as he did so it was with admiration for the plucky spirit
exhibited by the lad, and regret often expressed that no other course
under the circumstances was left him. Attached to the saddle bow of
the young Indian hung a beautifully wrought pair of small moccasins,
elaborately ornamented with beads. One of the Major’s troopers
afterward secured these and presented them to him. These furnished the
link of evidence by which we subsequently ascertained who the young
chieftain was--a title which was justly his, both by blood and bearing.
We had gained the centre of the village, and were in the midst of the
lodges, while on all sides could be heard the sharp crack of the Indian
rifles and the heavy responses from the carbines of the troopers.
After disposing of the smaller and scattering parties of warriors,
who had attempted a movement down the valley, and in which some were
successful, there was but little opportunity left for the successful
employment of mounted troops. As the Indians by this time had taken
cover behind logs and trees, and under the banks of the stream which
flowed through the centre of the village, from which stronghold it
was impracticable to dislodge them by the use of mounted men, a large
portion of the command was at once ordered to fight on foot, and the
men were instructed to take advantage of the trees and other natural
means of cover, and fight the Indians in their own style. Cook’s
sharpshooters had adopted this method from the first, and with telling
effect. Slowly but steadily the Indians were driven from behind the
trees, and those who escaped the carbine bullets posted themselves with
their companions who were already firing from the banks. One party of
troopers came upon a squaw endeavoring to make her escape, leading by
the hand a little white boy, a prisoner in the hands of the Indians,
and who doubtless had been captured by some of their war parties
during a raid upon the settlements. Who or where his parents were, or
whether still alive or murdered by the Indians, will never be known,
as the squaw, finding herself and prisoner about to be surrounded by
the troops, and her escape cut off, determined, with savage malignity,
that the triumph of the latter should not embrace the rescue of the
white boy. Casting her eyes quickly in all directions, to convince
herself that escape was impossible, she drew from beneath her blanket
a huge knife and plunged it into the almost naked body of her captive.
The next moment retributive justice reached her in the shape of a
well-directed bullet from one of the troopers’ carbines. Before the men
could reach them life was extinct in the bodies of both the squaw and
her unknown captive.
The desperation with which the Indians fought may be inferred from the
following: Seventeen warriors had posted themselves in a depression
in the ground, which enabled them to protect their bodies completely
from the fire of our men, and it was only when the Indians raised their
heads to fire that the troopers could aim with any prospect of success.
All efforts to drive the warriors from this point proved abortive,
and resulted in severe loss to our side. They were only vanquished
at last by our men securing positions under cover and picking them
off by sharpshooting as they exposed themselves to get a shot at the
troopers. Finally the last one was despatched in this manner. In a deep
ravine near the suburbs of the village the dead bodies of thirty-eight
warriors were reported after the fight terminated. Many of the squaws
and children had very prudently not attempted to leave the village when
we attacked it, but remained concealed inside their lodges. All these
escaped injury, although when surrounded by the din and wild excitement
of the fight, and in close proximity to the contending parties, their
fears overcame some of them, and they gave vent to their despair by
singing the death song, a combination of weird-like sounds which were
suggestive of anything but musical tones. As soon as we had driven the
warriors from the village, and the fighting was pushed to the country
outside, I directed “Romeo,” the interpreter, to go around to all the
lodges and assure the squaws and children remaining in them that they
would be unharmed and kindly cared for; at the same time he was to
assemble them in the large lodges designated for that purpose, which
were standing near the centre of the village. This was quite a delicate
mission, as it was difficult to convince the squaws and children that
they had anything but death to expect at our hands.
It was perhaps ten o’clock in the forenoon, and the fight was still
raging, when to our surprise we saw a small party of Indians collected
on a knoll a little over a mile below the village, and in the direction
taken by those Indians who had effected an escape through our lines at
the commencement of the attack. My surprise was not so great at first,
as I imagined that the Indians we saw were those who had contrived to
escape, and having procured their ponies from the herd had mounted
them and were then anxious spectators of the fight, which they felt
themselves too weak in numbers to participate in. In the mean time
the herds of ponies belonging to the village, on being alarmed by the
firing and shouts of the contestants, had, from a sense of imagined
security or custom, rushed into the village, where details of troopers
were made to receive them. California Joe, who had been moving about
in a promiscuous and independent manner, came galloping into the
village, and reported that a large herd of ponies was to be seen near
by, and requested authority and some men to bring them in. The men were
otherwise employed just then, but he was authorized to collect and
drive in the herd if practicable. He departed on his errand, and I had
forgotten all about him and the ponies, when in the course of half an
hour I saw a herd of nearly three hundred ponies coming on the gallop
toward the village, driven by a couple of squaws, who were mounted,
and had been concealed near by, no doubt; while bringing up the rear
was California Joe, riding his favorite mule, and whirling about his
head a long lariat, using it as a whip in urging the herd forward. He
had captured the squaws while endeavoring to secure the ponies, and
very wisely had employed his captives to assist in driving the herd.
By this time the group of Indians already discovered outside our lines
had increased until it numbered upwards of a hundred. Examining them
through my field glass, I could plainly perceive that they were all
mounted warriors; not only that, but they were armed and caparisoned
in full war costume, nearly all wearing the bright-colored war-bonnets
and floating their lance pennants. Constant accessions to their numbers
were to be seen arriving from beyond the hill on which they stood. All
this seemed inexplicable. A few Indians might have escaped through our
lines when the attack on the village began, but only a few, and even
these must have gone with little or nothing in their possession save
their rifles and perhaps a blanket. Who could these new parties be, and
from whence came they? To solve these troublesome questions I sent for
“Romeo,” and taking him with me to one of the lodges occupied by the
squaws, I interrogated one of the latter as to who were the Indians to
be seen assembling on the hill below the village. She informed me, to a
surprise on my part almost equal to that of the Indians at our sudden
appearance at daylight, that just below the village we then occupied,
and which was a part of the Cheyenne tribe, were located in succession
the winter villages of all the hostile tribes of the southern plains
with which we were at war, including the Arrapahoes, Kiowas, the
remaining band of Cheyennes, the Comanches, and a portion of the
Apaches; that the nearest village was about two miles distant, and the
others stretched along through the timbered valley to the one furthest
off, which was not over ten miles.
What was to be done?--for I needed no one to tell me that we were
certain to be attacked, and that, too, by greatly superior numbers,
just as soon as the Indians below could make their arrangements to do
so; and they had probably been busily employed at these arrangements
ever since the sound of firing had reached them in the early morning,
and been reported from village to village. Fortunately, affairs took a
favorable turn in the combat in which we were then engaged, and the
firing had almost died away. Only here and there where some warrior
still maintained his position was the fight continued. Leaving as few
men as possible to look out for these, I hastily collected and reformed
my command, and posted them in readiness for the attack which we all
felt was soon to be made; for already at different points and in more
than one direction we could see more than enough warriors to outnumber
us, and we knew they were only waiting the arrival of the chiefs and
warriors from the lower villages before making any move against us.
In the meanwhile our temporary hospital had been established in the
centre of the village, where the wounded were receiving such surgical
care as circumstances would permit. Our losses had been severe; indeed
we were not then aware how great they had been. Hamilton, who rode at
my side as we entered the village, and whose soldierly tones I heard
for the last time as he calmly cautioned his squadron, “Now, men, keep
cool, fire low, and not too rapidly,” was among the first victims of
the opening charge, having been shot from his saddle by a bullet from
an Indian rifle. He died instantly. His lifeless remains were tenderly
carried by some of his troopers to the vicinity of the hospital. Soon
afterwards I saw four troopers coming from the front bearing between
them, in a blanket, a wounded soldier; galloping to them, I discovered
Colonel Barnitz, another troop commander, who was almost in a dying
condition, having been shot by a rifle bullet directly through the
body in the vicinity of the heart. Of Major Elliot, the officer second
in rank, nothing had been seen since the attack at daylight, when he
rode with his detachment into the village. He, too, had evidently been
killed, but as yet we knew not where or how he had fallen. Two other
officers had received wounds, while the casualties among the enlisted
men were also large. The sergeant-major of the regiment, who was with
me when the first shot was heard, had not been seen since that moment.
We were not in as effective condition by far as when the attack was
made, yet we were soon to be called upon to contend against a force
immensely superior to the one with which we had been engaged during the
early hours of the day. The captured herds of ponies were carefully
collected inside our lines, and so guarded as to prevent their stampede
or recapture by the Indians. Our wounded, and the immense amount of
captured property in the way of ponies, lodges, etc., as well as our
prisoners, were obstacles in the way of our attempting an offensive
movement against the lower villages. To have done this would have
compelled us to divide our forces, when it was far from certain that
we could muster strength enough united to repel the attacks of the
combined tribes. On all sides of us the Indians could now be seen in
considerable numbers, so that from being the surrounding party, as
we had been in the morning, we now found ourselves surrounded and
occupying the position of defenders of the village. Fortunately for
us, as the men had been expending a great many rounds, Major Bell, the
quartermaster, who with a small escort was endeavoring to reach us
with a fresh supply of ammunition, had by constant exertion and hard
marching succeeded in doing so, and now appeared on the ground with
several thousand rounds of carbine ammunition, a reinforcement greatly
needed. He had no sooner arrived safely than the Indians attacked from
the direction from which he came. How he had managed to elude their
watchful eyes I never could comprehend, unless their attention had been
so completely absorbed in watching our movements inside as to prevent
them from keeping an eye out to discover what might be transpiring
elsewhere.
Issuing a fresh supply of ammunition to those most in want of it, the
fight soon began generally at all points of the circle. For such in
reality had our line of battle become--a continuous and unbroken circle
of which the village was about the centre. Notwithstanding the great
superiority in numbers of the Indians, they fought with excessive
prudence and a lack of that confident manner which they usually
manifest when encountering greatly inferior numbers--a result due, no
doubt, to the fate which had overwhelmed our first opponents. Besides,
the timber and the configuration of the ground enabled us to keep our
men concealed until their services were actually required. It seemed
to be the design and wish of our antagonists to draw us away from
the village; but in this they were foiled. Seeing that they did not
intend to press the attack just then, about two hundred of my men were
ordered to pull down the lodges in the village and collect the captured
property in huge piles preparatory to burning. This was done in the
most effectual manner. When everything had been collected the torch
was applied, and all that was left of the village were a few heaps
of blackened ashes. Whether enraged at the sight of this destruction
or from other cause, the attack soon became general along our entire
line, and pressed with so much vigor and audacity that every available
trooper was required to aid in meeting these assaults. The Indians
would push a party of well-mounted warriors close up to our lines in
the endeavor to find a weak point through which they might venture,
but in every attempt were driven back. I now concluded, as the village
was off our hands and our wounded had been collected, that offensive
measures might be adopted. To this end several of the squadrons were
mounted and ordered to advance and attack the enemy wherever force
sufficient was exposed to be a proper object of attack, but at the same
time to be cautious as to ambuscades. Colonel Weir, who had succeeded
to the command of Hamilton’s squadron, Colonels Benteen and Myers
with their respective squadrons, all mounted, advanced and engaged
the enemy. The Indians resisted every step taken by the troops, while
every charge made by the latter was met or followed by a charge from
the Indians, who continued to appear in large numbers at unexpected
times and places. The squadrons acting in support of each other, and
the men in each being kept well in hand, were soon able to force the
line held by the Indians to yield at any point assailed. This being
followed up promptly, the Indians were driven at every point and forced
to abandon the field to us. Yet they would go no further than they
were actually driven. It was now about three o’clock in the afternoon.
I knew that the officer left in charge of the train and eighty men
would push after us, follow our trail, and endeavor to reach us at the
earliest practicable moment. From the tops of some of the highest peaks
or round hills in the vicinity of the village I knew the Indians could
reconnoitre the country for miles in all directions. I feared if we
remained as we were then until the following day, the Indians might in
this manner discover the approach of our train and detach a sufficient
body of warriors to attack and capture it; and its loss to us, aside
from that of its guard, would have proven most serious, leaving us in
the heart of the enemy’s country, in midwinter, totally out of supplies
for both men and horses.
By actual count we had in our possession eight hundred and seventy-five
captured ponies, so wild and unused to white men that it was difficult
to herd them. What we were to do with them was puzzling, as they could
not have been led had we been possessed of the means of doing this;
neither could we drive them as the Indians were accustomed to do. And
even if we could take them with us, either the one way or the other,
it was anything but wise or desirable on our part to do so, as such a
large herd of ponies, constituting so much wealth in the eyes of the
Indians, would have been too tempting a prize to the warriors who had
been fighting us all the afternoon, and to effect their recapture they
would have followed and waylaid us day and night, with every prospect
of success, until we should have arrived at a place of safety. Besides,
we had upwards of sixty prisoners in our hands, to say nothing of
our wounded, to embarrass our movements. We had achieved a great and
important success over the hostile tribes; the problem now was how to
retain our advantage and steer safely through the difficulties which
seemed to surround our position. The Indians had suffered a telling
defeat, involving great losses in life and valuable property. Could
they succeed, however, in depriving us of the train and supplies, and
in doing this accomplish the killing or capture of the escort, it would
go far to offset the damage we had been able to inflict upon them and
render our victory an empty one.
As I deliberated on these points in the endeavor to conclude upon that
which would be our wisest course, I could look in nearly all directions
and see the warriors at a distance collected in groups on the tops
of the highest hills, apparently waiting and watching our next move
that they might act accordingly. To guide my command safely out of the
difficulties which seemed just then to beset them, I again had recourse
to that maxim in war which teaches a commander to do that which his
enemy neither expects nor desires him to do.
XVI.
The close of the last article left my command on the Washita, still
surrounded by a superior but badly defeated force of Indians. We were
burdened with a considerable number of prisoners and quite a number of
our own and the enemy’s wounded, and had in our possession nearly nine
hundred ponies which we had just captured from the enemy. We were far
away--just how far we did not know--from our train of supplies, and
the latter with its escort was in danger of capture and destruction by
the savages if we did not act to prevent it. We felt convinced that
we could not, in the presence of so large a body of hostile Indians,
hope to make a long march through their country, the latter favorable
to the Indian mode of attack by surprise and ambush, and keep with us
the immense herd of captured ponies. Such a course would only encourage
attack under circumstances which would almost insure defeat and
unnecessary loss to us. We did not need the ponies, while the Indians
did. If we retained them they might conclude that one object of our
expedition against them was to secure plunder, an object thoroughly
consistent with the red man’s idea of war. Instead, it was our desire
to impress upon his uncultured mind that our every act and purpose
had been simply to inflict deserved punishment upon him for the many
murders and other depredations committed by him in and around the homes
of the defenceless settlers on the frontier. Impelled by these motives,
I decided neither to attempt to take the ponies with us nor to abandon
them to the Indians, but to adopt the only measure left--to kill them.
To accomplish this seemingly--like most measures of war--cruel but
necessary act, four companies of cavalrymen were detailed dismounted,
as a firing party. Before they reluctantly engaged in this uninviting
work, I took Romeo, the interpreter, and proceeded to the few lodges
near the centre of the village which we had reserved from destruction,
and in which were collected the prisoners, consisting of upward of
sixty squaws and children. Romeo was directed to assemble the prisoners
in one body, as I desired to assure them of kind treatment at our
hands, a subject about which they were greatly wrought up; also to tell
them what we should expect of them, and to inform them of our intention
to march probably all that night, directing them at the same time to
proceed to the herd and select therefrom a suitable number of ponies
to carry the prisoners on the march. When Romeo had collected them in
a single group, he, acting as interpreter, acquainted them with my
purpose in calling them together, at the same time assuring them that
they could rely confidently upon the fulfilment of any promises I made
them, as I was the “big chief.” The Indians refer to all officers of
a command as “chiefs,” while the officer in command is designated as
the “big chief.” After I had concluded what I desired to say to them,
they signified their approval and satisfaction by gathering around
me and going through an extensive series of hand-shaking. One of the
middle-aged squaws then informed Romeo that she wished to speak on
behalf of herself and companions. Assent having been given to this,
she began the delivery of an address which for wisdom of sentiment,
and easy, natural, but impassioned delivery, might have been heard
with intense interest by an audience of cultivated refinement. From
her remarks, interpreted by Romeo, I gathered much--in fact, the first
reliable information as to what band we had attacked at daylight, which
chiefs commanded, and many interesting scraps of information. She began
by saying that now she and the women and children about her were in the
condition of captivity, which for a long time she had prophesied would
be theirs sooner or later. She claimed to speak not as a squaw, but as
the sister of the head chief of her band, Black Kettle, who had fallen
that morning almost the moment the attack was made. He it was who was
the first to hear our advance, and leaping forth from his lodge with
rifle in hand, uttered the first war-whoop and fired the first shot
as a rally signal to his warriors, and was almost immediately after
shot down by the opening volley of the cavalry. Often had she warned
her brother of the danger the village, with its women and children,
was exposed to, owing to the frequent raiding and war parties which
from time to time had been permitted to go forth and depredate upon
the settlements of the white men. In the end it was sure to lead to
detection and punishment, and now her words had only proven too true.
Not a chief or warrior of the village in her belief survived the
battle of the forenoon. And what was to become of all these women and
children, bereft of everything and of every friend? True, it was just.
The warriors had brought this fate upon themselves and their families
by their unprovoked attacks upon the white man. Black Kettle, the head
chief and the once trusted friend of the white man, had fallen. Little
Rock, the chief second in rank in the village, had also met his death
while attempting to defend his home against his enemies; others were
named in the order of their rank or prowess as warriors, but all had
gone the same way. Who was left to care for the women and children
who still lived? Only last night, she continued, did the last war
party return from the settlements, and it was to rejoice over their
achievements that the entire village were engaged until a late hour
dancing and singing. This was why their enemies were able to ride
almost into their lodges before they were aroused by the noise of the
attack. For several minutes she continued to speak, first upbraiding
in the bitterest terms the chiefs and warriors who had been the cause
of their capture, then bewailing in the most plaintive manner their
sad and helpless condition. Turning to me she added, “You claim to be
a chief. This man” (pointing to Romeo) “says you are the big chief. If
this be true and you are what he claims, show that you can act like a
great chief and secure for us that treatment which the helpless are
entitled to.”
After the delivery of this strongly melodramatic harangue there
was introduced a little by-play, in which I was unconsciously made
to assume a more prominent part than either my inclinations or the
laws of society might approve. Black Kettle’s sister, whose name was
Mah-wis-sa, and whose address had just received the hearty approval of
her companions by their earnest expression of “Ugh!” the Indian word
intended for applause, then stepped into the group of squaws, and after
looking earnestly at the face of each for a moment, approached a young
Indian girl--probably seventeen years of age--and taking her by the
hand conducted her to where I was standing. Placing the hand of the
young girl in mine, she proceeded in the Indian tongue to the delivery
of what I, in my ignorance of the language, presumed was a form of
administering a benediction, as her manner and gestures corresponded
with this idea. Never dreaming of her purpose, but remembering how
sensitive and suspicious the Indian nature was, and that any seeming
act of inattention or disrespect on my part might be misunderstood,
I stood a passive participant in the strange ceremony then being
enacted. After concluding the main portion of the formalities, she
engaged in what seemed an invocation of the Great Spirit, casting
her eyes reverently upward, at the same time moving her hands slowly
down over the faces of the young squaw and myself. By this time my
curiosity got the better of my silence, and turning to Romeo, who stood
near me, and who I knew was familiar with Indian customs, I quietly
inquired, “What is this woman doing, Romeo?” With a broad grin on
his swarthy face he replied, “Why, she’s marryin’ you to that young
squaw!” Although never claimed as an exponent of the peace policy
about which so much has been said and written, yet I entertained the
most peaceable sentiments toward all Indians who were in a condition
to do no harm nor violate any law. And while cherishing these friendly
feelings and desiring to do all in my power to render our captives
comfortable and free from anxiety regarding their future treatment
at our hands, I think even the most strenuous and ardent advocate of
that peace policy which teaches that the Indian should be left free
and unmolested in the gratification of his simple tastes and habits,
will at least not wholly condemn me when they learn that this last
touching and unmistakable proof of confidence and esteem, offered by
Mah-wis-sa and gracefully if not blushingly acquiesced in by the Indian
maiden, was firmly but respectfully declined. The few reasons which
forced me to deny myself the advantages of this tempting alliance were
certain circumstances over which I then had no control, among which
was a previous and already solemnized ceremony of this character,
which might have a tendency to render the second somewhat invalid.
Then, again, I had not been consulted in regard to my choice in this
matter--a trifling consideration, but still having its due influence. I
had not had opportunities to become acquainted with the family of the
young damsel who thus proposed to link her worldly fate with mine. Her
father’s bank account might or might not be in a favorable condition.
No opportunity had been given me to study the tastes, disposition, or
character of the young lady--whether she was fond of music, literature,
or domestic duties. All these were questions with which I was not
sufficiently familiar to justify me in taking the important step before
me. I did not, however, like certain candidates for office, thrice
decline by standing up, and with my hand pressed to my heart say, “Your
husband I cannot be”; but through the intermediation of Romeo, the
interpreter, who from the first had been highly entertained by what he
saw was an excellent joke on the big chief, and wondering in his own
mind how I would extricate myself without giving offence, I explained
to Mah-wis-sa my due appreciation of the kindness intended by herself
and her young friend, but that according to the white man’s laws I was
debarred from availing myself of the offer, at the same time assuring
them of my high consideration, etc. Glad to get away to duties that
called me elsewhere, I left with Romeo. As soon as we had turned our
backs on the group, I inquired of Romeo what object could have been
in view which induced Black Kettle’s sister to play the part she did.
“That’s easy enough to understand; she knows they are in your power,
and her object is to make friends with you as far as possible. But you
don’t believe anything she tells you, do you? Why, that squaw--give
her the chance, and she’d lift your or my scalp for us and never wink.
Lord, I’ve heerd ’em talk fine too often to be catched so easy. To hear
her talk and abuse old Black Kettle and the rest that I hope we’ve
done for, you’d think that squaw never had had a hand in torturin’ to
death many a poor devil who’s been picked up by them. But it’s a fact,
’taint no two ways ’bout it. I’ve lived with them people too long not
to know ’em--root and branch. When she was talkin’ all that palaver to
you ’bout protectin’ ’em and all that sort of stuff, if she could ’a
know’d that minute that these outside Injuns was ’bout to gobble us up
she’d ’a been the very fust one to ram a knife smack into ye. That’s
the way they allus talk when they want anythin’. Do you know her game
in wantin’ to marry that young squaw to you? Well, I’ll tell ye; ef
you’d ’a married that squaw, then she’d ’a told ye that all the rest of
’em were her kinfolks, and as a nateral sort of a thing you’d ’a been
expected to kind o’ provide and take keer of your wife’s relations.
That’s jist as I tell it to you--fur don’t I know? Didn’t I marry a
young Cheyenne squaw and give her old father two of my best ponies for
her, and it wasn’t a week till every tarnal Injun in the village, old
and young, came to my lodge, and my squaw tried to make me b’lieve they
were all relations of hern, and that I ought to give ’em some grub; but
I didn’t do nothin’ of the sort.” “Well, how did you get out of it,
Romeo?” “Get out of it? Why, I got out by jist takin’ my ponies and
traps, and the first good chance I lit out; that’s how I got out. I was
satisfied to marry one or two of ’em, but when it come to marryin’ an
intire tribe, ’scuse me.”
At this point Romeo was interrupted by the officer in command of the
men detailed to kill the ponies. The firing party was all ready to
proceed with its work, and was only waiting until the squaws should
secure a sufficient number of ponies to transport all the prisoners on
the march. The troopers had endeavored to catch the ponies, but they
were too wild and unaccustomed to white men to permit them to approach.
When the squaws entered the herd they had no difficulty in selecting
and bridling the requisite number. These being taken off by themselves,
the work of destruction began on the remainder, and was continued until
nearly eight hundred ponies were thus disposed of. All this time the
Indians who had been fighting us from the outside covered the hills
in the distance, deeply interested spectators of this to them strange
proceeding. The loss of so many animals of value was a severe blow to
the tribe, as nothing so completely impairs the war-making facilities
for the Indians of the Plains as the deprivation or disabling of their
ponies.
In the description of the opening of the battle in the preceding
chapter, I spoke of the men having removed their overcoats and
haversacks when about to charge the village. These had been disposed
of carefully on the ground, and one man from each company left to
guard them, this number being deemed sufficient, as they would be
within rifle-shot of the main command; besides, the enemy as was then
supposed would be inside our lines and sufficiently employed in taking
care of himself to prevent any meddling on his part with the overcoats
and haversacks. This was partly true, but we had not calculated upon
Indians appearing in force and surrounding us. When this did occur,
however, their first success was in effecting the capture of the
overcoats and rations of the men, the guard barely escaping to the
village. This was a most serious loss, as the men were destined to
suffer great discomfort from the cold; and their rations being in the
haversacks, and it being uncertain when we should rejoin our train,
they were compelled to endure both cold and hunger. It was when the
Indians discovered our overcoats and galloped to their capture, that
one of my stag-hounds, Blucher, seeing them riding and yelling as if
engaged in the chase, dashed from the village and joined the Indians,
who no sooner saw him than they shot him through with an arrow.
Several months afterward I discovered his remains on the ground near
where the overcoats had been deposited on that eventful morning.
Many noteworthy incidents were observed or reported during the fight.
Before the battle began, our Osage allies, in accordance with the
Indian custom, dressed in their war costume, painting their faces in
all imaginable colors, except one tall, fine-looking warrior, who
retained his ordinary dress. Upon inquiring of the chief, Little
Beaver, why this one did not array himself as the others had done, he
informed me that it was in obedience to a law among all the tribes,
under which any chief or warrior who has had a near relative killed
by an enemy belonging to another tribe, is not permitted to don the
war costume or put on war paint until he has avenged the murder by
taking a scalp from some member of the hostile tribe. A war party of
the Cheyennes had visited the Osage village the preceding summer,
under friendly pretences. They had been hospitably entertained at the
lodge of the warrior referred to by his squaw, he being absent on a
hunt. When ready to depart they killed his squaw and destroyed his
lodge, and until he could secure a scalp he must go on the war path
unadorned by feathers or paint. After the battle had been waged for a
couple of hours in the morning, I saw this warrior approaching, his
horse urged to his highest speed; in his hand I saw waving wildly
overhead something I could not distinguish until he halted by my side,
when I perceived that it was an entire scalp, fresh and bleeding. His
vengeance had been complete, and he was again restored to the full
privileges of a warrior--a right he was not long in exercising, as
the next time I saw him on the field his face was completely hidden
under the stripes of yellow, black, and vermilion, the colors being so
arranged apparently as to give him the most hideous visage imaginable.
Riding in the vicinity of the hospital, I saw a little bugler boy
sitting on a bundle of dressed robes, near where the surgeon was
dressing and caring for the wounded. His face was completely covered
with blood, which was trickling down over his cheek from a wound in
his forehead. At first glance I thought a pistol bullet had entered
his skull, but on stopping to inquire of him the nature of his
injury, he informed me that an Indian had shot him in the head with
a steel-pointed arrow. The arrow had struck him just above the eye,
and upon encountering the skull had glanced under the covering of the
latter, coming out near the ear, giving the appearance of having passed
through the head. There the arrow remained until the bugler arrived at
the hospital, when he received prompt attention. The arrow being barbed
could not be withdrawn at once, but by cutting off the steel point the
surgeon was able to withdraw the wooden shaft without difficulty. The
little fellow bore his suffering manfully. I asked him if he saw the
Indian who wounded him. Without replying at once, he shoved his hand
deep down into his capacious trousers pocket and fished up nothing more
nor less than the scalp of an Indian, adding in a nonchalant manner,
“If anybody thinks I didn’t see him, I want them to take a look at
that.” He had killed the Indian with his revolver after receiving the
arrow wound in his head.
After driving off the Indians who had attacked us from the outside, so
as to prevent them from interfering with our operations in the vicinity
of the village, parties were sent here and there to look up the dead
and wounded of both sides. In spite of the most thorough search,
there were still undiscovered Major Elliott and nineteen enlisted
men, including the sergeant-major, for whose absence we were unable
to satisfactorily account. Officers and men of the various commands
were examined, but nothing was elicited from them except that Major
Elliott had been seen about daylight charging with his command into the
village. I had previously given him up as killed, but was surprised
that so many of the men should be missing, and none of their comrades
be able to account for them. All the ground inside of the advanced
lines held by the Indians who attacked us after our capture of the
village was closely and carefully examined, in the hope of finding
the bodies of some if not all the absentees, but with no success. It
was then evident that when the other bands attempted to reinforce our
opponents of the early morning, they had closed their lines about us
in such manner as to cut off Elliott and nineteen of our men. What
had been the fate of this party after leaving the main command? This
was a question to be answered only in surmises, and few of these were
favorable to the escape of our comrades. At last one of the scouts
reported that soon after the attack on the village began he had seen a
few warriors escaping, mounted, from the village, through a gap that
existed in our line between the commands of Elliott and Thompson, and
that Elliott and a small party of troopers were in close pursuit; that
a short time after he had heard very sharp firing in the direction
taken by the Indians and Elliott’s party, but that as the firing had
continued for only a few minutes, he had thought nothing more of it
until the prolonged absence of our men recalled it to his mind. Parties
were sent in the direction indicated by the scout, he accompanying
them; but after a search extending nearly two miles, all the parties
returned, reporting their efforts to discover some trace of Elliott
and his men fruitless. As it was now lacking but an hour of night, we
had to make an effort to get rid of the Indians, who still loitered
in strong force on the hills, within plain view of our position. Our
main desire was to draw them off from the direction in which our train
might be approaching, and thus render it secure from attack until under
the protection of the entire command, when we could defy any force our
enemies could muster against us. The last lodge having been destroyed,
and all the ponies except those required for the pursuit having been
killed, the command was drawn in and united near the village. Making
dispositions to overcome any resistance which might be offered to our
advance, by throwing out a strong force of skirmishers, we set out down
the valley in the direction where the other villages had been reported,
and toward the hills on which were collected the greatest number of
Indians. The column moved forward in one body, with colors flying and
band playing, while our prisoners, all mounted on captured ponies, were
under sufficient guard immediately in rear of the advanced troops.
For a few moments after our march began the Indians on the hills
remained silent spectators, evidently at a loss at first to comprehend
our intentions in thus setting out at that hour of the evening, and
directing our course as if another night march was contemplated; and
more than all, in the direction of their villages, where all that
they possessed was supposed to be. This aroused them to action, as we
could plainly see considerable commotion among them--chiefs riding
hither and thither, as if in anxious consultation with each other as
to the course to be adopted. Whether the fact that they could not fire
upon our advance without endangering the lives of their own people,
who were prisoners in our hands, or some other reason prevailed with
them, they never offered to fire a shot or retard our movements in any
manner, but instead assembled their outlying detachments as rapidly as
possible, and began a precipitate movement down the valley in advance
of us, fully impressed with the idea no doubt that our purpose was
to overtake their flying people and herds and administer the same
treatment to them that the occupants of the upper village had received.
This was exactly the effect I desired, and our march was conducted with
such appearance of determination and rapidity that this conclusion on
their part was a most natural one. Leaving a few of their warriors to
hover along our flanks and watch our progress, the main body of the
Indians, able to travel much faster than the troops, soon disappeared
from our sight in front. We still pushed on in the same direction, and
continued our march in this manner until long after dark, by which
time we reached the deserted villages, the occupants--at least the
non-combatants and herds--having fled in the morning when news of our
attack on Black Kettle’s village reached them. We had now reached a
point several miles below the site of Black Kettle’s village, and the
darkness was sufficient to cover our movements from the watchful eyes
of the Indian scouts, who had dogged our march as long as the light
favored them.
Facing the command about, it was at once put in motion to reach our
train, not only as a measure of safety and protection to the latter,
but as a necessary movement to relieve the wants of the command,
particularly that portion whose haversacks and overcoats had fallen
into the hands of the Indians early in the morning. By ten o’clock we
reached the battle ground, but without halting pushed on, following the
trail we had made in striking the village. The march was continued at
a brisk gait until about two o’clock in the morning, when I concluded
it would be prudent to allow the main command to halt and bivouac until
daylight, sending one squadron forward without delay, to reinforce the
guard with the train. Colonel West’s squadron was detailed upon this
duty. The main body of the troops was halted, and permitted to build
huge fires, fuel being obtainable in abundance from the timber which
lined the valley of the Washita--our march still leading us up the
course of this stream.
At daylight the next morning we were again in our saddles and wending
our way hopefully toward the train. The location of the latter we did
not know, presuming that it had been pushing after us since we had
taken our abrupt departure from it. Great was our joy and satisfaction,
about ten o’clock, to discover the train safely in camp. The teams
were at once harnessed and hitched to the wagons, and without halting
even to prepare breakfast, the march was resumed, I being anxious to
encamp at a certain point that night from where I intended sending
scouts through with despatches to General Sheridan. Early in the
afternoon this camp was reached; it was near the point where we had
first struck the timbered valley, at the time not knowing that it
was the valley of the Washita. Here men and horses were given the
first opportunity to procure a satisfactory meal since the few hasty
morsels obtained by them during the brief halt made between nine and
ten o’clock the night we arrived in the vicinity of the village. After
posting our pickets and rendering the camp secure from surprise by the
enemy, horses were unsaddled, tents pitched, and every means taken to
obtain as comfortable a night as the limited means at our disposal
and the severities of the season would permit. After partaking of a
satisfactory dinner, I began writing my report to General Sheridan.
First I sent for California Joe, and informed him that I desired to
send a despatch to General Sheridan that night, and would have it
ready by dark, so that the bearer could at once set out as soon as
it was sufficiently dark to conceal his movements from the scouts of
the enemy, who no doubt were still following and watching us. I told
California Joe that I had selected him as the bearer of the despatch,
and he was at liberty to name the number of men he desired to
accompany him, as it was a most perilous mission on which he was going.
The exact distance he would have to ride in order to reach General
Sheridan’s headquarters at Camp Supply could not be determined. The
command had occupied four days in accomplishing it, but California Joe,
with his thorough knowledge of the country, and the experience of our
march, would be able to follow a much more direct route than a large
command moving with a train.
He did not seem in the least disturbed when told of his selection for
this errand, so full of danger. When informed that he might name the
number of men to accompany him, I supposed he would say about twelve
or more, under command of a good non-commissioned officer. Very few
persons in or out of the military service would have cared to undertake
the journey with much less than ten times that force, but he contented
himself by informing me that before answering that question he would
walk down to where the scouts were in camp and consult his “pardner.”
He soon returned saying, “I’ve just been talkin’ the matter over with
my pardner, and him and me both concludes that as safe and sure a way
as any is for him and me to take a few extra rounds of ammunition
and strike out from here together the very minnit it’s dark. As for
any more men, we don’t want ’em, because yer see in a case of this
’ere kind thar’s more to be made by dodgin’ an’ runnin’ than thar is
by fightin’, an’ two spright men kin do better at that than twenty;
they can’t be seen half as fur. Besides, two won’t leave as much of
a trail for the Injuns to find. If my pardner an’ me kin git away
from here as soon as it is plum dark, we’ll be so fur from here by
daylight to-morrer mornin’ the Injuns never couldn’t tetch hide nor
har of us. Besides, I don’t reckon the pesky varmints ’ll be so
overly keen in meddlin’ with our business, seein’ as how they’ve got
their han’s tolerable full settin’ things to rights at home, owin’
to the little visit we’ve jist made ’em. I rather s’pect, all things
considerin’, them Injuns would be powerful glad to call it quits for
a spell any way, an’ if I ain’t off the trail mightily, some of them
’ere head chiefs as ain’t killed will be headin’ for the nighest Peace
Commissioner before they git the war paint clean off their faces.
This thing of pumpin’ ’em when the snow’s a foot deep, and no grass
for their ponies, puts a new wrinkle in these Injuns’ scalp, an’
they ain’t goin’ to git over it in a minnit either. Wal, I’m goin’
back to the boys to see if I can borrer a little smokin’ tobacker. I
may want to take a smoke on the way. Whenever you git yer dockiments
ready jist send your orderly down thar, and me and my pardner will be
ready. I’m mighty glad I’m goin’ to-night, for I know Gineral Sheridan
’ll be monstrous glad to see me back so soon. Did I tell yer I used
to know the Gineral when he was second or third lootenant and post
quartermaster in Oregon? That must ’a been afore your time.”
Leaving California Joe to procure his “tobacker,” I assembled all the
officers of the command and informed them that as there was but an
hour or two in which I was to write my report of the battle of the
Washita, I would not have time, as I should have preferred to do, to
send to them for regular and formally written reports of their share
in the engagement; but in order that I might have the benefit of
their combined knowledge of the battle and its results, each officer
in response to my request gave me a brief summary of some of the
important points which his report would have contained if submitted
in writing. With this information in my possession, I sat down in my
tent and penned, in as brief manner as possible, a report to General
Sheridan detailing our movements from the time Elliott, with his
three companies, discovered the trail, up to the point from which
my despatch was written, giving particularly the main facts of our
discovery, attack, and complete destruction of the village of Black
Kettle. It was just about dark when I finished this despatch and was
about to send for California Joe, when that loquacious personage
appeared at the door of my tent. “I’m not so anxious to leave yer all
here, but the fact is, the sooner me and pardner are off, I reckon the
better it’ll be in the end. I want to put at least fifty miles ’tween
me and this place by daylight to-morrer mornin’, so if yer’ll jest
hurry up yer papers, it’ll be a lift for us.”
On going outside the tent I saw that the “pardner” was the scout Jack
Corbin, the same who had first brought the intelligence of Elliott’s
discovery of the trail to us at Antelope Hills. He was almost the
antipodes of California Joe in regard to many points of character,
seldom indulging in a remark or suggestion unless prompted by a
question. These two scouts recalled to my mind an amicable arrangement
said to exist between a harmonious married pair, in which one was
willing to do all the talking and the other was perfectly willing he
should. The two scouts, who were about to set out to accomplish a long
journey through an enemy’s country, with no guides save the stars,
neither ever having passed over the route they proposed to take,
and much of the ride to be executed during the darkness of night,
apparently felt no greater, if as great, anxiety as to the result of
their hazardous mission than one ordinarily feels in contemplating
a journey of a few hours by rail or steamboat. California Joe was
dressed and equipped as usual. About his waist and underneath his
cavalry greatcoat and cape he wore a belt containing a Colt revolver
and hunting knife; these, with his inseparable companion, a long
Springfield breech-loading rifle, composed his defensive armament.
His “pardner,” Jack Corbin, was very similarly arrayed except in
equipment, his belt containing two revolvers instead of one, while
a Sharps carbine supplied the place of a rifle, being more readily
carried and handled on horseback. The mounts of the two men were as
different as their characters, California Joe confiding his safety to
the transporting powers of his favorite mule, while Corbin was placing
his reliance upon a fine gray charger. Acquainting the men with the
probable route we should pursue in our onward march toward Camp Supply,
so that, if desirable, they might be able to rejoin us, I delivered my
report to General Sheridan into the keeping of California Joe, who,
after unbuttoning numerous coats, blouses, and vests, consigned the
package to one of the numerous capacious inner pockets with which each
garment seemed supplied, with the remark, “I reckon it’ll keep dry thar
in case of rain or accident.” Both men having mounted, I shook hands
with them, wishing them God-speed and a successful journey. As they
rode off in the darkness California Joe, irrepressible to the last,
called out, “Wal, I hope an’ trust yer won’t have any scrimmage while
I’m gone, because I’d hate mightily now to miss anything of the sort,
seein’ I’ve stuck to yer this fur.”
After enjoying a most grateful and comparatively satisfactory night’s
rest, the demands of hunger on the part of man and beast having
been bountifully supplied from the stores contained in our train,
while a due supply of blankets and robes, with the assistance of
huge camp-fires, enabled the men to protect themselves against the
intense cold of midwinter, our march was resumed at daylight in the
direction of Camp Supply. Our wounded had received every possible care
and attention that a skilful and kind-hearted medical officer could
suggest. Strange to add, and greatly to our surprise as well as joy,
Colonel Barnitz, who had been carried into the village shot through the
body and, as all supposed, mortally wounded, with apparently but a few
minutes to live, had not only survived the rough jostling of the night
march made after leaving the village, but the surgeon, Dr. Lippincott,
who was unceasing in his attentions to the wounded, reported
indications favorable to a prolongation of life if not a complete
recovery. This was cheering news to all the comrades of Colonel
Barnitz. I well remember how, when the Colonel was first carried by
four of his men, in the folds of an army blanket, into the village,
his face wore that pale deathly aspect so common and peculiar to those
mortally wounded. He, as well as all who saw him, believed his end near
at hand. But like a brave soldier, as he was and had proven himself
to be, death had no terrors for him. When asked by me, as I knelt at
the side of the litter on which he was gasping for breath, whether he
had any messages to send to absent friends, he realized the perils of
his situation, and in half-finished sentences, mingled with regrets,
delivered, as he and all of us supposed, his farewell messages to be
transmitted to dear ones at home. And yet, despite the absence of that
care and quiet, not to mention little delicacies and luxuries, regarded
as so essential, and which would have been obtainable under almost any
other circumstances, Colonel Barnitz continued to improve, and before
many weeks his attendant medical officer was able to pronounce him out
of danger, although to this day he is, and for the remainder of life
will be, disabled from further active duty, the ball by which he was
wounded having severed one of his ribs in such a manner as to render
either riding or the wearing of a sabre or revolver too painful to be
endured. By easy marches we gradually neared Camp Supply, and had begun
to descend the long slope leading down to the valley of Wolf creek, the
stream on which we had encamped three nights when we first set out from
Camp Supply in search of Indians.
With two or three of the Osage guides and as many of the officers, I
was riding some distance in advance of the column of troops, and could
indistinctly see the timber fringing the valley in the distance, when
the attention of our little party was attracted to three horsemen who
were to be seen riding slowly along near the edge of the timber. As yet
they evidently had not observed us, the troops behind us not having
appeared in view. We were greatly at a loss to determine who the three
horsemen might be; they were yet too distant to be plainly visible to
the eye, and the orderly with my field glass was still in rear. While
we were halting and watching their movements we saw that they also had
discovered us, one of their number riding up to a small elevation near
by from which to get a better view of our group. After studying us for
a few moments he returned at a gallop to his two companions, when all
three turned their horses toward the timber and moved rapidly in that
direction. We were still unable to determine whether they were Indians
or white men, the distance being so great between us, when my orderly
arrived with my field glass, by which I was able to catch a glimpse of
them just as they were disappearing in the timber, when whose familiar
form should be revealed but that of California Joe, urging his mule
to its greatest speed in order to reach the timber before we should
discover them. They had evidently taken us for Indians, and well they
might, considering that two of our party were Osages and the others
were dressed in anything but the regulation uniform. To relieve the
anxious minds of California Joe and his companions, I put spurs to my
horse and was soon bounding down the plains leading into the valley
to join him. I had not proceeded over half way when the scouts rode
cautiously out from the timber, and California Joe, after shading his
eyes with his hand and looking for a few moments, raised his huge
sombrero from his matted head, and waving it above him as a signal of
recognition, pressed his great Mexican spurs deep into the sides of his
humble-looking steed, if a mule may receive such an appellation, and
the three scouts were soon galloping toward us.
The joy at the meeting was great on both sides, only dampened somewhat
on the part of California Joe by the fact that he and his comrades had
taken to the timber so promptly when first they discovered us; but
he explained it by saying, “I counted on it bein’ you all the time
when I fust got my eye on yer, until I saw two Injuns in the squad,
an’ forgettin’ all about them Osages we had along, I jumped at the
conclusion that if thar war any Injuns around, the comfortablest place
I knowed for us three was to make fur the timber, and there make a
stand. We war gettin’ ready to give it to yer if it turned out yer war
all Injuns. Wal, I’m powerful glad to see yer agin, an’ that’s sure.”
From his further conversation we were informed that Jack Corbin and
himself had made their trip to General Sheridan’s headquarters without
hindrance or obstacle being encountered on their way, and that after
delivering the despatches and being well entertained in the mean time,
they, with one other scout, had been sent by the General to endeavor to
meet us, bringing from him a package of orders and letters.
While the column was overtaking us, and while California Joe, now
in his element, was entertaining the attentive group of officers,
scouts, and Osages who gathered around him to hear him relate in his
quaint manner what he saw, heard, and told at General Sheridan’s
headquarters, I withdrew to one side and opened the large official
envelope in which were contained both official and personal despatches.
These were eagerly read, and while the satisfaction derived from the
perusal of some of the letters of a private and congratulatory nature
from personal friends at Camp Supply was beyond expression, the climax
of satisfaction was reached when my eye came to an official-looking
document bearing the date and heading which indicated department
headquarters as its source. We had but little further to go before
going into camp for that night, and as the command had now overtaken
us, we moved down to the timber and there encamped; and in order that
the approving words of our chief should be transmitted promptly to
every individual of the command, the line was formed and the following
order announced to the officers and men:
HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE MISSOURI, IN THE FIELD, DEPOT ON THE
NORTH CANADIAN, AT THE JUNCTION OF BEAVER CREEK, INDIAN TERRITORY,
November 29, 1868.
GENERAL FIELD ORDERS NO. 6.--The Major General commanding announces
to this command the defeat, by the Seventh regiment of cavalry, of
a large force of Cheyenne Indians, under the celebrated chief Black
Kettle, reënforced by the Arrapahoes under Little Raven, and the
Kiowas under Satanta, on the morning of the 27th instant, on the
Washita river, near the Antelope Hills, Indian Territory, resulting
in a loss to the savages of one hundred and three warriors killed,
including Black Kettle, the capture of fifty-three squaws and
children, eight hundred and seventy-five ponies, eleven hundred and
twenty-three buffalo robes and skins, five hundred and thirty-five
pounds of powder, one thousand and fifty pounds of lead, four
thousand arrows, seven hundred pounds of tobacco, besides rifles,
pistols, saddles, bows, lariats, and immense quantities of dried
meat and other winter provisions, the complete destruction of their
village, and almost total annihilation of this Indian band.
The loss to the Seventh Cavalry was two officers killed, Major Joel
H. Elliott and Captain Louis McL. Hamilton, and nineteen enlisted
men; three officers wounded, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Albert
Barnitz (badly), Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel T. W. Custer, and Second
Lieutenant T. Z. March (slightly), and eleven enlisted men.
The energy and rapidity shown during one of the heaviest
snow-storms that has visited this section of the country, with the
temperature below freezing point, and the gallantry and bravery
displayed, resulting in such signal success, reflect the highest
credit upon both the officers and men of the Seventh Cavalry; and
the Major-General commanding, while regretting the loss of such
gallant officers as Major Elliott and Captain Hamilton, who fell
while gallantly leading their men, desires to express his thanks
to the officers and men engaged in the battle of the Washita, and
his special congratulations are tendered to their distinguished
commander, Brevet Major-General George A. Custer, for the efficient
and gallant services rendered, which have characterized the opening
of the campaign against hostile Indians south of the Arkansas.
By command of
Major-General P. H. SHERIDAN.
(Signed) J. SCHUYLER CROSBY, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel,
A. D. C., A. A. A. General.
This order, containing as it did the grateful words of approval from
our revered commander, went far to drown the remembrance of the hunger,
cold, and danger encountered by the command, in the resolute and united
effort made by it to thoroughly discharge its duty.
Words like these, emanating from the source they did, and upon an
occasion such as this was, were immeasurably more welcome, gratifying,
and satisfactory to the pride of officers and men than would have been
the reception of a budget of brevets, worded in the regular stereotyped
form and distributed in a promiscuous manner, having but little regard
to whether the recipient had bravely imperilled his life on the
battle-field in behalf of his country, or had taken particular care to
preserve that life upon some field far removed from battle.
The last camp before we reached Camp Supply was on Wolf creek, about
ten miles from General Sheridan’s headquarters. The weather had now
moderated to the mildest winter temperature, the snow having melted and
disappeared.
From this point I sent a courier to General Sheridan soon after going
into camp, informing him of our whereabouts and the distance from
his camp, and that we would reach the latter at such an hour in the
forenoon, when the officers and men of my command would be pleased to
march in review before him and his staff as we finished our return
march from the opening of the winter campaign. Officers and men,
in view of this, prepared to put on their best appearance. At the
appointed hour on the morning of December 2, the command moved out of
camp and began its last day’s march toward Camp Supply. Considering the
hard and trying character of the duty they had been engaged in since
leaving Camp Supply, the appearance of officers, men, and horses was
far better than might naturally have been expected of them. When we
arrived within a couple of miles of General Sheridan’s headquarters, we
were met by one of his staff officers with a message from the General,
that it would give him great pleasure to review the Seventh Cavalry
as proposed, and that he and his staff would be mounted, and take up
a favorable position for the review near headquarters. In approaching
Camp Supply by the route we were marching, a view of the camp and
depot is first gained from the point where the high level plain begins
to descend gradually, to form the valley in the middle of which Camp
Supply is located; so that by having a man on the lookout, to report
when the troops should first make their appearance on the heights
overlooking Beaver creek, the General was enabled not only to receive
timely notice of our approach, but to take position with his staff to
witness our march down the long gradual slope leading into the valley.
The day was all we could wish--a bright sun overhead, and favorable
ground for the manœuvring of troops.
I had taken the precaution to establish the formation of the marching
column before we should appear in view from General Sheridan’s camp,
so that after our march began down the beautifully descending slope to
the valley, no change was made. In many respects the column we formed
was unique in appearance. First rode our Osage guides and trailers,
dressed and painted in the extremest fashions of war according to
their rude customs and ideas. As we advanced these warriors chanted
their war songs, fired their guns in triumph, and at intervals gave
utterance to their shrill war-whoops. Next came the scouts riding
abreast, with California Joe astride his faithful mule bringing up the
right, but unable, even during this ceremonious and formal occasion,
to dispense with his pipe. Immediately in rear of the scouts rode the
Indian prisoners under guard, all mounted on Indian ponies, and in
their dress, conspicuous by its bright colors, many of them wearing
the scarlet blanket so popular with the wild tribes, presenting quite
a contrast to the dull and motley colors worn by the scouts. Some
little distance in rear came the troops formed in column of platoons,
the leading platoon, preceded by the band playing “Garry Owen,”
being composed of the sharpshooters under Colonel Cook, followed in
succession by the squadrons in the regular order of march. In this
order and arrangement we marched proudly in front of our chief, who,
as the officers rode by giving him the military salute with the sabre,
returned their formal courtesy by a graceful lifting of his cap and a
pleased look of recognition from his eye, which spoke his approbation
in language far more powerful than studied words could have done. In
speaking of the review afterwards, General Sheridan said the appearance
of the troops, with the bright rays of the sun reflected from their
burnished arms and equipments, as they advanced in beautiful order
and precision down the slope, the band playing, and the blue of the
soldiers’ uniforms slightly relieved by the gaudy colors of the
Indians, both captives and Osages, the strangely fantastic part played
by the Osage guides, their shouts, chanting their war songs, and firing
their guns in air, all combined to render the scene one of the most
beautiful and highly interesting he remembered ever having witnessed.
After marching in review, the troops were conducted across the plain
to the border of Beaver creek, about a quarter of a mile from General
Sheridan’s camp, where we pitched our tents and prepared to enjoy a
brief period of rest.
We had brought with us on our return march from the battle-ground of
the Washita the remains of our slain comrade, Captain Louis McLane
Hamilton. Arrangements were at once made, upon our arrival at Camp
Supply, to offer the last formal tribute of respect and affection which
we as his surviving comrades could pay. As he had died a soldier’s
death, so like a soldier he should be buried. On the evening of the day
after our arrival at Camp Supply the funeral took place. A little knoll
not far from camp was chosen as the resting place to which we were to
consign the remains of our departed comrade. In the arrangements for
the conduct of the funeral ceremonies, no preliminary or important
detail had been omitted to render the occasion not only one of imposing
solemnity, but deeply expressive of the high esteem in which the
deceased had been held by every member of the command. In addition to
the eleven companies of the Seventh Cavalry, the regular garrison of
Camp Supply, numbering several companies of the Third Regular Infantry,
the regiment in which Captain Hamilton had first entered the regular
service, was also in attendance. The body of the deceased was carried
in an ambulance as a hearse, and covered with a large American flag.
The ambulance was preceded by Captain Hamilton’s squadron, commanded by
Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel T. B. Weir, and was followed by his horse,
covered with a mourning sheet and bearing on the saddle--the same in
which Captain Hamilton was seated when he received his death wound--the
sabre and belt and the reversed top-boots of the deceased. The
pall-bearers were Major-General Sheridan, Brevet Lieutenant-Colonels
J. Schuyler Crosby, W. W. Cook, and T. W. Custer, Brevet Major W. W.
Beebe, Lieutenant Joseph Hall, and myself.
Our sojourn at Camp Supply was to be brief. We arrived there on the 2d
of December, and in less than one week we were to be in the saddle with
our numbers more than doubled by reinforcements, and again wending our
way southward over the route we had so lately passed over.
Before setting out on the last expedition, I had stated to the officers
in a casual manner that all parties engaged in the conduct of the
contemplated campaign against the Indians must reconcile themselves in
advance--no matter how the expedition might result--to becoming the
recipients of censure and unbounded criticism; that if we failed to
engage and whip the Indians--labor as we might to accomplish this--the
people in the West, particularly along and near the frontier, those who
had been victims of the assaults made by Indians, would denounce us in
unmeasured terms as being inefficient or lukewarm in the performance
of our duty; whereas if we should find and punish the Indians as
they deserved, a wail would rise up from the horrified humanitarians
throughout the country, and we would be accused of attacking and
killing friendly and defenceless Indians. My predictions proved true;
no sooner was the intelligence of the battle of the Washita flashed
over the country than the anticipated cry was raised. In many instances
it emanated from a class of persons truly good in themselves and in
their intentions, but who were familiar to only a very limited degree
with the dark side of the Indian question, and whose ideas were of the
sentimental order. There was another class, however, equally loud in
their utterances of pretended horror, who were actuated by pecuniary
motives alone, and who, from their supposed or real intimate knowledge
of Indian character and of the true merits of the contest between the
Indians and the Government, were able to give some weight to their
expressed opinions and assertions of alleged facts. Some of these last
described actually went so far as to assert not only that the village
we had attacked and destroyed was that of Indians who had always been
friendly and peaceable toward the whites, but that many of the warriors
and chiefs were partially civilized and had actually borne arms in
the Union army during the war of rebellion. The most astonishing fact
connected with these assertions was not that they were uttered, but
that many well-informed people believed them.
The Government, however, was in earnest in its determination to
administer proper and deserved punishment to the guilty; and as a mark
of approval of the opening event of the winter campaign, the following
telegram from the Secretary of War was transmitted to us at Camp Supply:
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SHERMAN, St. Louis, Mo.
WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON CITY, December 2, 1868.
I congratulate you, Sheridan, and Custer on the splendid success
with which your campaign is begun. Ask Sheridan to send forward the
names of officers and men deserving of special mention.
(Signed) J. M. SCHOFIELD, Secretary of War.
It was impracticable to comply with the request contained in the
closing portion of the despatch from the Secretary of War, for
the gratifying reason that every officer and man belonging to the
expedition had performed his full part in rendering the movement
against the hostile tribes a complete success.
XVII.
The close of the last chapter left my command in camp near General
Sheridan’s headquarters, at the point now known as Camp Supply,
Indian Territory. We had returned on the 30th of November from the
campaign of the Washita, well satisfied with the result of our labors
and exposures; but we were not to sit quietly in our tents or winter
quarters, and give way to mutual congratulations upon the success
which had already rewarded our efforts. The same spirit who, in the
Shenandoah Valley campaign of 1864, had so successfully inaugurated the
“whirling” movement, was now present, and it was determined that upon a
slightly modified principle, reinforced by the biting frosts of winter,
we should continue to “press things” until our savage enemies should
not only be completely humbled, but be forced by the combined perils
of war and winter to beg for peace, and settle quietly down within the
limits of their reservation.
Such was the import of the closing sentences in the “Congratulatory
Order” published by General Sheridan to the Seventh Cavalry and quoted
in the preceding chapter. “The _opening_ of the campaign against
hostile Indians south of Arkansas,” were the words used. We have seen
the “opening;” if the reader will accompany me, I will endeavor to
relate that which followed, introducing the principal events which, in
connection with the battle of the Washita, resulted in forcing all the
“hostile Indians south of the Arkansas” to a condition of comparative
peace, and gave peace and protection to that portion of our frontier
which had so long suffered from their murderous and thieving raids.
In less than one week from the date of our arrival at Camp Supply,
we were to be again in the saddle and wending our way southward
toward the supposed winter haunts of our enemies--this time, however,
with more than double our former numbers. So long had the thrifty
and enterprising settlers upon the frontier of Kansas, particularly
those who had selected homes in the fertile valleys of the Saline,
Solomon, and Republican rivers, been subjected to the depredations
of the Cheyennes, Arrapahoes, Apaches, Kiowas, and Sioux, and so
frequent had the murder and capture of settlers by these Indians
become, that the citizens and the officials of the State felt forced
to take measures in their own defence, and for the purpose of uniting
with the forces of the General Government, in the attempt to give
quiet and protection to life and property to the inhabitants of the
border settlements. The last needed impulse to this movement on the
part of the people of Kansas was given when the Indians, late in the
preceding summer, made two raids upon the settlements in the Saline,
Solomon, and Republican valleys, and, after murdering many of the
men and children, burning houses, and destroying or capturing a vast
amount of stock, carried off into captivity two young women or girls,
both belonging to highly respected families residing on the exposed
border of the State. Although one of the captives was married, her
marriage to a farmer having been celebrated less than one month prior
to the day of her unfortunate capture by the Indians, yet neither of
them could scarcely be said to have passed the line which separates
girlhood from womanhood. Mrs. Morgan, the bride, was but nineteen,
while her companion in misfortune, Miss White, was still her junior
by a year or more. As they played no unimportant part in subsequent
operations against the Indians, the principal events attending their
capture may not be out of place. Neither knew the other, nor had they
ever seen each other until they met as captives in an Indian village
hundreds of miles from their frontier homes. One can readily imagine
with what deep interest and mutual sympathy the acquaintance of these
two helpless girls began. Miss White had been captured and carried to
the Indian village about one month before the capture of Mrs. Morgan
occurred. The brief story of the capture of the former is soon told.
One day, her father being at work in the field, she and a younger
sister were engaged in the garden, when she saw four Indians entering
the house where her mother and the younger children of the family were.
Her first impulse was to fly, but seeing an Indian on the opposite
side of the garden she turned and entered the house. One or two of
the Indians could speak broken English; all of them assumed a most
friendly demeanor and requested something to eat. This request was met
by a most prompt and willing response upon the part of Mrs. White and
her children. With true Western hospitality they prepared for their
unbidden guests as bountifully as the condition of the larder would
permit. No depredations had been committed in that vicinity for some
time, and as it was not an unusual occurrence for small parties of
Indians when engaged on hunting excursions to visit the settlements,
where they invariably met with kind treatment at the hands of the
settlers, it was hoped that after obtaining the desired meal the party
would quietly withdraw without committing any depredations. Such,
however, was not the intention of the savages. Already on that day
their hands had been dipped in the white man’s blood, and the peaceful
procurement of something to appease their hunger was merely the
dropping of the curtain between two acts of a terrible drama. Having
satisfied the demands of their appetites, it was then time for them
to throw aside the guise of friendship, under which they had entered
the house and been treated as favored guests, and to reveal the true
object of their visit. Two stalwart warriors grasped Miss White in
their arms and rushed toward the door. Neither her shrieks nor the
feeble resistance she was able to offer retarded their movements. As
she found herself being rapidly carried from the house the last glimpse
she obtained of those within revealed her mother engaged in an unequal
struggle with a powerful warrior, while another of the savages had
felled a younger sister to the floor and was then engaged in destroying
such articles of furniture or table ware as he could lay hands upon.
Her two captors hurried her from the house, hastened to the spot where
they had left their ponies, and after binding their captive upon the
back of one of their ponies, and being joined by the others of the
party, began their flight from the settlements, well knowing that the
alarm would soon be given, and pursuit by the enraged settlers would
be the result. Amid the terrible surroundings of her own situation,
the anxieties of the fair captive to know the fate of the dear ones
left behind must have been unspeakable. I can scarcely imagine a more
deplorable fate than that to which this defenceless girl had become
the victim. Torn from her home amid scenes of heartrending atrocities,
distracted with anxious thoughts as to the fate which had befallen her
mother and sisters, she now found herself a helpless prisoner in the
hands of the most cruel, heartless, and barbarous of human enemies.
Unable to utter or comprehend a word of the Indian language, and her
captors only being able to express the most ordinary words in broken
English, her condition was rendered the more forlorn, if possible,
by her inability to communicate with those in whose power she found
herself.
With war parties returning from a foray upon the settlements, the first
object is to place as long a distance as possible between themselves
and any party which may be in pursuit. To accomplish this, as soon as
they have completed the destruction and havoc of which the settlers
are the victims, the entire party, usually numbering from fifty to one
hundred warriors, collect at a point near the settlements previously
agreed upon, and at once begin their flight toward their village,
probably located at least two hundred miles from the scene of their
attack. Being mounted, as all war parties are, upon the fleetest of
Indian ponies with extra animals driven along, little or no rest for
either pony or rider is taken during the first twenty-four hours, by
which time it is no unusual feat for a war party to traverse a distance
of one hundred miles.
During the early part of the flight every precaution is adopted to
prevent leaving a heavy trail, or one easily to be followed; to this
end, instead of moving, as is customary, in single file, thereby
leaving a clearly defined path, each warrior moves independently of
his fellows, until all danger from pursuit is safely passed, when the
party falls into single file, and, with the chief at the head, moves
along in almost unbroken silence. If during an attack upon the frontier
settlements the Indians should encounter unexpected and successful
resistance, necessitating a premature withdrawal and flight on their
part, they still resort to stratagem in order to secure their safety.
In accordance with a plan previously formed and understood by each
member of the party, and specially provided for an emergency, the war
party finding themselves about to encounter successful resistance on
the part of the frontiersmen beat a hasty retreat; but instead of
hiking their flight in a single direction and in one party, thereby
leaving an unmistakable clue for their pursuers, the entire party
breaks up into numerous smaller bands, each apparently fleeing in an
independent direction, a few of the best mounted usually falling behind
to attract the attention of the pursuers and give time to those of
the party who are burdened with prisoners and captured stock to make
good their escape. In such an emergency as this, a rendezvous for the
entire party has been previously fixed upon. Its location is usually
upon or near some water-course or prominent landmark, distant perhaps
thirty or forty miles; thither all smaller parties direct their course,
each by a separate and usually a circuitous course. Should either
of these smaller parties find themselves closely pursued, or their
trail being followed and all efforts to throw the pursuers off prove
unavailing, they relinquish the plan of uniting with the others at
the established rendezvous, as that would imperil the safety of their
comrades, and select a new route leading neither in the direction of
the rendezvous nor of the village, in order not only to elude but
mislead their pursuers. Then ensues a long and tiresome flight, until,
having worn out or outwitted their pursuers, of whose movements they
keep themselves thoroughly informed, they make their way in safety
to the village. At the latter, lookouts are constantly kept on some
prominent hill to watch the coming of the absent warriors, and give
notice of their approach. A war party returning from a successful raid
into the settlements, and bringing with them prisoners and captured
stock, is an event of the greatest importance to every occupant of the
village. Having arrived within a few miles of the village, and feeling
safe from all danger from pursuit, the chief in command of the war
party causes a signal smoke to be sent up from some high point along
the line of march, well knowing that watchful eyes near the village are
on the alert and will not fail to observe the signal and understand its
meaning.
It is wonderful to what a state of perfection the Indian has carried
this simple mode of telegraphing. Scattered over a great portion of
the plains, from British America in the north almost to the Mexican
border on the south, are to be found isolated hills, or, as they are
usually termed, “buttes,” which can be seen a distance of from twenty
to more than fifty miles. These peaks are selected as the telegraphic
stations. By varying the number of the columns of smoke different
meanings are conveyed by the messages. The most simple as well as most
easily varied mode, and resembling somewhat the ordinary alphabet
employed in the magnetic telegraph, is arranged by building a small
fire which is not allowed to blaze; then, by placing an armful of
partially green grass or weeds over the fire, as if to smother it,
a dense white smoke is created, which ordinarily will ascend in a
continuous vertical column for hundreds of feet. This column of smoke
is to the Indian mode of telegraphing what the current of electricity
is to the system employed by the white man; the alphabet so far as it
goes is almost identical, consisting as it does of long lines and short
lines or dots. But how formed? is perhaps the query of the reader.
By the simplest of methods. Having his current of smoke established,
the Indian operator simply takes his blanket and by spreading it over
the small pile of weeds or grass from which the column of smoke takes
its source, and properly controlling the edges and corners of the
blanket, he confines the smoke, and is in this way able to retain it
for several moments. By rapidly displacing the blanket, the operator
is enabled to cause a dense volume of smoke to rise, the length or
shortness of which, as well as the number and frequency of the columns,
he can regulate perfectly, simply by the proper use of the blanket.
For the transmission of brief messages, previously determined upon,
no more simple method could easily be adopted. As soon as the lookout
near the village discerns the approach in the distance of the expected
war party, the intelligence is at once published to the occupants of
the village through the stentorian tones of the village crier, the
duties of which office are usually performed by some superannuated or
deposed chief. Runners mounted upon fleet ponies are at once despatched
to meet the returning warriors and gather the particulars of the
expedition--whether successful or otherwise; whether they are returning
laden with scalps and plunder or come empty-handed. Have they brought
prisoners and captured horses? and are their own numbers unbroken,
or do their losses exceed their gains? These and similar questions
are speedily solved, when the runners hasten back to the village and
announce the result, whereupon the occupants of the entire village,
old and young, sally forth to meet the returning warriors. If the
latter have been successful and have suffered no loss, they become the
recipients of all the triumph which a barbarous and excited people are
capable of heaping upon them. They advance toward the village painted
and dressed in full war costume, singing their war songs, discharging
their firearms, and uttering ever and anon the war-whoop peculiar
to their tribe. Added to this, every soul in the village capable of
uttering a sound joins in the general rejoicing, and for a time the
entire population is wild with excitement. If, however, instead of
returning in triumph, the war party has met with disaster and suffered
the loss of one or more warriors, the scene witnessed upon their
arrival at the village is as boisterous as the other, but even more
horrible. The party is met as before by all the inhabitants of
the village, but in a widely different manner; instead of the shouts and
songs of victory which greet the successful warriors, only the screams
and wails of an afflicted people are to be heard; the war paint and
bright colors give way to a deep black with which all the mourners and
friends of the fallen warriors besmear their faces, while the members
of the immediate family begin hacking and scarifying their faces, arms,
and bodies with knives, and give way to lamentations the most piercing
and horrible in sound. A not infrequent mode of disfiguring themselves,
and one which I have often seen, is for the mourner, particularly if
the one mourned is a wife or husband, to cut off the first joint of
the little finger. This of course is done without the slightest regard
for the rules of surgery, of which the Indians generally are wofully
ignorant. The operation is simply performed by taking a knife, often of
questionable sharpness, and cutting through the flesh and first joint
of the little finger, leaving no “flap” of flesh to cover the exposed
bone. As a result, in healing the flesh withdraws from the mutilated
portion of the finger, and usually leaves nearly an inch of bone
exposed, presenting of course a most revolting appearance.
The village to which Miss White’s captors belonged was located at
that time south of the Arkansas river, and distant from her home at
least three hundred miles. How many girls of eighteen years of age
possess the physical ability to survive a journey such as lay before
this lonely captive? Unprovided with a saddle of any description, she
was mounted upon an Indian pony, and probably required to accomplish
nearly, if not quite, one hundred miles within the first twenty-four
hours, and thus to continue the tiresome journey with but little rest
or nourishment. Added to the discomforts and great fatigue of the
journey was something more terrible and exhausting than either. The
young captive, although a mere girl, was yet sufficiently versed in
the perils attending frontier life to fully comprehend that upon her
arrival at the village a fate awaited her more dreadful than death
itself. She realized that if her life had been spared by her savage
captors it was due to no sentiment of mercy or kindness on their part,
but simply that she might be reserved for a doom far more fearful and
more to be dreaded than death.
The capture of Mrs. Morgan occurred about one month later, and in
the same section of country, and the story of her capture is in its
incidents almost a repetition of that of Miss White. Her young husband
was engaged at work in a field, not far from the house, when the crack
of a rifle from the woods near by summoned her to the door. She barely
had time to see her husband fall to the ground when she discovered
several Indians rushing toward the house. Her first impulse was to seek
safety in flight, but already the Indians had surrounded the house,
and upon her attempting to escape one of the savages felled her to the
ground by a blow from his war club, and she lost all consciousness.
When she recovered her senses it was only to find herself bound upon
the back of a pony which was being led by a mounted warrior, while
another warrior rode behind and urged the pony she was mounted upon to
keep up the trot. There were about fifty warriors in the party, nearly
all belonging to the Cheyenne tribe, the others belonging to the Sioux
and Arrapahoes. As in the case of the capture of Miss White, a rapid
flight immediately followed the capture.
It was the story oft repeated of outrages like these, but particularly
of these two, that finally forced the people of Kansas to take up
arms in their own defence. Authority was obtained from the General
Government to raise a regiment of cavalry, whose services were to be
accepted for a period of six months. So earnest and enthusiastic had
the people of the frontier become in their determination to reclaim
the two captives, as well as administer justly-merited punishment,
that people of all classes and callings were eager to abandon their
professions and take up arms against the traditional enemy of the
frontier. The Governor of the State, Hon. S. J. Crawford, resigned
the duties of the Executive of the State into the hands of the
Lieutenant-Governor, and placed himself at the head of the regiment,
which was then being organized and equipped for service during the
winter campaign. After the return of the Seventh Cavalry from the
Washita campaign, we were simply waiting the arrival at Camp Supply
of the Kansas volunteers before again setting out to continue the
campaign, whose opening had begun so auspiciously. Severe storms
delayed the arrival of the Kansas troops beyond the expected time. They
reached Camp Supply, however, in time for the 7th of December to be
fixed upon as the date of our departure. My command, as thus increased,
consisted of eleven companies of the Seventh United States Cavalry; ten
companies of the Nineteenth Kansas volunteer Cavalry, Colonel S. J.
Crawford commanding; a detachment of scouts under Lieutenant Silas
Pepoon, Tenth Cavalry; and between twenty and thirty whites, Osage and
Kaw Indians, as guides and trailers. As our ultimate destination was
Fort Cobb, Indian Territory, where we would obtain a renewal of our
supplies after the termination of our proposed march, and as General
Sheridan desired to transfer his headquarters “in the field” to that
point, he decided to accompany my command, but generously declined
to exercise any command of the expedition, merely desiring to avail
himself of this opportunity of an escort without rendering a detachment
for that purpose necessary; and, as he remarked when announcing his
intention to accompany us, he simply wished to be regarded as a
“passenger.”
The day prior to our departure I was standing in front of my tent,
when a young man, probably twenty-one or two years of age, accosted me
and began a conversation by inquiring when I expected the expedition
would move. Any person who has had much to do with expeditions in the
Indian country knows how many and how frequent are the applications
made to the commanding officer to obtain employment as scouts or
guides. Probably one in fifty of the applicants is deserving of
attention, and if employed would prove “worthy of his hire.” Taking but
a glance at the young man who addressed me, and believing him to be
one of the numerous applicants for employment, my attention being at
the time absorbed with other matters, I was in no mood to carry on a
conversation which I believed would terminate in an offer of services
not desired. I was disposed to be somewhat abrupt in my answers, but
there was something in the young man’s earnest manner, the eagerness
with which he seemed to await my answers, that attracted and interested
me. After a few questions on his part as to what portion of the country
I expected to march through, what tribes I might encounter, and others
of a similar nature, he suddenly said, “General, I want to go along
with you.” This only confirmed my first impression, although from his
conversation I soon discovered that he was not one of the professional
applicants for employment as a scout or guide, but more likely had been
seized with a spirit of wild romance, and imagined the proper field for
its display would be discovered by accompanying an expedition against
the Indians. Many instances of this kind had previously fallen under my
observation, and I classed this as one of them; so I simply informed
him that I had already employed as many scouts and guides as were
required, and that no position of that character, or any other in fact,
was open to him. Not in the least discouraged by this decided refusal,
he replied: “But you do not understand me; I do not desire employment
in your command, nor any position requiring pay. I only ask permission
to accompany your expedition. I have neither arms nor horse; if you
will furnish me these, and permit me to go with you, I will serve you
in any capacity I can, and will expect no pay.”
My curiosity was now excited; I therefore pressed him to explain his
motive in desiring to accompany the expedition.
“Well, I’ll tell you; it’s a sad story. About four months ago the
Indians attacked my home, and carried off my only sister, a girl
nineteen years of age. Since that day I have heard not a word as to
what has become of her. I know not whether she is among the living or
dead; but when I think of what must be her fate if among the living,
I am almost tempted to wish she was quietly resting among the dead. I
do not even know what tribe was engaged in her capture, but hearing
of your expedition I thought it might afford me the means of getting
some clue to my sister’s fate. You may have a council with some of the
chiefs, or some of the prisoners you captured at the battle of the
Washita may tell me something of her; or if I can only learn where she
is, perhaps you can exchange some of your prisoners for her; at any
rate, the only chance I have to learn anything concerning her is by
being permitted to accompany your expedition.”
Of course he was permitted to accompany the expedition; not only
that, but he was provided with a horse and arms, and appointed to a
remunerative position. I asked him why he had not informed me at first
as to his object in desiring to go with us. He replied that he feared
that if it was known that he was in search of a lost sister, and we
should afterward have interviews with the Indians, as we certainly
would at Fort Cobb, he might not be as successful in obtaining
information as if the object of his mission was unknown.
The name of this young man was Brewster, and the lost sister in whose
search he was so earnestly engaged was Mrs. Morgan, whose capture has
already been described. From him I learned that Mrs. Morgan’s husband,
although shot down at the first fire of the Indians, was in a fair way
to recover, although crippled probably for life. But for his wounds, he
too would have joined the brother in a search for the sister and for
his bride, whose honeymoon had met with such a tragic interruption.
Young Brewster remained with my command during the entire winter,
accompanying it, and every detachment made from it, in the eager hope
to learn something of the fate of his sister. In his continued efforts
to discover some clue leading to her he displayed more genuine courage,
perseverance, and physical endurance, and a greater degree of true
brotherly love and devotion, than I have ever seen combined in one
person. We will hear from him as the story progresses.
It was decided to send the captives taken at the Washita to Fort Hays,
Kansas, where they could not only be safely guarded, but be made far
more comfortable than at Camp Supply. Before the expedition moved I
suggested to General Sheridan that I should take with the expedition
three of the squaws who were prisoners in our hands, with a view to
rendering their services available in establishing communication with
the hostile villages, if at any time this should become a desirable
object. General Sheridan approved of the suggestion, and I selected
three of the captives who were to accompany us. The first was
Mah-wis-sa, the sister of Black Kettle, whose acquaintance the reader
may have formed in the preceding chapter; the second was a Sioux squaw,
probably fifty years of age, whom Mah-wis-sa expressed a desire to
have accompany her, and who at times was disposed to be extremely
communicative in regard to the winter resorts of the various tribes,
and other matters connected with the purposes of the expedition.
The third was the daughter of Little Rock, the chief second in rank
to Black Kettle, who had been killed at the battle of the Washita.
Little Rock’s daughter was an exceedingly comely squaw, possessing a
bright, cheery face, a countenance beaming with intelligence, and a
disposition more inclined to be merry than one usually finds among
the Indians. She was probably rather under than over twenty years of
age. Added to bright, laughing eyes, a set of pearly teeth, and a
rich complexion, her well-shaped head was crowned with a luxuriant
growth of the most beautiful silken tresses, rivalling in color the
blackness of the raven, and extending, when allowed to fall loosely
over her shoulders, to below her waist. Her name was Mo-nah-se-tah,
which, anglicized, means “The young grass that shoots in the spring.”
Mo-nah-se-tah, although yet a maiden in years and appearance, had been
given in marriage, or, more properly speaking, she had been traded in
marriage, as an Indian maiden who should be so unfortunate as to be
“given” away would not be looked upon as a very desirable match. In
addition to her handsome appearance, both in form and feature, and to
any other personal attraction which might be considered peculiarly her
own, Mo-nah-se-tah, being the daughter of a chief high in rank, was
justly considered as belonging to the cream of the aristocracy, if not
to royalty itself; consequently the suitors who hoped to gain her hand
must be prepared, according to the Indian custom, to pay handsomely for
an alliance so noble. Little Rock, while represented as having been a
kind and affectionate father, yet did not propose that the hand of his
favorite daughter should be disposed of without the return of a due
equivalent.
Among the young warriors of the tribe there were many who would have
been proud to call Mo-nah-se-tah to preside over the domestic destinies
of their lodge, but the price to be paid for so distinguished an
alliance was beyond the means of most of them. Among the number of
young braves who aspired to the honor of her hand was one who, so far
as worldly wealth was concerned, was eligible. Unfortunately, however,
he had placed too much reliance upon this fact, and had not thought
that while obtaining the consent of paterfamilias it would be well also
to win the heart of the maiden; or perhaps he had, in seeking her hand,
also attempted to gain her heart, but not meeting with the desired
encouragement from the maiden of his choice, was willing to trust to
time to accomplish the latter, provided only he could secure the first.
According to Indian customs the consent of the bride to a proposed
marriage, while it may be ever so desirable, is not deemed essential.
All that is considered absolutely essential is, that the bridegroom
shall be acceptable to the father of the bride, and shall transfer to
the possession of the latter ponies or other articles of barter, in
sufficient number and value to be considered a fair equivalent for the
hand of the daughter. When it is stated that from two to four ponies
are considered as the price of the average squaw, and that the price
for the hand of Mo-nah-se-tah, as finally arranged, was eleven ponies,
some idea can be formed of the high opinion entertained of her.
It proved, however, so far as the young warrior was concerned, an
unsatisfactory investment. The ponies were transferred to Little Rock,
and all the formalities were duly executed which, by Indian law and
custom, were necessary to constitute Mo-nah-se-tah the wife of the
young brave. She was forced to take up her abode in his lodge, but
refused to acknowledge him as her husband, or to render him that
obedience and menial service which the Indian husband exacts from his
wife. Time failed to soften her heart, or to cause her to look kindly
upon her self-constituted but unrecognized lord and master.
Here was a clear case of “incompatibility of disposition”; and within
the jurisdiction of some of our State laws a divorce would have been
granted almost unquestioned. The patience of the young husband having
become exhausted, and he having unsuccessfully resorted to every
measure of kindness deemed likely to win the love and obedience of his
wife, he determined to have recourse to harsher measures--if necessary,
to employ force. Again he mistook the character of her upon whose
apparently obdurate heart neither threats nor promises had produced the
faintest effect. Mo-nah-se-tah had probably been anticipating such a
decision, and had prepared herself accordingly. Like most Indian women,
she was as skilful in the handling and use of weapons as most warriors
are; and when her husband, or rather the husband who had been assigned
to her, attempted to establish by force an authority which she had
persistently refused to recognize, she reminded him that she was the
daughter of a great chief, and rather than submit to the indignities
which he was thus attempting to heap upon her, she would resist even to
the taking of life; and suiting the action to the word, she levelled a
small pistol which she had carried concealed beneath her blanket and
fired, wounding him in the knee and disabling him for life.
Little Rock, learning of what had occurred, and finding upon
investigation that his daughter had not been to blame, concluded to
cancel the marriage--to grant a divorce--which was accomplished simply
by returning to the unfortunate husband the eleven ponies which had
been paid for the hand of Mo-nah-se-tah. What an improvement upon
the method prescribed in the civilized world! No lawyer’s fees, no
publicity nor scandal; all tedious delays are avoided, and the result
is as nearly satisfactory to all parties as is possible.
Having sent a messenger to ask the three Indian women referred to to
come to my tent, I acquainted them with my intention of taking them
with the expedition when we moved in search of the hostile villages.
To my surprise they evinced great delight at the idea, and explained
it by saying that if they accompanied us they might be able to see or
communicate with some of their people, while by remaining with the
other prisoners, and becoming further separated from their own country
and hunting-grounds, they could entertain little or no hope of learning
anything concerning the fate of other portions of their tribe. They
gladly acceded to the proposition to accompany the troops. I then
inquired of them in which mode they preferred to travel, mounted upon
ponies, as was their custom, or in an ambulance. Much to my surprise,
remembering how loath the Indian is to adopt any contrivance of the
white man, they chose the ambulance, and wisely too, as the season was
that of midwinter, and the interior of a closely covered ambulance was
a much less exposed position than that to be found on the back of a
pony.
[Illustration: LONE WOLF, HEAD CHIEF OF THE KIOWAS.]
XVIII.
Forage for the horses and mules, and rations for the men, sufficient of
both to last thirty days, having been loaded on the wagons, the entire
command, composed as previously stated, and accompanied by General
Sheridan and staff, left Camp Supply early on the morning of December
7, and turning our horses’ heads southward, we marched in the direction
of the battle-ground of the Washita. Our march to the Washita was quiet
and uneventful, if we except the loquacity of California Joe, who, now
that we were once more in the saddle with the prospect of stirring
times before us, seemed completely in his element, and gave vent to his
satisfaction by indulging in a connected series of remarks and queries,
always supplying the answer to the latter himself if none of his
listeners evinced a disposition to do so for him. His principal delight
seemed to be in speculating audibly as to what would be the impression
produced on the minds of the Indians when they discovered us returning
with increased numbers both of men and wagons.
“I’d jist like to see the streaked count’nances of Satanta, Medicine
Arrow, Lone Wolf, and a few others of ’em, when they ketch the fust
glimpse of the outfit. They’ll think we’re comin’ to spend an evenin’
with ’em sure, and hev brought our knittin’ with us. One look’ll
satisfy ’em thar’ll be sum of the durndest kickin’ out over these
plains that ever war heern tell uv. One good thing, it’s goin’ to cum
as nigh killin’ uv ’em to start ’em out this time uv year as ef we hed
an out an’ out scrummage with ’em. The way I looks at it they hev jist
this preference: them as don’t like bein’ shot to deth kin take ther
chances at freezin’.” In this interminable manner California Joe would
pursue his semi-soliloquies, only too delighted if some one exhibited
interest sufficient to propound an occasional question.
As our proposed route bore to the southeast after reaching the
battle-field, our course was so chosen as to carry us to the Washita
river a few miles below, at which point we encamped early in the day.
General Sheridan desired to ride over the battle-ground, and we hoped
by a careful examination of the surrounding country to discover the
remains of Major Elliott and his little party, of whose fate there
could no longer be the faintest doubt. With one hundred men of the
Seventh Cavalry, under command of Captain Yates, we proceeded to the
scene of the battle, and from there dispersed in small parties in
all directions, with orders to make a thorough search for our lost
comrades. We found the evidences of the late engagement much as we
had left them. Here were the bodies, now frozen, of the seven hundred
ponies which we had slain after the battle; here and there, scattered
in and about the site of the former village of Black Kettle, lay the
bodies of many of the Indians who fell during the struggle. Many of
the bodies, however, particularly those of Black Kettle and Little
Rock, had been removed by their friends. Why any had been allowed to
remain uncared for, could only be explained upon the supposition that
the hasty flight of the other villages prevented the Indians from
carrying away any except the bodies of the most prominent chiefs or
warriors, although most of those remaining on the battle-ground were
found wrapped in blankets and bound with lariats preparatory to removal
and burial. Even some of the Indian dogs were found loitering in the
vicinity of the places where the lodges of their former masters stood;
but, like the Indians themselves, they were suspicious of the white
man, and could hardly be induced to establish friendly relations. Some
of the soldiers, however, managed to secure possession of a few young
puppies; these were carefully brought up, and to this day they, or some
of their descendants, are in the possession of members of the command.
After riding over the ground in the immediate vicinity of the village,
I joined one of the parties engaged in the search for the bodies of
Major Elliott and his men. In describing the search and its result, I
cannot do better than transcribe from my official report, made soon
after to General Sheridan:
“After marching a distance of two miles in the direction in which
Major Elliott and his little party were last seen, we suddenly came
upon the stark, stiff, naked, and horribly mutilated bodies of our
dead comrades. No words were needed to tell how desperate had been the
struggle before they were finally overpowered. At a short distance
from where the bodies lay, could be seen the carcasses of some of the
horses of the party, which had probably been killed early in the fight.
Seeing the hopelessness of breaking through the line which surrounded
them, and which undoubtedly numbered more than one hundred to one,
Elliott dismounted his men, tied their horses together, and prepared
to sell their lives as dearly as possible. It may not be improper to
add that in describing, as far as possible, the details of Elliott’s
fight I rely not only upon a critical and personal examination of the
ground and attendant circumstances, but am sustained by the statements
of Indian chiefs and warriors who witnessed and participated in the
fight, and who have since been forced to enter our lines and surrender
themselves up, under circumstances which will be made to appear in
other portions of this report.
“The bodies of Elliott and his little band, with but a single
exception, were found lying within a circle not exceeding twenty yards
in diameter. We found them exactly as they fell, except that their
barbarous foes had stripped and mutilated the bodies in the most savage
manner.
“All the bodies were carried to camp. The latter was reached after
dark. It being the intention to resume the march before daylight the
following day, a grave was hastily prepared on a little knoll near our
camp, and, with the exception of that of Major Elliott, whose remains
were carried with us for interment at Fort Arbuckle, the bodies of the
entire party, under the dim light of a few torches held by of sorrowing
comrades, were consigned to one common resting place. No funeral note
sounded to measure their passage to the grave. No volley was fired to
tell us a comrade was receiving the last sad rites of burial, that
the fresh earth had closed over some of our truest and most daring
soldiers.
“Before interment, I caused a complete examination of each body to be
made by Dr. Lippincott, chief medical officer of the expedition, with
direction to report on the character and number of wounds received by
each, as well as to mutilations to which they had been subjected. The
following extracts are taken from Dr. Lippincott’s report:
“Major Joel H. Elliott, two bullet holes in head, one in left cheek,
right hand cut off, left foot almost cut off, ... deep gash in right
groin, deep gashes in calves of both legs, little finger of left hand
cut off, and throat cut.
“Sergeant-Major Walter Kennedy, bullet hole in right temple, head
partly cut off, seventeen bullet holes in back, and two in legs.
“Corporal Harry Mercer, Troop E, bullet hole in right axilla, one in
region of heart, three in back, eight arrow wounds in back, right ear
cut off, head scalped, and skull fractured, deep gashes in both legs,
and throat cut.
“Private Thomas Christer, Troop E, bullet hole in head, right foot cut
off, bullet hole in abdomen, and throat cut.
“Corporal William Carrick, Troop H, bullet hole in right parietal bone,
both feet cut off, throat cut, left arm broken.
“Private Eugene Clover, Troop H, head cut off, arrow wound in right
side, both legs terribly mutilated.
“Private William Milligan, Troop H, bullet hole in left side of head,
deep gashes in right leg, ... left arm deeply gashed, head scalped, and
throat cut.
“Corporal James F. Williams, Troop I, bullet hole in back; head and
both arms cut off, many and deep gashes in back....
“Private Thomas Dooney, Troop I, arrow hole in region of stomach,
thorax cut open, head cut off, and right shoulder, cut by a tomahawk.
“Farrier Thomas Fitzpatrick, Troop M, bullet hole in left parietal
bone, head scalped, arm broken, ... throat cut.
“Private John Myres, Troop M, several bullet holes in head, scalped,
nineteen bullet holes in body, ... throat cut.
“Private Cal. Sharpe, Troop M, two bullet holes in right side, throat
cut, one bullet hole in left side of head, one arrow hole in left side,
... left arm broken.
“Unknown, head cut off, body partially destroyed by wolves.
“Unknown, head and right hand cut off, ... three bullet and nine arrow
holes in back.
“Unknown, scalped, skull fractured, six bullet and thirteen arrow holes
in back, and three bullet holes in chest.”
I have quoted these extracts in order to give the reader an insight of
the treatment invariably meted out to white men who are so unfortunate
as to fall within the scope of the red man’s bloodthirsty and
insatiable vengeance. The report to General Sheridan then continues as
follows:
“In addition to the wounds and barbarities reported by Dr. Lippincott,
I saw a portion of the stock of a Lancaster rifle protruding from
the side of one of the men; the stock had been broken off near the
barrel, and the butt of it, probably twelve inches in length, had been
driven into the man’s side a distance of eight inches. The forest
along the banks of the Washita, from the battle-ground a distance of
twelve miles, was found to have been one continuous Indian village.
Black Kettle’s band of Cheyennes was above; then came other hostile
tribes camped in the following order: Arrapahoes under Little Raven;
Kiowas under Satanta and Lone Wolf; the remaining bands of Cheyennes,
Comanches, and Apaches. Nothing could exceed the disorder and haste
with which these tribes had fled from their camping grounds. They had
abandoned thousands of lodge poles, some of which were still standing,
as when last used. Immense numbers of camp kettles, cooking utensils,
coffee-mills, axes, and several hundred buffalo robes were found in
the abandoned camps adjacent to Black Kettle’s village, but which had
not been visited before by our troops. By actual examination, it was
computed that over six hundred lodges had been standing along the
Washita during the battle, and within five miles of the battle-ground,
and it was from these villages, and others still lower down the
stream, that the immense number of warriors came who, after our rout
and destruction of Black Kettle and his band, surrounded my command
and fought until defeated by the Seventh Cavalry about 3 P. M. on the
27th ult.... In the deserted camp, lately occupied by Satanta with
the Kiowas, my men discovered the bodies of a young white woman and
child, the former apparently about twenty-three years of age, the
latter probably eighteen months old. They were evidently mother and
child, and had not long been in captivity, as the woman still retained
several articles of her wardrobe about her person--among others a pair
of cloth gaiters but little worn, everything indicating that she had
been but recently captured, and upon our attacking and routing Black
Kettle’s camp her captors, fearing she might be recaptured by us and
her testimony used against them, had deliberately murdered her and her
child in cold blood. The woman had received a shot in the forehead,
her entire scalp had been removed, and her skull horribly crushed. The
child also bore numerous marks of violence.”
At daylight on the following morning the entire command started on
the trail of the Indian villages, nearly all of which had moved down
the Washita toward Fort Cobb, where they had good reason to believe
they would receive protection. The Arrapahoes and remaining band of
Cheyennes left the Washita valley and moved across in the direction of
Red river. After following the trail of the Kiowas and other hostile
Indians for seven days, over an almost impassable country, where it
was necessary to keep two or three hundred men almost constantly at
work with picks, axes, and spades, before being able to advance with
our immense train, my Osage scouts came galloping back on the morning
of the 17th of December, and reported a party of Indians in our front
bearing a flag of truce.
It is to this day such a common occurrence for Indian agents to assert
in positive terms that the particular Indians of their agency have
not been absent from their reservation, nor engaged in making war
upon the white men, when the contrary is well known to be true, that
I deem it proper to introduce one of the many instances of this kind
which have fallen under my observation, as an illustration not only
of how the public in distant sections of the country may be misled
and deceived as to the acts and intentions of the Indians, but also
of the extent to which the Indian agents themselves will proceed in
attempting to shield and defend the Indians of their particular agency.
Sometimes, of course, the agent is the victim of deception, and no
doubt conscientiously proclaims that which he firmly believes; but I am
forced by long experience to the opinion that instances of this kind
are rare, being the exception rather than the rule. In the example
to which I refer, the high character and distinction as well as the
deservedly national reputation achieved by the official then in charge
of the Indians against whom we were operating, will at once absolve me
from the imputation of intentionally reflecting upon the integrity of
his action in the matter. The only point to occasion surprise is how
an officer possessing the knowledge of the Indian character, derived
from an extensive experience on the frontier, which General Hazen could
justly lay claim to, should be so far misled as to give the certificate
of good conduct which follows. General Hazen had not only had superior
opportunities for studying the Indian character, but had participated
in Indian wars, and at the very time he penned the following note
he was partially disabled from the effects of an Indian wound. The
Government had selected him from the large number of intelligent
officers of high rank whose services were available for the position,
and had assigned him with plenary powers to the superintendency of the
Southern Indian District, a position in which almost the entire control
of all the southern tribes was vested in the occupant. If gentlemen of
the experience and military education of General Hazen, occupying the
intimate and official relation to the Indians which he did, could be
so readily and completely deceived as to their real character, it is
not strange that the mass of the people living far from the scene of
operations, and only possessing such information as reaches them in
scraps through the public press, and generally colored by interested
parties, should at times entertain extremely erroneous impressions
regarding the much-vexed Indian question. Now to the case in point:
With the Osage scouts who came back from the advance with the
intelligence that a party of Indians were in front, also came a scout
who stated that he was from Fort Cobb, and delivered to me a despatch,
which read as follows:
HEADQUARTERS SOUTHERN INDIAN DISTRICT, FORT COBB, 9 P. M. December 16, 1868.
_To the Officer, commanding troops in the Field._
Indians have just brought in word that our troops to-day reached
the Washita some twenty miles above here. I send this to say that
all the camps this side of the point reported to have been reached
are friendly, and have not been on the war path this season. If
this reaches you, it would be well to communicate at once with
Satanta or Black Eagle, chiefs of the Kiowas, near where you now
are, who will readily inform you of the position of the Cheyennes
and Arrapahoes, also of my camp.
Respectfully,
(Signed) W. B. HAZEN, Brevet Major-General.
This scout at the same time informed me that a large party of Kiowa
warriors, under Lone Wolf, Satanta, and other leading chiefs, were
within less than a mile of my advance, and notwithstanding the above
certificate regarding their friendly character, they had seized a scout
who accompanied the bearer of the despatch, disarmed him, and held him
a prisoner of war. Taking a small party with me, I proceeded beyond our
lines to meet the flag of truce. I was met by several of the leading
chiefs of the Kiowas, including those above named. Large parties of
their warriors could be seen posted in the neighboring ravines and upon
the surrounding hilltops. All were painted and plumed for war, and
nearly all were armed with one rifle, two revolvers, bow and arrow,
some of their bows being strung, and their whole appearance and conduct
plainly indicating that they had come for war. Their declarations to
some of my guides and friendly Indians proved the same thing, and they
were only deterred from hostile acts by discovering our strength to
be far greater than they had imagined, and our scouts on the alert.
Aside, however, from the question as to what their present or future
intentions were at that time, how deserving were those Indians of the
certificate of good behavior which they had been shrewd enough to
obtain? The certificate was dated December 16, and stated that the
camps had not been on the war path “this season.”
What were the facts? On the 27th of November, only twenty-one days
prior to the date of the certificate, the same Indians, whose peaceable
character was vouched for so strongly, had engaged in battle with my
command by attacking it during the fight with Black Kettle. It was
in their camp that the bodies of the murdered mother and child were
found, and we had followed day by day the trail of the Kiowas and other
tribes, leading us directly from the dead and mangled bodies of our
comrades, slain by them a few days previous, until we were about to
overtake and punish the guilty parties, when the above communication
was received, some forty or fifty miles from Fort Cobb, in the
direction of the Washita battle-ground.
This, of itself, was conclusive evidence of the character of the tribes
we were dealing with; but aside from these incontrovertible facts,
had additional evidence been needed of the openly hostile conduct of
the Kiowas and Comanches, and of their active participation in the
battle of the Washita, it is only necessary to refer to the collected
testimony of Black Eagle and other leading chiefs. This testimony was
written, and was then in the hands of the agents of the Indian Bureau.
It was given voluntarily by the Indian chiefs referred to, and was
taken down at the time by the Indian agents, not for the army, or with
a view of furnishing it to officers of the army, but simply for the
benefit and information of the Indian Bureau. This testimony, making
due allowance for the concealment of much that would be prejudicial
to the interests of the Indians, plainly states that the Kiowas and
Comanches took part in the battle of the Washita: that the former
constituted a portion of the war party whose trail I followed, and
which led my command into Black Kettle’s village: and that some of the
Kiowas remained in Black Kettle’s village until the morning of the
battle.
This evidence is all contained in a report made to the Superintendent
of Indian Affairs, by one Philip McCuskey, United States interpreter
for the Kiowa and Comanche tribes. This report was dated Fort Cobb,
December 3, while the communication from General Hazen, certifying to
the friendly disposition and conduct of these tribes, was dated at
the same place thirteen days later. Mah-wis-sa also confirmed these
statements, and pointed out to me, when near the battle-ground, the
location of Satanta’s village. It was from her, too, that I learned
that it was in Satanta’s village that the bodies of the white woman
and child were found. As I pen these lines, the daily press contains
frequent allusions to the negotiations which are being conducted
between the Governor of Texas and the General Government, looking
to the release of Satanta from the Texas penitentiary, to which
institution Satanta, after a trial before the civil authorities for
numerous murders committed on the Texas frontier, was sent three or
four years ago to serve out a life sentence.
After meeting the chiefs, who with their bands had approached our
advance under flag of truce, and compelling the release of the scout
whom they had seized and held prisoner, we continued our march toward
Fort Cobb, the chiefs agreeing to ride with us and accompany my
command to that place. Every assurance was given me that the villages
to which these various chiefs belonged would at once move to Fort
Cobb, and there encamp, thus separating themselves from the hostile
tribes, or those who preferred to decline this proposition of peace,
and to continue to wage war; and as an evidence of the sincerity of
their purpose, some eighteen or twenty of the most prominent chiefs,
generally Kiowas, voluntarily proposed to accompany us during the
march of that day and the next, by which time it was expected that
the command would reach Fort Cobb. The chiefs only requested that
they might send one of their number, mounted on a fleet pony, to the
villages, in order to hasten their movement to Fort Cobb. How eager
for peace were these poor, confiding sons of the forest is the mental
ejaculation of some of my readers, particularly if they are inclined
to be converts to the humanitarian doctrines supposed to be applicable
in the government of Indians. If I am addressing any of this class,
for whose kindness of heart I have the utmost regard, I regret to be
compelled to disturb the illusion.
Peace was not included among the purposes which governed the chiefs
who so freely and unhesitatingly proffered their company during our
march to Fort Cobb. Nor had they the faintest intention of either
accompanying us or directing their villages to proceed to the fort.
The messenger whom they seemed so anxious to despatch to the village
was not sent to hasten the movement of their villages toward Fort
Cobb, as claimed by them, but to hasten their movement in a precisely
opposite direction, viz., towards the head waters of Red river, near
the northwestern limits of Texas. This sudden effusion of friendly
sentiments rather excited my suspicions, but I was unable at first
to divine the real intents and purposes of the chiefs. Nothing was
to be done but to act so as to avoid exciting their suspicion, and
trust to time to unravel the scheme. When we arrived at our camping
ground, on the evening of that day, the chiefs requested permission
to despatch another messenger to their people to inform them where we
were encamped. To this proposition no objection was made. That evening
I caused an abundant supply of provisions, consisting principally
of beef, bread, coffee, and sugar, to be distributed among them.
In posting my pickets that night for the protection of the camp, I
arranged to have the reserve stationed within a short distance of the
spot on which the chiefs were to encamp during the night, which point
was but a few paces from my headquarters. Before retiring, I took
Romeo, the interpreter, and strolled down to pay a visit to the chiefs.
The latter, after the substantial meal in which they had just indulged,
were seated, Indian fashion, around a small fire, enjoying such comfort
as was to be derived from the occasional whiffs of smoke which each in
proper turn inhaled from the long-stemmed pipe of red clay that was
kept passing from right to left around the circle. Their greeting of
me was cordial in the extreme, but, as in the play--of “Richelieu,” I
believe--they “bowed too low.” Through Romeo I chatted on indifferent
subjects with the various chiefs, and from nearly all of them received
assurances of their firmly fixed resolution to abandon forever the
dangers and risks of the war path, to live no longer at variance with
their white brothers, to eschew henceforth all such unfriendly customs
as scalp-taking, murdering defenceless women and children, and stealing
stock from the settlers of the frontier. All this was to be changed in
the future. It seemed strange, listening to these apparently “artless
sons of nature” that men entertaining the ardent desire for repose
which they professed, had not turned their backs on the war path long
ago, and settled down to the quiet enjoyment of the blessings of peace.
But better that this conclusion should be arrived at late than not at
all. The curtain had fallen from their eyes, and they were enabled
to see everything in its proper light. To adopt their own language,
“their hearts had become good,” “their tongues had become straight,”
they had cast aside the bad ways in which they had so long struggled
unsuccessfully, and had now resolved to follow the white man’s road, to
adopt his mode of dress, till the soil, and establish schools for the
education of their children, until in time the white man and the red
man would not only be brothers in name, but would be found travelling
the same road with interests in common.
Had I been a latter-day Peace Commissioner, I should have felt in
duty bound to send a despatch to the chief of the proper bureau at
Washington, in terms somewhat as follows:
_Hon John Smith, Secretary of the ---- Department._
I have just concluded a most satisfactory council with the Kiowa
and other tribes, certain members of which have lately been accused
of being more or less connected with the troubles lately occurring
upon our frontier. All the prominent chiefs met me in council, and
after a free interchange and expression of opinions, I am happy
to inform the Department that these chiefs, representing as they
do one of the most powerful and important of the southern tribes,
have voluntarily and solemnly agreed to cease all hostile acts
against the white men, to prevent raids or war parties from being
organized among their young men, to abandon for all future time
the war path, and to come within the limits of their reservation,
there to engage in the peaceful pursuits of civilized life. They
express a warm desire to have educational facilities extended them
for the benefit of their children. As the season is far advanced,
rendering it too late for them to successfully cultivate a crop the
present year, they ask, and I recommend, that provisions sufficient
for their subsistence the present season be issued them. They also
request that, owing to the scarcity of game, a few breech-loading
arms be furnished them, say one rifle and one revolver to each
male over fourteen years of age. I am satisfied that this is a
most reasonable request, and that the granting of it would go far
to restore confidence in the good intentions of the Government,
as I am forced to remark that some of the recent acts of the
military, such as the occurrence on the Washita, have done much to
produce an unsettled feeling on the part of these untutored wards
of the nation. No further anxiety need be felt as to the complete
pacification of this tribe. I wish you might have shared with me
the pleasure of listening to these untaught chieftains, begging for
such assistance and guidance as would lead them in the paths of
peace. I leave here on the --th, to visit the neighboring tribes,
provided the military commander at this point will furnish me a
suitable escort.
I have the honor to be your obedient servant,
JOHN JONES, Indian Agent.
P. S.--I have thought that if we could confer the ballot upon those
of the chiefs and warriors who show the greatest aptitude and
desire for peace, it might be a great step toward completing their
civilization. Of course some line of distinction or qualification
would have to be drawn; for example, confer the right of ballot
upon all those who faithfully accept their rations from the
Government for a period of six months. I merely throw this out for
the consideration of the Department.
J. J.
Not being an orthodox Peace Commissioner, in good standing in that
fraternity, I did not send a despatch of this character. What I did,
however, answered every purpose. I went to the station of the guard
near by and directed the non-commissioned officer in charge to have
his men keep a watchful eye upon those same “untutored sons of the
forest,” as I felt confident their plans boded us no good. Romeo was
also told to inform the chiefs that after the camp had quieted down for
the night, it would not be prudent for them to wander far from their
camp fire, as the sentries might mistake them for enemies and fire
upon them. This I knew would make them hug their fire closely until
morning. Before daylight we were again in the saddle and commencing
the last march necessary to take us to Fort Cobb. Again did it become
important, in the opinion of the chiefs, to despatch another of their
number to hurry up the people of their villages, in order, as they
said, that the villages might arrive at Fort Cobb at the same time we
did. As the march progressed these applications became more frequent,
until most of the chiefs had been sent away as messengers. I noticed,
however, that in selecting those to be sent, the chiefs lowest in rank
and importance were first chosen, so that those who remained were the
highest. When their numbers had dwindled down to less than half the
original party, I saw that instead of acting in good faith this party
of chiefs was solely engaged in the effort to withdraw our attention
from the villages, and, by an apparent offer on their part to accompany
us to Fort Cobb, where we were encouraged to believe the villages
would meet us, prevent us from watching and following the trail made
by the lodges, which had already diverged from the direct route to
Fort Cobb, the one the villages would have pursued had that fort been
their destination. It became palpably evident that the Indians were
resorting, as usual, to stratagem to accomplish their purpose, which of
course involved our deception. Fortunately their purpose was divined in
time to thwart it. As no haste was necessary, I permitted the remaining
chiefs to continue the march with us, without giving them any grounds
to suppose that we strongly doubted their oft-repeated assertions that
their hearts were good and their tongues were straight. Finally, as our
march for that day neared its termination and we were soon to reach
our destination, the party of chiefs, which at first embraced upwards
of twenty, had become reduced until none remained except the two head
chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta, and these no doubt were laughing in
their sleeves, if an Indian may be supposed to possess that article of
apparel, at the happy and highly successful manner in which they had
hoodwinked their white brethren. But had they known all that had been
transpiring they would not have felt so self-satisfied. As usual, quite
a number of officers and orderlies rode at the head of the column,
including a few of General Sheridan’s staff.
As soon as the scheme of the Indians was discovered, I determined to
seize the most prominent chiefs as hostages for the fulfilment of
their promises regarding the coming on of the villages; but as for
this purpose two hostages were as valuable as twenty, I allowed all
but this number to take their departure apparently unnoticed. Finally,
when none but Lone Wolf and Satanta remained, and they no doubt were
prepared with a plausible excuse to bid us in the most improved Kiowa
_au revoir_, the officers just referred to, at a given signal, drew
their revolvers, and Lone Wolf and Satanta were informed through Romeo
that they were prisoners.
XIX.
Not even the proverbial stoicism of the red man was sufficient to
conceal the chagrin and disappointment recognizable in every lineament
of the countenances of both Satanta and Lone Wolf when they discovered
that all their efforts at deception had not only failed, but left
them prisoners in our hands. Had we been in doubt as to whether their
intention had really been to leave us in the lurch or not, all doubt
would have been dispelled by a slight circumstance which soon after
transpired. As I before stated, we had almost reached Fort Cobb, which
was our destination for the time being. The chiefs who had already made
their escape now became anxious in regard to the non-arrival in their
midst of Satanta and Lone Wolf. The delay of the last two could not be
satisfactorily accounted for. Something must have gone amiss.
Again was stratagem resorted to. We were marching along without
interruption or incident to disturb our progress, such of us as were
at the head of the column keeping watchful eyes upon our two swarthy
prisoners, who rode sullenly at our sides, and whose past career
justified us in attributing to them the nerve and daring necessary to
induce an effort to secure their liberty should there be the slightest
probability of success. Suddenly a mounted Indian appeared far away
to our right, and approached us at a gallop until almost within rifle
range, when halting his well-trained pony upon a little hillock which
answered his purpose, he gracefully detached the scarlet blanket he
wore, and began waving it in a peculiar but regular manner. Both chiefs
looked anxiously in the direction of the warrior, then merely glanced
toward me as if to see if I had also observed this last arrival;
but too proud to speak or prefer a request, they rode silently on,
apparently indifferent to what might follow. Turning to Romeo, who
rode in rear, I directed him to inquire of the chiefs the meaning of
the signals which the warrior was evidently endeavoring to convey to
them. Satanta acted as spokesman, and replied that the warrior in sight
was his son, and that the latter was signalling to him that he had
something important to communicate, and desired Satanta to ride out and
join him.
To have seen the innocent and artless expression of countenance with
which Satanta made this announcement, one would not have imagined that
the son had been sent as a decoy to cover the escape of the father, and
that the latter had been aware of this fact from the first. However,
I pretended to humor Satanta. Of course there was no objection to his
galloping out to where his son awaited him, because, as he said, that
son was, and for good reason perhaps, unwilling to gallop in to where
his father was. But if Satanta was so eager to see and communicate
with his son, there should be no objection to the presence of a small
escort--not that there existed doubts in my mind as to Satanta’s
intention to return to us, because no such doubt existed. I was
positively convinced that once safely beyond our reach, the place at
the head of the column, which had known him for a few brief hours,
would know him no more forever. I told Romeo to say to Satanta that he
might ride across the plain to where his son was, and not only that,
but several of us would do ourselves the honor to volunteer as his
escort.
The most careless observer would have detected the air of vexation with
which Satanta turned his pony’s head, and taking me at my word started
to meet his son. A brisk gallop soon brought us to the little hillock
upon which Satanta’s son awaited us. He was there, a tall, trimly
built, warrior-like young fellow of perhaps twenty, and bore himself
while in our presence as if he would have us to understand he was not
only the son of a mighty chief, but some day would wear that title
himself. What was intended to be gained by the interview did not become
evident, as the presence of Romeo prevented any conversation between
father and son looking to the formation of plans for escape. Questions
were asked and answered as to where the village was, and in regard to
its future movements, but nothing satisfactory either to Satanta or
his captors was learned from the young warrior. Finally, I suggested
to Satanta that as we only intended to proceed a few miles further,
being then in the near vicinity of Fort Cobb, and would there encamp
for an indefinite period, his son had better accompany us to camp,
where Lone Wolf and Satanta would be informed what was to be required
of them and their people, and then, after conferring with each other,
the two chiefs could send Satanta’s son to the village with any message
which they might desire to transmit to their people. At the same time
I promised the young warrior good treatment, with permission to go
and come as he chose, and in no manner to be regarded or treated as a
prisoner.
This proposition seemed to strike the Indians favorably, and much to
my surprise, knowing the natural suspicion of the Indian, the young
warrior readily consented to the plan, and at once placed himself in
our power. Turning our horses’ heads, we soon resumed our places at the
head of the column, the three Indians riding in silence, brooding, no
doubt, over plans looking to their freedom.
By way of a slight digression from the main narrative, I will here
remark that during the prolonged imprisonment of the two chiefs,
Satanta’s son became a regular visitor to our camp, frequently becoming
the bearer of important messages from the chiefs to their villages, and
in time he and I, apparently, became firm friends. He was an excellent
shot with the rifle. Satanta said he was the best in the tribe, and
frequently, when time hung heavily on my hands, and I felt a desire for
recreation, he and I took our rifles, and, after passing beyond the
limits of camp, engaged in a friendly match at target practice, a much
more agreeable mode of testing our skill as marksmen than by using each
other as a target.
Satanta had exhibited no little gratification when I first engaged to
shoot with his son, and as the lodge in which he was kept a closely
guarded prisoner was on my route in returning from target practice
to my tent, I usually stopped a few moments in his lodge to exchange
passing remarks. He was evidently disappointed when informed as to the
result of the first trial with our rifles, that his son had come off
only second best; and numerous were the explanations which his fertile
mind suggested as the causes leading to this result--a result which
in the eyes of the Indian assumed far greater importance than would
ordinarily be attached to it by white men. As we had agreed to have
frequent contests of this kind, Satanta assured me that his son would
yet prove himself the better man. Each meeting, however, only resulted
as the first, although by varying the distance every opportunity was
given for a fair test. Finally, when all other explanations had failed,
Satanta thought he had discovered the real obstacle to the success of
his son, by ascribing superior qualities to my rifle as compared with
the one used by him. Fairness on my part then required that I should
offer the young warrior the use of my rifle, and that I should use his
in the next match; a proposition which was at once accepted, and, as
if to be better prepared to make an excellent score, my rifle was soon
in his hands and undergoing the critical inspection and manipulation
of trigger, sights, etc., which always suggest themselves the moment
an experienced marksman finds a new rifle in his hands. The following
day we engaged as usual in rifle practice, he with my rifle, I with
his. I frankly confess that having entered into the contest from the
first with as much zest and rivalry as even my dusky competitor could
lay claim to, and having come off victor in the preceding contests, I
was not entirely free from anxiety lest the change in rifles might also
change the result, and detract, in the eyes of the Indians at least,
from my former successes. On this occasion, as on all previous ones,
we were alone, and consequently we were our own judges, umpire, and
referee. Greatly to my satisfaction, my good fortune enabled me to make
a better score than did my opponent, and this result seemed to settle
his opinion finally as to our relative merits as marksmen. I attached
no little importance to these frequent and friendly meetings between
Satanta’s son and myself. Any superiority in the handling or use of
weapons, in horseback exercises, or in any of the recognized manly
sports, is a sure stepping-stone in obtaining for the possessor the
highest regard of the red man.
Upon our arrival at Fort Cobb, the day of the seizure of the two
chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta, we selected a camp with a view of
remaining at that point during the negotiations which were to be
conducted with the various tribes who were still on the war path. So
far as some of the tribes were concerned, they were occupying that
equivocal position which enabled them to class themselves as friendly
and at the same time engage in hostilities. This may sound ambiguous,
but is easily explained. The chiefs and old men, with the women and
children of the tribe, were permitted to assemble regularly at the
agency near Fort Cobb, and as regularly were bountifully supplied
with food and clothing sufficient for all their wants; at the same
time the young men, warriors, and war chiefs of the tribe were almost
continually engaged in making war upon the frontier of northern Texas
and southeastern Kansas. Indeed, we established the fact, while at
or near Fort Cobb, that while my command was engaged in fighting the
warriors and chiefs of certain tribes at the battle of the Washita, the
families of these same warriors and chiefs were being clothed and fed
by the agent of the Government then stationed at Fort Cobb.
Surprising as this may seem, it is not an unusual occurrence. The
same system has prevailed during the past year. While my command was
resisting the attacks of a large body of warriors on the Yellowstone
river last summer, the families of many of these warriors, the latter
representing seven tribes or bands, were subsisting upon provisions and
clothed in garments issued to them at the regular Indian agencies by
the Government. But of this more anon.
The three tribes which became at that time the special objects of our
attention, and with whom we were particularly anxious to establish
such relations as would prevent in the future a repetition of the
murders and outrages of which they had so long been guilty, were the
Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes; the object being to complete our work
by placing these three tribes upon reservations where they might be
cared for, and at the same time be kept under proper surveillance. The
Washita campaign had duly impressed them with the power and purpose of
the Government to inflict punishment upon all who chose to make war;
and each tribe, dreading a repetition of the blow upon themselves, had
removed their villages to remote points where they deemed themselves
secure from further chastisement. Having Lone Wolf and Satanta, the two
leading chiefs of the Kiowas, in our hands, we thought that through
them the Kiowas could be forced to a compliance with the just and
reasonable demands of the Government, and with the terms of their
treaty providing for the reservation system.
All demands upon the Kiowas were communicated by me to Lone Wolf and
Satanta, under the instructions of General Sheridan, who, although
on the ground, declined to treat directly with the faithless chiefs.
The Kiowas were informed that unless the entire tribe repaired to the
vicinity of the agency, then located not far from Fort Cobb, the war,
which had been inaugurated with such vigor and effect at the Washita,
would be renewed and continued until the terms of their treaty had been
complied with. This proposition was imparted to Lone Wolf and Satanta,
and by them transmitted to their tribe, through the son of the latter,
who acted as a sort of diplomatic courier between the Kiowa village and
our camp.
The Kiowas, while sending messages apparently in accord with the
proposition, and seeming to manifest a willingness to come in and
locate themselves upon their reservation, continued, after the manner
of Indian diplomacy, to defer from time to time the promised movement.
There was every reason to believe that, finding the military disposed
to temporarily suspend active operations, and resort to negotiation,
the Kiowas had located their village within a short distance of our
camp, as Satanta’s son, in going and coming with messages from one to
the other, easily made the round journey in a single day; so that had
they been so disposed, the Kiowas could have transferred their village
to our immediate vicinity, as desired by the military authorities, in
one day. The truth was, however, that while manifesting an apparent
desire to conform to this requirement, as a precedent to final peace,
they had not intended at any time to keep faith with the Government,
but, by a pretended acquiescence in the proposed arrangement, secure
the release of the two head chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta, and then
hasten, with the entire village, to join forces with the other two
tribes, the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, who were then represented as being
located somewhere near the source of Red river, and on the border of
the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, a region of country supposed to
be impenetrable by civilized man. Every promise of the Kiowas to come
in was always made conditional upon the prior release of Lone Wolf and
Satanta.
Their efforts to procrastinate or evade a fulfilment of their part of
the agreement finally exhausted the forbearance which thus far had
prompted none but the mildest measures on the part of the military
authorities, in the efforts of the latter to bring about a peaceful
solution of existing difficulties. It had become evident that, instead
of intending to establish relations of permanent peace and friendship
with the whites, the majority of the tribe were only waiting the
release of Lone Wolf and Satanta to resume hostilities, or at least
to more firmly ally themselves with the extremely hostile tribes then
occupying the head waters of Red river.
Spring was approaching, when the grass would enable the Indians to
recuperate their ponies, which, after the famished condition to which
winter usually reduced them, would soon be fleet and strong, ready
to do duty on the war path. It was therefore indispensable that
there should be no further delay in the negotiations, which had been
needlessly prolonged through several weeks. General Sheridan promptly
decided upon the terms of his ultimatum. Like most of the utterances
of that officer, they were brief and to the point. I remember the day
and the circumstances under which they were given. The General and
myself were standing upon opposite sides of a rude enclosure which
surrounded the space immediately about his tent, composed of a single
line of rough poles, erected by the unskilled labor of some of the
soldiers. The day was one of those bright, warm, sunshiny days so
frequent in the Indian Territory, even in winter. I had left my tent,
which was but a few paces from that of General Sheridan, to step over
and report, as I did almost daily, the latest message from the Kiowas
as to their intention to make peace. On this occasion, as on all
former ones, there was a palpable purpose to postpone further action
until Lone Wolf and Satanta should be released by us. After hearing
the oft-repeated excuses of the Kiowas, General Sheridan communicated
his resolve to me in substance as follows: “Well, Custer, these Kiowas
are endeavoring to play us false. Their object is to occupy us with
promises until the grass enables them to go where they please and make
war if they choose. We have given them every opportunity to come in and
enjoy the protection of the Government, if they so desired. They are
among the worst Indians we have to deal with, and have been guilty of
untold murders and outrages, at the same time they were being fed and
clothed by the Government. These two chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta,
have forfeited their lives over and over again. They could now induce
their people to come in and become friendly if they chose to exert
their influence in that direction. This matter has gone on long enough,
and must be stopped, as we have to look after the other tribes before
spring overtakes us. You can inform Lone Wolf and Satanta that we shall
wait until sundown to-morrow for their tribe to come in; if by that
time the village is not here, Lone Wolf and Satanta will be hung, and
the troops sent in pursuit of the village.”
This might be regarded as bringing matters to a crisis. I proceeded
directly to the lodge in which Lone Wolf and Satanta were prisoners,
accompanied by Romeo as interpreter. I found the two chiefs reclining
lazily upon their comfortable, if not luxurious couches of robes.
Satanta’s son was also present. After a few preliminary remarks, I
introduced the subject which was the occasion of my visit, by informing
the chiefs that I had just returned from General Sheridan’s tent,
where the question of the failure of the Kiowas to comply with their
oft-repeated promises had been discussed, and that I had been directed
to acquaint them with the determination which had been formed in regard
to them and their people. At this announcement I could see that both
chiefs became instantly and unmistakably interested in what was being
said.
I had so often heard of the proverbial stoicism of the Indian
character, that it occurred to me that this was a favorable moment
for judging how far this trait affects their conduct. For it will be
readily acknowledged that the communication which I was about to make
to them was one likely, at all events, to overturn any self-imposed
stolidity which was not deeply impregnated in their nature. After going
over the subject of the continued absence of the Kiowas from their
reservation, their oft-made promises, made only to be violated, I told
them that they were regarded, as they had a right to be, as the two
leading and most influential chiefs of the tribe; that although they
were prisoners, yet so powerful were they among the people of their own
tribe, that their influence, even while prisoners, was greater than
that of all the other chiefs combined; hence all negotiations with the
Kiowas had been conducted through them, and although they had it in
their power, by a single command, to cause a satisfactory settlement of
existing difficulties to be made, yet so far they had failed utterly to
exert an influence for peace between their people and the Government.
The announcement then to be made to them must be regarded as final, and
it remained with them alone to decide by their action what the result
should be. In as few words as possible I then communicated to them the
fate which undoubtedly awaited them in the event of the non-appearance
of their tribe. Until sunset of the following day seemed a very brief
period, yet I failed to detect the slightest change in the countenance
of either when told that that would be the extent of their lives if
their tribe failed to come in. Not a muscle of their warrior-like
faces moved. Their eyes neither brightened nor quailed; nothing in
their actions or appearance gave token that anything unusual had been
communicated to them. Satanta’s son alone of the three seemed to
realize that matters were becoming serious, as could readily be told by
watching his anxious glances, first at his father, then at Lone Wolf;
but neither spoke.
Realizing the importance of time, and anxious to bring about a
peaceful as well as satisfactory termination of our difficulties with
the Kiowas, and at the same time to afford every facility to the two
captive chiefs to save their oft-forfeited lives--for all familiar with
their bloody and cruel career would grant that they merited death--I
urged upon them the necessity of prompt action in communicating with
their tribe, and pointed to Satanta’s son, who could be employed for
this purpose. Quickly springing to his feet, and not waiting to hear
the opinions of the two chiefs, the young warrior rushed from the
lodge, and was soon busily engaged in tightening the girths of his
Indian saddle, preparatory to a rapid gallop on his fleet pony.
In the mean time Lone Wolf and Satanta began exchanging utterances,
at first slow and measured, in tones scarcely audible. Gradually they
seemed to realize how desperate was the situation they were in, and
how much depended upon themselves. Then laying aside the formality
which had up to that moment characterized their deportment, they no
longer appeared as the dignified, reserved, almost sullen chiefs, but
acted and spoke as would be expected of men situated as they were. In
less time than I have taken to describe the action, Satanta’s handsome
son appeared at the entrance of the lodge, mounted and in readiness
for his ride. Although he seemed by his manner to incline toward his
father as the one who should give him his instructions, yet it was
soon apparent that a more correct understanding existed between the
two captives. Lone Wolf was the head chief of their tribe, Satanta
the second in rank. The occasion was too important to leave anything
to chance. A message from Satanta might receive prompt attention; a
command from the head chief could not be disregarded; hence it was
that Satanta stood aside, and Lone Wolf stepped forward and addressed
a few hasty but apparently emphatic sentences to the young courier,
who was all eagerness to depart on his mission. As Lone Wolf concluded
his instructions, and the young warrior was gathering up his reins
and lariat, and turning his pony from the lodge in the direction of
the village, Satanta simply added, in an energetic tone, “Hoodle-teh,
hoodle-teh” (make haste, make haste); an injunction scarcely needed, as
the young Indian and his pony were the next moment flying across the
level plain.
I then reëntered the lodge with Lone Wolf and Satanta, accompanied
by Romeo. Through the latter Lone Wolf informed me that he had sent
orders to the Kiowa village, which was not a day’s travel from us, to
pack up and come in as soon as the courier should reach them. At the
same time he informed them of what depended upon their coming. He had
also sent for Black Eagle, the third chief in rank, to come in advance
of the village, bringing with him a dozen or more of the prominent
chiefs. I inquired if he felt confident that his people would arrive by
the appointed time? He almost smiled at the question, and assured me
that an Indian would risk everything to save a comrade, leaving me to
infer that to save their two highest chiefs nothing would be permitted
to stand in the way. Seeing, perhaps, a look of doubt on my face, he
pointed to that locality in the heavens which the sun would occupy at
two o’clock, and said, “Before that time Black Eagle and the other
chiefs accompanying him will be here; and by that time,” indicating in
a similar manner sunset, “the village will arrive.”
No general commanding an army, who had transmitted his orders to his
corps commanders, directing a movement at daylight the following
morning, could have exhibited more confidence in the belief that his
orders would be executed, than did this captive chief in the belief
that, although a prisoner in the hands of his traditional enemies, his
lodge closely guarded on all sides by watchful sentinels, his commands
to his people would meet with a prompt and willing compliance. After
a little further conversation with the two chiefs, I was preparing to
leave the lodge, when Lone Wolf, true to the Indian custom, under which
an opportunity to beg for something to eat is never permitted to pass
unimproved, called me back, and said that the next day his principal
chiefs would visit him, and although he was a prisoner, yet he would be
glad to be able to entertain them in a manner befitting his rank and
importance in the tribe, and therefore I was appealed to to furnish
the provisions necessary to provide a feast for a dozen or more hungry
chiefs and their retainers; in reply to which modest request I made
the heart of Lone Wolf glad, and called forth, in his most emphatic as
well as delighted manner, the universal word of approval, “How,” by
informing him that the feast should certainly be prepared if he only
would supply the guests.
The next day was one of no little interest, and to none more than to
the two chiefs, who expected to see the first step taken by their
people which would terminate in their release from a captivity which
had certainly become exceedingly irksome, not to mention the new danger
which stared them in the face. Lone Wolf, however, maintained his
confidence, and repeatedly assured me during the forenoon that Black
Eagle and the other chiefs, whom he had sent for by name, would arrive
not later than two o’clock that day. His confidence proved not to be
misplaced. The sun had hardly marked the hour of one in the heavens,
when a small cavalcade was seen approaching in the distance from the
direction of the Kiowa village. The quick eye of Satanta was the first
to discover it. A smile of haughty triumph lighted up the countenance
of Lone Wolf when his attention was called to the approaching party,
his look indicating that he felt it could not be otherwise: had he not
ordered it?
On they came, first about a dozen chiefs, riding at a deliberate and
dignified pace, they and their ponies richly caparisoned in the most
fantastic manner. The chiefs wore blankets of bright colors, scarlet
predominating, with here and there a bright green. Each face was
painted in brilliant colors, yellow, blue, green, red, black, and
combinations of all of them, no two faces being ornamented alike,
and each new face seeming more horrible than its predecessor. The
ponies had not been neglected, so far as their outward make-up was
concerned, eagle feathers and pieces of gaudy cloth being interwoven
in their manes and tails. Following the chiefs rode a second line,
only less ornamented than the chiefs themselves. These were warriors
and confidential friends and advisers of the chiefs in whose train
they rode. In rear of all rode a few meek-looking squaws, whose part
in this imposing pageant became evident when the chiefs and warriors
dismounted, giving the reins of their ponies to the squaws, who at
once busied themselves in picketing the ponies of their lords, and, in
every sense of the word, masters, wherever the grazing seemed freshest
and most abundant. This being done, their part was performed, and
they waited, near the ponies, the return of the chiefs and warriors.
The latter, after forming in one group, and in similar order to that
in which they rode, advanced toward the lodge outside of which, but
within the chain of sentinels, stood Lone Wolf and Satanta. The
meeting between the captive chiefs and their more fortunate comrades
occasioned an exhibition of more feeling and sensibility than is
generally accredited to the Indian. A bevy of school girls could not
have embraced each other, after a twenty-four hours’ separation, with
greater enthusiasm and demonstrations of apparent joy than did these
chieftains, whose sole delight is supposed to be connected with scenes
of bloodshed and cruelty. I trust no gentle-minded reader, imbued with
great kindness of heart, will let this little scene determine his
estimate of the Indian character; for be it understood, not one of the
chiefs who formed the group of which I am writing but had participated
in acts of the most barbarous and wanton cruelty. It was a portion of
these chiefs who had led and encouraged the band that had subjected the
Box family to such a horrible fate, of which Major-General Hancock made
full report at the time.
Immediately after greetings had been exchanged between the captives
and their friends, I was requested, by a message from Lone Wolf, to
repair to his lodge in order to hear what his friends had to say. As
I entered the lodge the entire party of chiefs advanced to meet me,
and began a series of hand-shaking and universal “Hows,” which in
outward earnestness made up for any lack of real sincerity, and to an
inexperienced observer or a tender-hearted peace commissioner might
well have appeared as an exhibition of indubitable friendship if not
affection. After all were seated, and the ever-present long red clay
pipe had passed and repassed around the circle, each chief indulging
in a few silent whiffs, Black Eagle arose, and after shaking hands
with me, proceeded, after the manner of an oration, to inform me, what
I had had reason to expect, and what the reader no doubt has also
anticipated, that the entire Kiowa village was at that moment on the
march, and would arrive in the vicinity of our camp before dark. No
reference was made to the fact that this general movement on their part
was one of compulsion, but on the contrary, to have heard Black Eagle,
who was an impressive orator, one might well have believed that, no
longer able to endure the separation from their brothers, the white
men, who, as Black Eagle said, like themselves were all descended
from one father, the Kiowas had voluntarily resolved to pack up their
lodges, and when they next should put them down it would be alongside
the tents of their white friends.
In nothing that was said did it appear that the impending execution
of Lone Wolf and Satanta had aught to do with hastening the arrival
of their people. At the termination of the conference, however, Black
Eagle intimated that as the tribe was about to locate near us, it would
be highly agreeable to them if their two head chiefs could be granted
their liberty and permitted to resume their places among their own
people.
That evening the Kiowa village, true to the prediction of Lone
Wolf, arrived, and was located a short distance from our camp. The
next morning the family or families of Satanta appeared in front of
headquarters and made known their desire to see Satanta, to which,
of course, no objection was made, and the guards were instructed to
permit them to pass the lines. Satanta’s home circle was organized
somewhat on the quadrilateral plan; that is, he had four wives.
They came together, and, so far as outward appearances enabled one
to judge, they constituted a happy family. They were all young and
buxom, and each was sufficiently like the others in appearance to
have enabled the lot to pass as sisters; and, by the way, it is quite
customary among the Indians for one man to marry an entire family of
daughters as rapidly as they reach the proper age. To those who dread
a multiplicity of mothers-in-law this custom possesses advantages. To
add in a material as well as maternal way to the striking similarity
in appearance presented by Satanta’s dusky spouses, each bore on her
back, encased in the capacious folds of a scarlet blanket, a pledge
of affection in the shape of a papoose, the difference in the extreme
ages of the four miniature warriors, or warriors’ sisters, being
too slight to be perceptible. In single file the four partners of
Satanta’s joys approached his lodge, and in the same order gained
admittance. Satanta was seated on a buffalo robe when they entered. He
did not rise--perhaps that would have been deemed unwarriorlike--but
each of his wives advanced to him, when, instead of going through
the ordinary form of embracing, with its usual accompaniments, on
such occasions considered proper, the papoose was unslung--I know of
no better term to describe the dexterous manner in which the mother
transferred her offspring from its cosey resting-place on her back to
her arms--and handed to the outstretched arms of the father, who kissed
it repeatedly, with every exhibition of paternal affection, scarcely
deigning to bestow a single glance on the mother, who stood by meekly,
contenting herself with stroking Satanta’s face and shoulders gently,
at the same time muttering almost inaudible expressions of Indian
endearment. This touching little scene lasted for a few moments, when
Satanta, after bestowing a kiss upon the soft, cherry lips of his
child, transferred it back to its mother, who passed on and quietly
took a seat by Satanta’s side. The second wife then approached, when
precisely the same exhibition was gone through with, not being varied
from the first in the slightest particular. This being ended, the third
took the place of the second, the latter passing along with her babe
and seating herself next to the first, and so on, until the fourth wife
had presented her babe, received it back, and quietly seated herself by
the side of the third; not a word being spoken to or by Satanta from
the beginning to the end of this strange meeting.
The Kiowas were now all located on their reservation except a single
band of the tribe, led by a very wicked and troublesome chief, named
Woman Heart, although his conduct and character were anything but in
keeping with the gentleness of his name. He had taken his band and
moved in the direction of the Staked Plains, far to the west of the
Kiowa reservation.
However, the Indian question, so far as the Kiowas were concerned,
was regarded as settled, at least for the time being, and it became
our next study how to effect a similar settlement with the Cheyennes
and Arapahoes, who had tied after the battle of the Washita, and were
then supposed to be somewhere between the Witchita mountains and the
western border of Texas, north of the head waters of Red river. It was
finally decided to send one of the friendly chiefs of the Apaches,
whose village was then near the present site of Fort Sill, and one of
the three captive squaws whom we had brought with us.
All the chiefs of that region who were interested in promoting peace
between the whites and Indians were assembled at my headquarters, when
I informed them of the proposed peace embassy, and asked that some
chief of prominence should volunteer as bearer of a friendly message to
the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. A well-known chief of the Apaches, named
Iron Shirt, promptly offered himself as a messenger in the cause of
peace. In reply to my inquiry, he said he could be ready to depart upon
his commendable errand the following day, and estimated the distance
such that it would be necessary to take provision sufficient to last
him and his companion three weeks. Having arranged all the details of
the journey, the assemblage of chiefs dispersed, the next step being
to decide which of the three squaws should accompany Iron Shirt to her
tribe. I concluded to state the case to them, and make the selection
a matter for them to decide. Summoning Mah-wis-sa, Mo-nah-see-tah,
and the Sioux squaw, their companion, to my tent, I, through Romeo,
acquainted them with the desire of the Government to establish peace
with their people and with the Arapahoes, and in order to accomplish
this we intended despatching a friendly message to the absent tribes,
which must be carried by some of their own people. After conferring
with each other a few minutes, they concluded that Mah-wis-sa, the
sister of Black Kettle, should return to her people. Every arrangement
was provided, looking to the comfort of the two Indians who were to
undertake this long journey. A bountiful supply of provisions was
carefully provided in convenient packages, an extra amount of clothing
and blankets being given to Mah-wis-sa in order that she should not
return to her people empty-handed. To transport their provisions and
blankets a mule was given them to be used as a pack-animal. It was
quite an event, sufficient to disturb the monotony of camp, when the
hour arrived for the departure of the two peace commissioners. I had
told Iron Shirt what he was to say to the chiefs of the tribes who
still remained hostile, which was in effect that we were anxious
for peace, and to that end invited them to come at once and place
themselves and their people on the reservations, where we would meet
and regard them as friends, and all present hostilities, as well as
reckoning for past differences, should cease; but if this friendly
proffer was not accepted favorably and at once, we would be forced
to regard it as indicating their desire to prolong the war, in which
event the troops would be sent against them as soon as practicable.
I relied not a little on the good influence of Mah-wis-sa, who, as
I have before stated, was a woman of superior intelligence, and was
strongly impressed with a desire to aid in establishing a peace between
her people and the white men. Quite a group, composed of officers,
soldiers, teamsters, guards, and scouts, assembled to witness the
departure of Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa, and to wish them God-speed in
their mission.
After Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa had seated themselves upon their ponies
and were about to set out, Mah-wis-sa, suddenly placing her hand on
the neat belt which secured her blanket about her, indicated that she
was unprovided with that most essential companion of frontier life, a
_mutch-ka_ as she expressed it, meaning a hunting-knife. Only those who
have lived on the plains can appreciate the unpurchasable convenience
of a hunting-knife. Whether it is to carve a buffalo or a mountain
trout, mend horse equipments, or close up a rent in the tent, there is
a constant demand for the services of a good hunting-knife. Mah-wis-sa
smiled at the forgetfulness which had made her fail to discern this
omission sooner, but I relieved her anxiety by taking from my belt the
hunting-knife which hung at my side and giving it to her, adding as I
did so that I expected her to return it to me before the change in
the moon, that being fixed as the extreme limit of their absence. When
all was ready for the start, Iron Shirt rode first, followed by the
pack-mule, which he led, while Mah-wis-sa, acting as a driver to the
latter and well mounted, brought up the rear.
As they rode away amid the shower of good wishes which was bestowed
upon them and their mission, many were the queries as to the probable
extent of their journey, their return, and whether they would be
successful. For upon the success or failure of these two Indians
depended in a great measure the question whether or not we were to be
forced to continue the war; and among the hundreds who watched the
departing bearers of the olive branch, there was not one but hoped
earnestly that the mission would prove successful, and we be spared the
barbarities which a further prosecution of the war would necessarily
entail. Yet there are those who would have the public believe that the
army is at all times clamorous for an Indian war. I have yet to meet
the officer or man belonging to the army, who, when the question of war
or peace with the Indians was being agitated, did not cast the weight
of his influence, the prayers of his heart, in behalf of peace. When
I next called Mah-wis-sa’s attention to the _mutch-ka_ (knife), it
was far from the locality we then occupied, and under very different
circumstances.
After the departure of Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa, we were forced to
settle down to the dullest routine of camp life, as nothing could be
done until their return. It was full three weeks before the interest
in camp received a fresh impetus, by the tidings, which flew from tent
to tent, that Iron Shirt had returned. He did return, but Mah-wis-sa
did not return with him. His story was brief. He and Mah-wis-sa, after
leaving us and travelling for several days westward, had arrived at the
Cheyenne and Arapaho villages. They delivered their messages to the
chiefs of the two tribes, who were assembled in council to hear them,
and after due deliberation thereon, Iron Shirt was informed that the
distance was too great, the ponies in too poor condition, to permit
the villages to return. In other words, these two tribes had virtually
decided that rather than return to their reservation they preferred
the chances of war. When asked to account for Mah-wis-sa’s failure to
accompany him back, Iron Shirt stated that she had desired to fulfil
her promise and return with him, but the chiefs of her tribe would not
permit her to do so.
The only encouragement derived from Iron Shirt was in his statement
that Little Robe, a prominent chief of the Cheyennes, and Yellow Bear,
the second chief of the Arapahoes, were both extremely anxious to
effect a permanent peace between their people and the Government, and
both had promised Iron Shirt that they would leave their villages soon
after his departure and visit us, with a view to prevent a continuation
of the war. Iron Shirt was rewarded for his journey by bountiful
presents of provisions for himself and his people. True to their
promises made to Iron Shirt, it was but a short time before Little Robe
and Yellow Bear arrived at our camp and were well received.
[Illustration: YELLOW BEAR, SECOND CHIEF OF THE ARAPAHOES.]
They reported that their villages had had under consideration the
question of accepting our invitation to come in and live at peace in
the future, and that many of their people were strongly in favor of
adopting this course, but for the present it was uncertain whether or
not the two tribes would come in. The two tribes would probably act in
concert, and if they intended coming, would make their determination
known by despatching couriers to us in a few days. In spite of the
sincerity of the motives of Little Robe and Yellow Bear, whom I
have always regarded as two of the most upright and peaceably inclined
Indians I have ever known, and who have since that time paid a visit
to the President at Washington, it was evident that the Cheyennes and
Arapahoes, while endeavoring to occupy us with promises and pretences,
were only interested in delaying our movements until the return of
spring, when the young grass would enable them to recruit the strength
of their winter-famished ponies and move when and where they pleased.
After waiting many long weary days for the arrival of the promised
couriers from the two tribes, until even Little Robe and Yellow Bear
were forced to acknowledge that there was no longer any reason to
expect their coming, it occurred to me that there was but one expedient
yet untried which furnished even a doubtful chance of averting war.
This could only be resorted to with the approval of General Sheridan,
whose tent had been pitched in our midst during the entire winter,
and who evidently proposed to remain on the ground until the Indian
question in that locality should be disposed of. My plan was as follows:
We had some fifteen hundred troops, a force ample to cope with all the
Indians which could then, or since, be combined at any one point on
the plains. But in the state of feeling existing among those Indians
at that time, consequent upon the punishment which they had received
at and since the Washita campaign, it would have been an extremely
difficult if not impracticable matter to attempt to move so large a
body of troops near their villages, and retain the latter in their
places, so fearful were they of receiving punishment for their past
offences. It would also have been impracticable to move upon them
stealthily, as they were then, for causes already given, more than ever
on the alert, and were no doubt kept thoroughly informed in regard to
our every movement.
It was thus considered out of the question to employ my entire command
of fifteen hundred men in what I proposed should be purely a peaceful
effort to bring about a termination of the war, as so large a force
would surely intimidate the Indians, and cause them to avoid our
presence.
I believed that if I could see the leading chiefs of the two hostile
tribes and convince them of the friendly desire of the Government, they
might be induced to relinquish the war and return to their reservation.
I have endeavored to show that I could not go among them with my entire
command, neither was I sufficiently orthodox as a peace commissioner to
believe what so many of that order preach, but fail to practise, that I
could take an olive branch in one hand, the plan of a school-house in
the other, and, unaccompanied by force, visit the Indian villages in
safety. My life would certainly have been the price of such temerity.
Too imposing a force would repel the Indians; too small a force would
tempt them to murder us, even though our mission was a friendly one.
After weighing the matter carefully in my own mind, I decided that
with General Sheridan’s approval I would select from my command forty
men, two officers, and a medical officer, and, accompanied by the two
chiefs, Little Robe and Yellow Bear, who regarded my proposition with
favor, I would set out in search of the hostile camp, there being but
little doubt that with the assistance of the chiefs I would have little
difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of the villages; while the
smallness of my party would prevent unnecessary alarm or suspicion
as to our intentions. From my tent to General Sheridan’s was but a
few steps, and I soon submitted my proposition to the General, who
from the first was inclined to lend his approval to my project. After
discussing it fully, he gave his assent by saying that the character
of the proposed expedition was such that he would not order me to
proceed upon it, but if I volunteered to go, he would give me the full
sanction of his authority and every possible assistance to render the
mission a successful one; in conclusion urging me to exercise the
greatest caution against the stratagems or treachery of the Indians,
who no doubt would be but too glad to massacre my party in revenge for
their recent well-merited chastisement. Returning to my tent, I at once
set about making preparations for my journey, the extent or result of
which now became interesting subjects for deliberation. The first thing
necessary was to make up the party which was to accompany me.
As the number of men was to be limited to forty, too much care could
not be exercised in their selection. I chose the great majority of them
from the sharpshooters, men who, in addition to being cool and brave,
were experienced and skilful marksmen. My standard-bearer, a well-tried
sergeant, was selected as the senior non-commissioned officer of the
party. The officers who were to accompany me were my brother Colonel
Custer, Captain Robbins, and Dr. Renick, Acting Assistant Surgeon U. S.
Army. As guide I had Ne-va, a Blackfoot Indian, who had accompanied
General Fremont in his explorations, and who could speak a little
English. Little Robe and Yellow Bear were also to be relied upon as
guides, while Romeo accompanied us as interpreter. Young Brewster,
determined to miss no opportunity of discovering his lost sister, had
requested and been granted permission to become one of the party. This
completed the _personnel_ of the expedition. All were well armed and
well mounted. We were to take no wagons or tents; our extra supplies
were to be transported on pack-mules. We were to start on the evening
of the second day, the intervening time being necessary to complete our
preparations. It was decided that our first march should be a short
one, sufficient merely to enable us to reach a village of friendly
Apaches, located a few miles from our camp, where we would spend the
first night and be joined by Little Robe and Yellow Bear, who at that
time were guests of the Apaches. I need not say that in the opinion of
many of our comrades our mission was regarded as closely bordering on
the imprudent, to qualify it by no stronger term.
So confident did one of the most prudent officers of my command feel in
regard to our annihilation by the Indians, that in bidding me good-by
he contrived to slip into my hand a small pocket Derringer pistol,
loaded, with the simple remark, “You had better take it, General; it
may prove useful to you.” As I was amply provided with arms, both
revolvers and rifle, and as a pocket Derringer may not impress the
reader as being a very formidable weapon to use in Indian warfare,
the purpose of my friend in giving me the small pocket weapon may
not seem clear. It was given me under the firm conviction that the
Indians would overwhelm and massacre my entire party; and to prevent
my being captured, disarmed, and reserved for torture, that little
pistol was given me in order that at the last moment I might become my
own executioner--an office I was not seeking, nor did I share in my
friend’s opinion.
Everything being ready for our departure, we swung into our saddles,
waved our adieus to the comrades who were to remain in camp, and the
next moment we turned our horses’ heads westward and were moving in the
direction of the Apache village.
XX.
The Apache village had been represented as located only five or six
miles from our camp, but we found the distance nearly twice as great;
and although we rode rapidly, our horses being fresh, yet it was quite
dark before we reached the first lodge, the location of the rest of the
village being tolerably well defined by the apparently countless dogs,
whose barking at our approach called forth most of the inhabitants of
the village.
As our coming had been previously announced by Little Robe and Yellow
Bear, our arrival occasioned no surprise. Inquiring of the first we
saw where the stream of water was, as an Indian village is invariably
placed in close proximity to water, we were soon on our camp ground,
which was almost within the limits of the village. Our horses were soon
unsaddled and picketed out to graze, fires were started by the men
preparatory to the enjoyment of a cup of coffee, and every preliminary
made for a good night’s rest and early start in the morning. But here
the officers of the party encountered their first drawback. From some
unexplained cause the pack-mule which carried our blankets had with his
attendant failed thus far to put in an appearance. His head leader had
probably fallen behind, and in the darkness lost the party. The bugler
was sent to a neighboring eminence to sound signals with his bugle, in
the hope that the absent man with his mule might make his way to us,
but all to no purpose. We were soon forced to relinquish all hope of
seeing either man, mule, or blankets until daylight, and consequently
the prospect of enjoying a comfortable rest was exceedingly limited.
Saddle blankets were in great demand, but I was even more fortunate.
A large number of the Apaches had come from their lodges out of mere
curiosity to see us, hoping no doubt too that they might secure
something to eat. Among them was one with whom I was acquainted, and to
whom I made known the temporary loss of my blankets. By promising him
a pint of sugar and an equal amount of coffee on my return to my camp,
he agreed to loan me a buffalo robe until morning. With this wrapped
around me and the aid of a bright blazing camp fire, I passed a most
comfortable night among my less fortunate companions, as we all lay
stretched out on the ground, using our saddles for pillows.
Early next morning (our pack animals having come up in the night)
we were in our saddles, and on our way ready and eager for whatever
might be in store for us. The route taken by the guides led us along
the northern border of the Witchita Mountains, our general direction
being nearly due west. A brief description of these mountains and of
the surrounding scenery is contained in the first chapter of “Life on
the Plains.” As soon as it had become known in the main camp that the
expedition of which I now write was contemplated, young Brewster, who
had never relinquished his efforts or inquiries to determine the fate
of his lost sister, came to me with an earnest request to be taken as
one of the party--a request which I was only too glad to comply with.
No person who has not lived on the frontier and in an Indian country,
can correctly realize or thoroughly appreciate the extent to which a
frontiersman becomes familiar with, and apparently indifferent to the
accustomed dangers which surround him on every side. It is but another
verification of the truth of the old saying, “Familiarity breeds
contempt.”
After getting well on our way I began, through Romeo, conversing with
the two chiefs Little Robe and Yellow Bear, who rode at my side, upon
the topic which was uppermost in the minds of the entire party: When
and where should we probably find their people? Before our departure
they had given me to understand that the villages might be found on
some one of the small streams flowing in a southerly direction past the
western span of the Witchita mountains, a distance from our main camp
not exceeding sixty or seventy miles; but I could easily perceive that
neither of the chiefs spoke with a great degree of confidence. They
explained this by stating that the villages would not remain long in
one place, and it was difficult to say positively in what locality or
upon what stream we should find them; but that when we reached the last
peak of the Witchita mountains, which commanded an unlimited view of
the plains beyond, they would send up signal smoke, and perhaps be able
to obtain a reply from the village.
In the evening we reached a beautiful stream of water, with abundance
of wood in the vicinity; here we halted for the night. Our horses
were fastened to the trees, while the officers and men spread their
blankets on the ground, and in groups of twos and threes prepared
for the enjoyment of a good night’s rest. One sentry remained awake
during the night, and in order that the loss of sleep should be as
little as might be consistent with our safety, the relief, instead of
being composed of three men, each of whom would have to remain on duty
two hours for every four hours of rest, was increased in number so
that each member thereof was required to remain on post but a single
hour during the night. While I felt confidence in the good intentions
of the two chiefs, I did not neglect to advise the guards to keep a
watchful eye upon them, as we could not afford to run any avoidable
risks. Long after we had sought the solace of our blankets, and I had
dropped into a comfortable doze, I was awakened by an Indian song.
There was, of course, no occasion for alarm from this incident, yet
it was sufficient to induce me to get up and make my way to the small
fire, around which I knew the three Indians and Romeo to be lying, and
from the vicinity of which the singing evidently came. As I approached
the fire I found Neva, the Blackfoot, replenishing the small flame
with a few dried twigs, while Romeo and Yellow Bear were sitting near
by enjoying some well-broiled beef ribs. Little Robe was reclining,
in a half-sitting position, against a tree, and, apparently oblivious
to the presence of his companions, was singing or chanting an Indian
melody, the general tenor of which seemed to indicate a lightness of
spirits. Young Brewster--unable, perhaps, to sleep, owing to thoughts
of his lost sister--had joined the group, and appeared an interested
observer of what was going on. I inquired of Romeo why Little Robe had
selected such an unreasonable hour to indulge in his wild melodies.
Romeo repeated the inquiry to Little Robe, who replied that he had been
away from his lodge for a long time, and the thought of soon returning,
and of being with his people once more, had filled his heart with a
gladness which could only find utterance in song.
Taking a seat on the ground by the side of young Brewster, I joined the
group. As neither Little Robe nor Yellow Bear could understand a word
of English, and Neva was busily engaged with his culinary operations,
young Brewster, with unconcealed delight, informed me that from
conversations with Little Robe, who appeared in a more communicative
mood than usual, he felt cheered by the belief that at last he was
in a fair way to discover the whereabouts of his captive sister. He
then briefly detailed how Little Robe, little dreaming that his
listener was so deeply interested in his words, had admitted that the
Cheyennes had two white girls as prisoners, the date of the capture of
one of them and the personal description given by Little Robe closely
answering to that of Brewster’s sister. In the hope of gleaning other
valuable information from time to time, I advised the young man not
to acquaint the Indians with the fact that he had lost a sister by
capture; else, becoming suspicious, the supply of information might be
cut off.
The tidings in regard to the captured girls were most encouraging,
and spurred us to leave no effort untried to release them from the
horrors of their situation. Before daylight the following morning we
had breakfasted, and as soon as it was sufficiently light to enable
us to renew our march we set out, still keeping almost due west. In
the afternoon of that day we reached the last prominent peak of the
Witchita mountains, from which point Little Robe and Yellow Bear had
said they would send up a signal smoke.
I had often during an Indian campaign seen these signal smokes, on my
front, on my right and left--everywhere, in fact--but could never catch
a glimpse of the Indians who were engaged in making them, nor did I
comprehend at the time the precise import of the signals. I was glad,
therefore, to have an opportunity to stand behind the scenes, as it
were, and not only witness the _modus operandi_, but understand the
purpose of the actors.
Arriving at the base of the mountain or peak, the height of which did
not exceed one thousand feet, we dismounted, and leaving our horses on
the plain below, owing to the rough and rocky character of the ascent,
a small portion of our party, including of course, the two chiefs,
climbed to the summit. After sweeping the broad horizon which spread
out before us, and failing to discover any evidence of the presence
of an Indian village anywhere within the scope of our vision, the two
chiefs set about to make preparations necessary to enable them to “call
to the village,” as they expressed it.
I have alluded in a former article to the perfect system of signals
in use among the Indians of the plains. That which I am about to
describe briefly was but one of many employed by them. First gathering
an armful of dried grass and weeds, this was carried and placed upon
the highest point of the peak, where, everything being in readiness,
the match was applied close to the ground; but the blaze was no sooner
well lighted and about to envelop the entire amount of grass collected,
than Little Robe began smothering it with the unlighted portion. This
accomplished, a slender column of gray smoke began to ascend in a
perpendicular column. This, however, was not enough, as such a signal,
or the appearance of such, might be created by white men, or might rise
from a simple camp fire. Little Robe now took his scarlet blanket from
his shoulders, and with a graceful wave threw it so as to cover the
smouldering grass, when, assisted by Yellow Bear, he held the corners
and sides so closely to the ground as to almost completely confine and
cut off the column of smoke. Waiting but for a few moments, and until
he saw the smoke beginning to escape from beneath, he suddenly threw
the blanket aside, and a beautiful balloon shaped column puffed upward,
like the white cloud of smoke which attends the discharge of a field
piece.
Again casting the blanket on the pile of grass, the column was
interrupted as before, and again in due time released, so that a
succession of elongated, egg-shaped puffs of smoke kept ascending
toward the sky in the most regular manner. This beadlike column of
smoke, considering the height from which it began to ascend, was
visible from points on the level plain fifty miles distant.
The sight of these two Indian chiefs so intently engaged in this simple
but effective mode of telegraphing was to me full of interest, and this
incident was vividly recalled when I came across Stanley’s painting of
“The Signal,” in which two chiefs or warriors are standing upon a large
rock, with lighted torch in hand, while far in the distance is to be
seen the answering column, as it ascends above the tops of the trees,
from the valley where no doubt the village is pleasantly located. In
our case, however, the picture was not so complete in its results. For
strain our eager eyes as we might in every direction, no responsive
signal could be discovered, and finally the chiefs were reluctantly
forced to acknowledge that the villages were not where they expected
to find them, and that to reach them would probably involve a longer
journey than we had anticipated. Descending from the mountain, we
continued our journey, still directing our course nearly due west, as
the two chiefs felt confident the villages were in that direction. That
day and the next passed without further incident.
After arriving at camp on the second evening, a conversation with the
two Indian chiefs made it seem probable that our journey would have to
be prolonged several days beyond the time which was deemed necessary
when we left the main camp. And as our supply of provisions was limited
to our supposed wants during the shorter journey, it was necessary
to adopt measures for obtaining fresh supplies. This was the more
imperative as the country through which we were then passing was almost
devoid of game. Our party was so small in number that our safety would
be greatly imperilled by any serious reduction, yet it was a measure
of necessity that a message should be sent back to General Sheridan,
informing him of our changed plans and providing for a renewal of our
stores.
I acquainted the men of my command with my desire, and it was not long
before a soldierly young trooper announced that he would volunteer to
carry a despatch safely through. The gallant offer was accepted, and
I was soon seated on the ground, pencil in hand, writing to General
Sheridan a hurried account of our progress thus far and our plans for
the future, with a request to forward to us a supply of provisions;
adding that the party escorting them could follow on our trail, and I
would arrange to find them when required. I also requested that Colonel
Cook, who commanded the sharpshooters, should be detailed to command
the escort, and that California Joe might also be sent with the party.
It was decided that the despatch bearer should remain in camp with us
until dark and then set out on his return to the main camp. Being well
mounted, well armed, and a cool, daring young fellow, I felt but little
anxiety as to his success. Leaving him to make his solitary journey
guided by the light of the stars, and concealing himself during the
day, we will continue our search after what then seemed to us the two
lost tribes.
Daylight as usual found us in our saddles, the country continuing
interesting but less rolling, and (we judge by appearances) less
productive. We saw but little game along our line of march, and the
importance of time rendered delays of all kinds undesirable. The
countenances of Little Robe and Yellow Bear wore an anxious look,
and I could see that they began to doubt their ability to determine
positively the locality of the villages. Neva, the Blackfoot, was
full of stories connected with his experiences under General Fremont,
and appeared more hopeful than the two chiefs. He claimed to be a
son-in-law of Kit Carson, his wife, a half-breed, being deceased.
Carson, it appeared, had always regarded Neva with favor, and often
made him and his family handsome presents. I afterwards saw a son of
Neva, an extremely handsome boy of fourteen, whose comely face and
features clearly betrayed the mixture of blood indicated by Neva.
Yellow Bear finally encouraged us by stating that by noon the following
day we would arrive at a stream, on whose banks he expected to find
the Arapaho village, and perhaps that of the Cheyennes. This gave us
renewed hope, and furnished us a topic of conversation after we had
reached our camp that night. Nothing occurred worthy of note until
about noon next day, when Yellow Bear informed me that we were within
a few miles of the stream to which he had referred the day before, and
added that if the village was there his people would have a lookout
posted on a little knoll which we would find about a mile from the
village in our direction; and as the appearance of our entire force
might give alarm, Yellow Bear suggested that he, with Little Robe,
Romeo, Neva, myself, and two or three others, should ride some distance
in advance.
Remembering the proneness of the Indians to stratagem, I was yet
impressed not only with the apparent sincerity of Yellow Bear thus far,
but by the soundness of the reasons he gave for our moving in advance.
I assented to his proposition, but my confidence was not sufficiently
great to prevent me from quietly slipping a fresh cartridge in my
rifle, as it lay in front of me across my saddle-bow, nor from
unbuttoning the strap which held my revolver in place by my side.
Fortunately, however, nothing occurred to make it necessary to displace
either rifle or revolver.
After riding in advance for a couple of miles, Yellow Bear pointed out
in the distance the little mound at which he predicted we would see
something posted in the way of information concerning his tribe. If
the latter was not in the vicinity a letter would no doubt be found at
the mound, which now became an object of interest to all of us, each
striving to be the first to discover the confirmation of Yellow Bear’s
prediction.
In this way we continued to approach the mound until not more than
a mile of level plain separated us from it, and still nothing could
be seen to encourage us, when, owing to my reason being quickened by
the excitement of the occasion, thus giving me an advantage over the
chiefs, or from other causes, I caught sight of what would ordinarily
have been taken for two half-round stones or small bowlders, just
visible above the upper circle of the mound, as projected against the
sky beyond. A second glance convinced me that instead of the stones
which they so closely resembled, they were neither more nor less than
the upper parts of the heads of two Indians, who were no doubt studying
our movements with a view of determining whether we were a friendly or
war party.
Reassuring myself by the aid of my field-glass, I announced my
discovery to the chiefs and the rest of the party. Yellow Bear
immediately cantered his pony a few yards to the front, when, freeing
his scarlet blanket from his shoulders, he waved it twice or thrice in
a mysterious manner, and waited anxiously the response. In a moment
the two Indians, the tops of whose heads had alone been visible, rode
boldly to the crest of the mound and answered the signal of Yellow
Bear, who uttered a quick, oft-repeated whoop, and, at my suggestion,
galloped in advance, to inform his people who we were, and our object
in visiting them. By the time we reached the mound all necessary
explanations had been made, and the two Indians advanced at Yellow
Bear’s bidding and shook hands with me, afterward going through the
same ceremony with the other officers. Yellow Bear then despatched one
of the Indians to the village, less than two miles distant, to give
news of our approach.
It seemed that they had scarcely had time to reach the village, before
young and old began flocking out to meet us, some on ponies, others on
mules, and occasionally two full-grown Indians would be seen mounted on
one diminutive pony. If any of our party had feared that our errand was
attended with risk, their minds probably underwent a change when they
looked around, and upon all sides saw armed warriors, whose numbers
exceeded ours more than ten to one, and whose entire bearing and
demeanor toward us gave promise of any but hostile feelings.
Not deeming it best to allow them to encircle us too closely, I
requested Yellow Bear, in whose peaceable desires I had confidence,
to direct his people to remain at some distance from us, so as not to
impede our progress; at the same time to inform them that it was our
purpose to pitch our camp immediately alongside of theirs, when full
opportunity would be given for interchange of visits. This proposition
seemed to meet with favor, and our route was left unobstructed. A short
ride brought us to the village, the lodges composing which were dotted
in a picturesque manner along the left branch of Mulberry creek, one of
the tributaries of Red river.
I decided to cross the creek and bivouac on the right bank, opposite
the lower end of the village, and within easy pistol range of the
nearest lodge. This location may strike the reader with some surprise,
and may suggest the inquiry why we did not locate ourselves at some
point further removed from the village. It must be remembered that in
undertaking to penetrate the Indian country with so small a force,
I acted throughout upon the belief that if proper precautions were
adopted, the Indians would not molest us. Indians contemplating a
battle, either offensive or defensive, are always anxious to have their
women and children removed from all danger thereof. By our watchfulness
we intended to let the Indians see that there would be no opportunity
for them to take us by surprise, but that if fighting was intended,
it should not be all on one side. For this reason I decided to locate
our camp as close as convenient to the village, knowing that the close
proximity of their women and children, and their necessary exposure
in case of conflict, would operate as a powerful argument in favor of
peace, when the question of peace or war came to be discussed.
But right here I will do the Arapahoes justice, by asserting that after
the first council, which took place in my camp the same evening, and
after they had had an opportunity to learn the exact character and
object of our mission, as told to them by me, and confirmed by the
earnest addresses of Yellow Bear and Little Robe, they evinced toward
us nothing but friendly feeling, and exhibited a ready willingness to
conform to the only demand we made of them, which was that they should
proceed at once, with their entire village, to our main camp, within
their reservation, and then report to General Sheridan.
[Illustration: LITTLE RAVEN, HEAD CHIEF OF THE ARAPAHOES.]
Little Raven, the head chief, spoke for his people, and expressed their
gratification at the reports brought to them by Yellow Bear and Little
Robe. They accepted with gladness the offer of peace, and promised
to set out in three days to proceed to our main camp, near the site
of Fort Sill. As it was quite late before the council concluded the
discussion of questions pertaining to the Arapahoes, no reference was
made to the Cheyennes; besides, I knew that Little Robe would be
able to gather all possible information concerning them.
Little Raven invited me to visit him the following day in his village,
an invitation I promised to accept. Before the chiefs separated, I
requested Little Raven to give notice through them to all his people,
that after it became dark it would no longer be safe for any of them
to approach our camp, as, according to our invariable custom, guards
would be posted about camp during the entire night; and as we could
not distinguish friends from foes in the darkness, the sentries would
be ordered to fire on every object seen approaching our camp. To this
Little Raven and his chiefs promised assent. I then further informed
him that during our stay near them we should always be glad, during
the hours of daylight, to receive visits from him or from any of his
people, but to prevent confusion or misunderstanding, not more than
twenty Indians would be permitted to visit our camp at one time. This
also was agreed to, and the chiefs, after shaking hands and uttering
the customary “How,” departed to their village. Yellow Bear remained
only long enough to say that, his family being in the village, he
preferred, of course, to be with them, but assured us that his people
were sincere in their protestations of peace, and that we might sleep
as soundly as if we were back among our comrades, in the main camp,
with no fears of unfriendly interruption.
After tethering our horses and pack mules securely in our midst, and
posting the guards for the night, each one of our little party, first
satisfying himself that his firearms were in good order and loaded,
spread his blanket on the ground, and, with his saddle for a pillow,
the sky unobscured by tent or roof above him, was soon reposing
comfortably on the broad bosom of mother earth, where, banishing
from the mind as quickly as possible all visions of Indians, peace
commissioners, etc., sleep soon came to the relief of each, and we
all, except the guards, rested as peacefully and comfortably as if at
home under our mother’s roof; and yet we all, in seeking our lowly
couches that night, felt that the chances were about even whether or
not we should be awakened by the war whoop of our dusky neighbors.
Nothing occurred, however, to disturb our dreams or break our slumber,
save, perhaps, in my own case. From a greater sense of responsibility,
perhaps, than rested on my comrades, but not greater danger, I awoke
at different hours during the night, and to assure myself that all was
well, rose up to a sitting posture on the ground, and, aided by the
clear sky and bright starlight, looked about me, only to see, however,
the dim outlines of my sleeping comrades as they lay in all manner
of attitudes around me, wrapped in their blankets of gray, while our
faithful horses, picketed in the midst of their sleeping riders, were
variously disposed, some lying down, resting from the fatigues of the
march, others nibbling the few tufts of grass which the shortness
of their tether enabled them to reach. That which gave me strongest
assurance of safety, however, as I glanced across the little stream,
and beheld the conical forms of the white lodges of the Indians, was
the silent picture of the sentry as he paced his lonely post within
a few feet of where I lay. And when to my inquiry, in subdued tones,
if all had been quiet during the night, came the prompt, soldierly
response, “All quiet, sir,” I felt renewed confidence, and again sought
the solace of my equestrian pillow.
Breakfasting before the stars bade us good night, or rather good
morning, daylight found us ready for the duties of the day. As soon as
the Indians were prepared for my visit, Yellow Bear came to inform me
of the fact, and to escort me to Little Raven’s lodge. Romeo and Neva
accompanied me, the former as interpreter. I directed Captain Robbins,
the officer next in rank, to cause all men to remain closely in camp
during my absence, and to be careful not to permit more than the
authorized number of Indians to enter; also to watch well the Indian
village, not that I believed there would be an attempt at stratagem,
but deemed it well to be on guard. To convince the Indians of my own
sincerity, I left my rifle and revolver with my men, a measure of not
such great significance as it might at first seem, as the question
of arms or no arms would have exercised but little influence in
determining my fate had the Indians, as I never for a moment believed,
intended treachery.
Arrived at Little Raven’s lodge, I found him surrounded by all his
principal chiefs, a place being reserved by his side for me. After the
usual smoke and the preliminary moments of silence, which strongly
reminded me of the deep silence which is the prelude to religious
services in some of our churches, Little Raven began a speech, which
was mainly a review of what had been agreed upon the evening before,
and closed with the statement that his people were highly pleased to
see white men among them as friends, and that the idea of complying
with my demand in regard to proceeding to our main camp had been
discussed with great favor by all of his people, who were delighted
with this opportunity of terminating the war. All questions affecting
the Arapahoes being satisfactorily disposed of, I now introduced the
subject of the whereabouts of the Cheyenne village, stating that my
purpose was to extend to them the same terms as had been accepted by
the Arapahoes.
To this I could obtain no decisive or satisfactory reply. The Cheyennes
were represented to be moving constantly, hence the difficulty in
informing me accurately as to their location; but all agreed that the
Cheyennes were a long distance west of where we then were. Finally I
obtained a promise from Little Raven that he would select two of his
active young warriors, who would accompany me in my search for the
Cheyenne village, and whose knowledge of the country and acquaintance
with the Cheyennes would be of incalculable service to me. As the
limited amount of provisions on hand would not justify us in continuing
our search for the Cheyennes, I decided to await the arrival of Colonel
Cook, who, I felt confident, would reach us in a few days.
In the meanwhile the day fixed for the departure of the Arapahoes came,
and the village was all commotion and activity, lodges being taken
down and packed on ponies and mules; the activity, I might mention,
being confined, however, to the squaws, the noble lords of the forest
sitting unconcernedly by, quietly smoking their long red clay pipes. I
was sorry to lose the services of Yellow Bear, but it was necessary for
him to accompany his people, particularly as he represented the peace
element. I gave him a letter to General Sheridan, in which I informed
the latter of our meeting with the Arapahoes, the council, and the
final agreement. In view of the further extension of our journey, I
requested a second detachment to be sent on our trail, with supplies,
to meet us on our return. Everything being in readiness, the chiefs,
commencing with Little Raven, gathered around me, and bade me good-by,
Yellow Bear being the last to take his leave. This being ended, the
entire village was put in motion, and soon stretched itself into a
long, irregular column.
The chiefs formed the advance; next came the squaws and children and
the old men, followed by the pack animals bearing the lodges and
household goods; after these came the herd, consisting of hundreds of
loose ponies and mules, driven by squaws; while on the outskirts of the
entire cavalcade rode the young men and boys, performing the part of
assistants to the herders, but more important as flankers or videttes
in case of danger or attack. Nor must I omit another important element
in estimating the population of an Indian village, the dogs. These
were without number, and of all colors and sizes. It was difficult to
determine which outnumbered the other, the dogs or their owners. Some
of the former were mere puppies, unable to travel; these were carefully
stowed away in a comfortable sort of basket, made of willows, and
securely attached to the back of one of the pack animals, the mother of
the interesting family trotting along contentedly by the side of the
latter.
After the excitement attending the departure of the Indians had passed,
and the last glimpse of the departing village had been had, our little
party seemed lonely enough, as we stood huddled together on the bank
of Mulberry creek. There was nothing to be done until the arrival of
our expected supplies. Little Robe, impatient at the proposed delay,
concluded to start at once in quest of his people, and if possible
persuade them to meet us instead of awaiting our arrival. He evidently
was anxious to have peace concluded with the Cheyennes, and thus enable
his people to be placed on the same secure footing with the Arapahoes.
Instead of opposing, I encouraged him in the execution of his plan,
although loath to part with him. The two young Arapahoes were to remain
with me, however, and by concert of plan between them and Little Robe
we would be able to follow the trail.
It was agreed that if Little Robe should come up with his people and
be able to induce them to return, he was to send up smoke signals each
morning and evening, in order that we might receive notice of their
approach and be able to regulate our march accordingly. Giving him a
sufficient supply of coffee, sugar, and hard bread, we saw Little Robe
set out on his solitary journey in the character of a veritable peace
commissioner.
I might fill several pages in describing the various expedients to
which our little party resorted in order to dispose of our time while
waiting the arrival of our supplies. How Romeo, by the promise of a
small reward in case he was successful, was induced to attempt to ride
a beautiful Indian pony, which we had caught on the plains, and which
was still as wild and unbroken as if he had never felt the hand of man.
The ground selected was a broad border of deep sand, extending up and
down the valley. Two long lariats were securely fastened to the halter.
At the end of one was my brother. I officiated at the end of the other,
with the pony standing midway between us, some twenty feet from either,
and up to his fetlocks in sand, an anxious spectator of what was going
on. Everything being in readiness, Romeo, with never a fear or doubt as
to the result, stepped quietly up to the side of the pony, who, turning
his head somewhat inquiringly, uttered a few snorts indicative of
anything but gentleness. Romeo, who was as active as a cat, succeeded
in placing his hands on the pony’s back, and with an injunction to us
to keep firm hold on the lariats, he sprang lightly upon the back of
the pony and seized the mane. I have seen trained mules, the delight of
boys who attend the circus, and sometimes of persons of more advanced
age, and have witnessed the laughable efforts of the youngsters who
vainly endeavor to ride the contumacious quadruped once around the
ring; but I remember nothing of this description to equal or resemble
the frantic plunges of the Indian pony in his untrained efforts to free
his back from its burden, nor the equally frantic and earnest efforts
of the rider to maintain his position. Fortunately for the holders
of the lariats, they exceeded the length of the pony’s legs, or his
heels, which were being elevated in all directions, and almost at the
same time, would have compelled us to relinquish our hold, and leave
Romeo to his fate. As both pony and rider seemed to redouble their
efforts for the mastery, the scene became more ludicrous, while the
hearty and prolonged shouts of laughter from the bystanders on all
sides seemed only to add intensity to the contest.
This may strike the reader as a not very dignified proceeding,
particularly upon the part of one of the lariat holders; but we were
not studying how to appear dignified, but how to amuse ourselves. So
exhausted did I become with unrestrained laughter, as I beheld Romeo
in his lofty gyrations about a centre which belonged to the movable
order, that a much further prolongation of the sport would have forced
me to relinquish my hold on the lariat. But I was spared this result.
The pony, as if studying the problem, had indulged in almost every
conceivable form of leaping, and now, rising almost perpendicularly
on his hind legs, stood erect, pawing the air with his fore legs, and
compelling Romeo, in order to prevent himself from sliding off, to
clasp him about the neck with both arms. The pony seemed almost as
if waiting this situation, as with the utmost quickness, and before
Romeo could resume his seat, he descended from his elevated attitude,
and the next moment his head was almost touching the ground, and his
heels occupied the space just vacated by his head in mid air. This
sudden change was too much for Romeo, and as if projected from an
ancient catapult, he departed from his place on the back of the pony,
and landed on the deep, soft sand, many feet in advance of his late
opponent. Three times was this repeated, with almost the same result,
until finally Romeo, as he brushed the sand from his matted locks,
expressed it as his opinion that no one but an Indian could ride that
pony. As Romeo was half Indian, the distinction seemed finely drawn.
Innumerable were the tricks played on each other by one and all;
everything seemed legitimate sport which tended to kill time. Three
days after the departure of the Arapaho village, the lookout reported
that parties were in sight some three or four miles in the direction
taken by the village. This created no little excitement in camp.
Field-glasses were brought into immediate requisition, and after
a careful examination of the parties, who could be plainly seen
approaching us in the distance, we all came to the conclusion that what
we saw must be the escort with our supplies. A few horses were soon
saddled, and two of the officers, with some of the men, galloped out to
meet the advancing party. It proved to be Colonel Cook, with California
Joe and a dozen men, bringing with them several pack animals loaded
with fresh supplies.
I need not say how we welcomed their arrival. It was too late in the
day to make it desirable for us to set out on the trail of Little
Robe, as it was necessary to unpack and issue rations and repack the
remainder; so that it was concluded to remain until next morning, an
additional reason in favor of this resolution being that the horses
of Colonel Cook’s party would have the benefit of rest. The account
given by Colonel Cook and California Joe concerning their march
was exceedingly interesting. It will be remembered that it was the
expectation that we would find the Arapaho village nearer our main
camp than we afterward did, and in my letter to General Sheridan I had
intimated that Colonel Cook would probably overtake us at a point not
far from the termination of the Witchita mountains.
Colonel Cook arrived at the designated point, but we, of course, had
gone, and not finding any letter or signal at our deserted camp, he
became, not unnaturally, anxious as to where we had gone. This will
not be wondered at when it is remembered that he had but thirteen men
with him, and was then in a hostile country, and far from all support.
However, he had nothing to do but to continue on our trail. That night
will no doubt live long in the memory of Colonel Cook.
After reaching camp with his little party, in a small piece of timber,
he, as he afterward related to me, began taking a mental survey of
his situation. For fear of misleading the reader, I will here remark,
as I have indicated in previous chapters, that fear, or a lack of the
highest order of personal courage, was not numbered among the traits of
character possessed by this officer. After seeing that the animals were
properly secured for the night, and his men made comfortable, he sat
down by the camp fire awaiting the preparation of his evening meal. In
the mean time California Joe found him, and entered into a discussion
as to the probabilities of overtaking us soon, and in a kind of Jack
Bunsby style suggested, if not, why not?
The more Colonel Cook looked at the matter, the more trying seemed his
position. Had he known, as we then knew, that the Arapahoes had been
found, and a peaceful agreement entered into, it would have solved all
his difficulty. Of this he of course was ignorant, and thoughts ran
through his mind that perhaps my little party had been led on only
to be massacred, and his would follow blindly to the same fate. This
recalled all former Indian atrocities with which he was familiar, while
prominent above them all rose before him the fate of young Kidder and
party, whose fate is recorded in a former chapter.
In thinking of this, Colonel Cook was struck by a coincidence. Kidder’s
party consisted of almost the identical number which composed his own.
Kidder had a guide, and Cook had California Joe; all of which, without
attaching any importance to his words, the latter took pains to remind
Colonel Cook of. By the time supper was prepared Colonel Cook felt the
responsibilities of his position too strongly to have any appetite for
food, so that when supper was commenced he simply declined it, and
invited California Joe to help himself--an invitation the latter was
not slow in accepting. Posting his guards for the night, Colonel Cook
felt that to sleep was impossible. He took his seat by the camp fire,
and with his arms by his side impatiently waited the coming of dawn.
California Joe, who regarded the present as of far more importance than
the future, and whose slumber would have been little disturbed even had
he known that hostile Indians were soon to be encountered, disposed of
Colonel Cook’s supper, and then, wrapping himself up in his blanket,
stretched himself under a tree near the fire, and was soon sleeping
soundly. His brief account of the enjoyment he derived from Colonel
Cook’s supper was characteristic: “Thar I sot an’ sot a eatin’ uv that
young man’s wittles, while he in his cavalry boots, with his pistols in
his belt, stood a lookin’ inter the fire.”
Early next morning, as soon as the light was sufficient to enable them
to follow our trail, Colonel Cook and his party were on their way.
About noon, as they were passing over a low ridge, yet sufficiently
high to enable them to see for miles beyond, the eyes of one of the
party caught a view of a long line of dark-looking objects miles in
advance, yet directly in their path. Each moment the objects became
more distinct, until finally Colonel Cook, who was studying them
intently through his glass, pronounced the simple word, “Indians.” “Ef
that is so, Colonel, thar’s a many one uv ’em,” was the sober response
of California Joe, who rode at his side.
By this time the Indians could be plainly seen, although numbers of
them continued to gallop up from the rear. It was evident from their
movements that they had discovered Colonel Cook’s party almost as soon
as he had seen them, and that the entire body of Indians was directing
its march toward the little eminence from which the white men were now
watching their movements. “What do yer think about it now, Colonel?”
said California Joe, at last breaking the silence. “Well, Joe, we
must do the best we can; there is no use in running.” “You’re right,”
replied Joe; “an Injun’ll beat a white man runnin’ every time, so I
’spect our best holt is fitin’, but, Lor’ a’ mercy! look at ’em; thar
ain’t enuff uv us to go half round!”
Getting his little party collected in good order, and speaking
words of encouragement to all, Colonel Cook quietly awaited further
developments. His thoughts in the meanwhile must have been such as
he probably never wishes to indulge in again. All sorts of terrible
visions and ideas flashed through his mind; the most prominent as well
as plausible being that the Indians had made away with my party, and
from Little Robe and Yellow Bear had learned of the expected supplies,
with their small escort, and were now in search of the latter. Whatever
varied thoughts of this character chased each other through his brain,
he at once came to the firm resolve that whatever fate was in store for
him, he would meet it like a soldier, and if the worst came he would
fight to the last.
By this time it was seen that a single Indian was galloping in advance
of the rest, as if hastening to reach the white men. “That’s a queer
dodge,” remarked California Joe; but the mystery was soon cleared
away, as the Indian began to draw near to the party without slackening
his pace. Colonel Cook and California Joe instinctively advanced to
meet him, when to their great joy and surprise it proved to be none
other than the faithful Yellow Bear, who, realizing the situation, had
ridden in advance of his people in order to assure the whites of their
friendly character. His coming no doubt caused the hearts of Colonel
Cook and his party to beat lighter. Or, as California Joe expressed it:
“When I seed it wuz Yaller Bar I knowed we wuz all right.” From Yellow
Bear Colonel Cook learned where he might expect to find us, and thus
another cause of anxiety was lifted from his mind.
The morning after my party had been reinforced by the arrival just
described, we set out under guidance of Neva and the two young Arapaho
warriors, and followed the direction in which Little Robe had gone.
It being one of the winter months, the Indian ponies were still
in unfit condition to make long or rapid marches; for this reason
the two Arapahoes had left their ponies with the village, and were
accompanying or rather preceding us on foot; an undertaking which they
seemed to have no difficulty in accomplishing. The grazing became more
indifferent each day as we journeyed toward the west, until finally we
ceased to rely upon it, but as a substitute fed our horses upon the
bark of the young cottonwood trees which are generally found fringing
the borders of the streams. In spite, however, of our utmost care, our
horses and pack animals, having exhausted their supply of forage, began
to fail in strength and condition under their cottonwood bark diet.
After reaching and crossing Red river at a point west of that at which
the survey of Marcy and McClellan crossed it, and failing to discover
any indication of the recent occupation of the ground by Indians, I had
fears that if I prolonged my journey much further our animals would
not be able to reach the main camp, so famished had they become in
the last few days. I therefore, after consultation with Neva and the
two Arapahoes, decided to recross to the north bank of Red river, and
follow up its course until we should reach a small tributary coming in
from the northwest, and which Neva informed me would furnish a good
camp ground. In the meanwhile Neva, who was well mounted on a hardy,
active mule, was to take with him the two young Arapahoes, and push on
in advance in search of the Cheyenne village, the understanding being
that I should follow in his direction until the stream referred to was
reached, where I would await his return for three days. Should he fail
to rejoin us in that time, we would commence our return march to the
main camp.
When it was known that this plan had been definitely settled upon,
young Brewster, who never for a moment had become discouraged as to his
final success in discovering his lost sister, came to me, and in the
most earnest manner asked permission to accompany Neva in his search
for the Cheyenne village. I did everything I could to dissuade him from
so dangerous a project.
No arguments were of any avail. He felt satisfied that his sister
was a prisoner in the Cheyenne village, and this his last and only
opportunity to gain a knowledge of the fact; and even with the chances
of death or torture staring him in the face he preferred to risk all,
and learn the truth, rather than live longer in a state of horrible
uncertainty. Against my judgment in the matter, I was forced by his
importunate manner to grant him permission to accompany Neva.
Taking a suitable amount of supplies with them, the three Indians and
young Brewster set out, Neva being the only one of the party mounted.
After they had left us we moved in the same direction, with the
intention of halting on the stream indicated by Neva, there to await
their return. While the reader is also waiting their return, I will
refer to an incident which should have appeared in an earlier part
of this chapter. It was neither more nor less than what might, among
fashionable notices in the Indian press--provided they had one--have
been termed an elopement in high life.
One evening after we had gone into camp, many long weary miles from
our point of starting, and when we supposed we had left all the
Kiowas safely in camp awaiting the release of their two chiefs, Lone
Wolf and Satanta, we were all surprised to see a young and handsome
Kiowa warrior gallop into our midst accompanied by a young squaw, who
certainly could not have reached the age which distinguishes the woman
from the girl. In a few moments our little party gathered about these
two wayfarers, eager to learn the cause of their sudden and unexpected
visit. The girl was possessed of almost marvellous beauty, a beauty
so remarkable that my companions of that march refer to her to this
day as the most beautiful squaw they have ever seen. Her graceful and
well-rounded form, her clearly-cut features, her dark expressive eyes,
fringed with long silken lashes, cheeks rich with the color of youth,
teeth of pearly whiteness occasionally peeping from between her full,
rosy lips, added withal to a most bewitching manner, required not the
romance of her story to make her an object of deep interest in the eyes
of the gallants of our party. But to their story.
She was the daughter of Black Eagle, at that time the acting head chief
of the Kiowas. The young warrior who rode at her side was somewhat of
a young Lochinvar in disposition. It was the old, old story, only to
be repeated again by these representatives of the red man--mutual and
determined love on the part of the youngsters, opposition equally
determined upon the part of Black Eagle; not that the young warrior
was objectionable, but unfortunately, as is but too often the case, he
was poor, and could not offer in exchange for the hand of a chief’s
daughter the proper number of ponies. Black Eagle was inexorable--the
lovers, constancy itself. There was but one thing for them to do, and
they did it.
Aware of our proposed expedition in search of the Cheyennes and
Arapahoes, they timed their affairs accordingly. Giving us time to
get two days the start, they slipped away from their village at dusk
the evening of the second day after our departure, and hastening
unperceived to a thicket near by, where the lover had taken the
precaution to conceal two of the fleetest ponies of the village already
saddled, they were soon in their saddles and galloping for love and
life away from the Kiowa village. I say galloping for life, for by the
Indian law, if the father or relatives of the girl could overtake the
lovers within twenty-four hours, the life of the young woman would pay
the forfeit.
They followed our trail in order to avail themselves of our protection
by travelling with us as far as our course might lead them in the
direction of the Staked Plains, on the borders of which a straggling
band of Kiowas, under the chief Woman Heart, was supposed to be,
and which the lovers intended to join, at least until the rage of
_paterfamilias_ should subside and they be invited to return. This in
brief was their story. I need not add that they found a hearty welcome
in our midst, and were assured that they need no longer fear pursuit.
That evening, after the camp fires were lighted, the officers of our
party, with Romeo as interpreter, gathered about the camp fire of
the bridal couple and passed a pleasant hour in conversation. Their
happiness and exultation at their success in escaping from their
village were too powerful to be restrained, and in many delicate little
ways the bride--for by Indian law twenty-four hours’ absence from the
village with her lover made her a bride--plainly betrayed her exceeding
fondness for him who had risked all to claim her as his own.
After my return to the main camp I met Black Eagle, and informed him
that his daughter and her husband had been companions of our march.
“Yes. Why did you not kill him?” was his reply, which upon inquiry he
explained by saying that if some person had kindly put an end to the
life of his son-in-law, it would have benefited him to the value of
several ponies; his difficulty seeming to be in overcoming the loss
of the ponies which should have been paid for his daughter’s hand. I
afterwards learned, however, that the haughty chief became reconciled
to the wilful lovers, and invited them to return to his lodge, an
invitation they were not tardy in accepting.
We pitched our camp at the point agreed upon between Neva and myself,
and prepared to await the return of his party. Neva had been informed
that our delay could not extend beyond three days, as our store of
provisions and forage was almost exhausted, and this fact alone would
force us to retrace our steps. I had hoped that during the time we
were to spend in camp, hunting parties might be able to bring in a
sufficient amount of game to satisfy our wants; but although parties
were despatched in all directions, not an animal or bird could be
found. So barren was the country as to offer no inducements that would
attract game of any species.
Our last ounce of meat had been eaten, and the men, after one day’s
deprivation of this essential part of their rations, were almost
ravenous. Our horses had several days since eaten their last ration
of grain, and the grass was so sparse and indifferent as to furnish
insufficient diet to sustain life. Resort was had to cottonwood bark,
to obtain which we cut down large numbers of the trees, and fed our
horses upon the young bark of the branches. Knowing that in answer
to my second request supplies of provisions both for men and horses
must be on their way and probably near to us, I determined to begin
our return march one day sooner than I had expected when Neva and his
companions left us, as they would be able on finding our camp to follow
our trail and overtake us.
We moved only a few miles, but even this short distance was sufficient
to demonstrate how weak and famished our horses had become, one of
them dying from starvation before we reached camp, the first day
of our return march. This circumstance, however, was turned to our
advantage. Much has been said and written in praise of the savoriness
of horseflesh as a diet. Our necessities compelled us to put this
question to practical test, and the animal had scarcely fallen, unable
to rise again, when it was decided to prepare his carcass for food.
That evening the men treated themselves to a bountiful repast made up
of roasts, steaks, and broils, all from the flesh of the poor animal,
whose death was attributable to starvation alone. Judging, however,
from the jolly laughter which rang through camp at supper time, the
introduction of this new article of diet met with a cordial reception.
Soon after finishing our supper, we discovered in the distance and
following in our trail a horseman. We at once concluded that this
must be Neva, a fact rendered conclusive by the aid of a field-glass.
Various were the surmises indulged in by the different members of our
party as to the success of Neva’s mission. What had become of his
companions, particularly young Brewster? These and many other inquiries
suggested themselves as we watched his approach. We could almost read
the answer on Neva’s face when he reached us as to the success of his
search for the Cheyennes. Disappointment, hunger, and fatigue were
plainly marked in his features as he dismounted and shook hands with
us. Knowing that one of the characteristics of the Indian is to talk
but little until the wants of the inner man have been fully attended
to, I at once ordered him a steak. One of the party, however, fearing
that if he knew the exact character of the diet offered him he might
from some superstitious cause decline it, suggested that Neva be
asked if he would like a nice buffalo steak, a deception which seemed
somewhat justifiable under the circumstances. To this Neva returned
a hearty affirmative, when one of the men placed before him a raw
steak, whose dimensions would have amply gratified the appetites of an
ordinary family of half a dozen. Having held the steak over the blazing
fire until sufficiently done to suit his taste, Neva seated himself
on the ground near by and began helping himself liberally to the
dripping morsel. After he had indulged for some time in this pleasing
entertainment, and having made no remark, one of the officers inquired
of him if he was hungry.
“Yes,” was his reply, but added in his very indifferent English, “Poor
buffano, poor buffano.” None of us ever informed him of the little
deception which had been practised upon him.
His account of his journey was brief. He had travelled nearly due
west, accompanied by Brewster and the two young Arapahoes, and had
discovered a trail of the Cheyenne village some two weeks old, leading
still further to the west, and under circumstances which induced him
to believe the village had moved far away. Under these circumstances
there was no course left to him but to return. The Arapahoes decided to
follow on and join the Cheyenne village. Neva and young Brewster began
their return together, but the latter, being unable to travel as fast
as Neva, fell behind. Neva, anxious to keep his promise and rejoin us
at the time and place indicated, pushed forward as rapidly as possible.
Young Brewster, however, manfully struggled along, and reached our camp
a few hours after Neva’s arrival.
The next morning we set out on our homeward or return march. During the
night one of our horses strayed away from camp, and as one of the men
thought he could find it before we made our start in the morning, he
left camp with that purpose. Failing to rejoin us at the proper time, I
sent parties in search of him, but they returned unsuccessful. We were
compelled by our necessities to move without further delay. Weeks and
months elapsed, and no tidings of the lost trooper reached us, when
one day, while encamped near Fort Hays, Kansas, hundreds of miles from
the locality of which I am now writing, who should step up to my tent
but the man who was lost from us in northwestern Texas. He had become
bewildered after losing sight of our camp, took the wrong direction,
and was never able thereafter during his wanderings to determine his
course. Fortunately he took a southerly route, and after nearly two
months of solitary roaming over the plains of northern Texas, he
arrived at a military post south of Red river in Texas, and by way of
Galveston, the Gulf of Mexico, the Mississippi and Missouri rivers,
rejoined his regiment in Kansas.
As we gained the crest of the hill from which we obtained a view of the
white tents which formed our camp, there was no one of our little party
who did not enjoy a deep feeling of gratitude and thankfulness that our
long and trying journey was about to end under happier auspices than
many might have supposed when we began it. We had found the Arapahoes,
and succeeded in placing them on their reservation, where, from that
date to the present time, they have remained, never engaging as a tribe
in making war or committing depredations on the whites, so far as my
knowledge extends.
We did not succeed so well with the Cheyennes, but we established facts
regarding their location, disposition, and intentions as to peace,
which were of invaluable service to us in determining future operations
looking to the establishment of peace with them.
Our arrival in camp created a sensation among our comrades, who had
seen us depart upon what they might well have considered an errand of
questionable prudence. Leaving my companions of the march to answer
the many queries of those who had not accompanied us, I galloped
across the narrow plain which separated General Sheridan’s tents from
my camp, and was soon greeted by the General and staff in terms of
hearty welcome. Repairing to the General’s tent, I soon recounted the
principal incidents of my expedition, with most of which the reader
has been already made acquainted. I found that the Arapahoes had kept
their promise, made to me while I was in their village, and that the
village was then located near our main camp. It might be proper here to
remark that, although a period of several years has elapsed since the
Arapahoes were induced to accept the offer of peace made to them, and
promised to relinquish in the future their predatory mode of life, yet
to this day, so far as I know, they as a tribe have remained at peace
with the white men.
This remark may not, and probably does not, apply to particular
individuals of the tribe, but it is due to the tribe to state that
their conduct, since the events related in the preceding chapter, has
been greatly to their credit, as well as to the peace and comfort
of the settlers of the frontier; results wholly due to the Washita
campaign and the subsequent events with which the reader of these
articles is familiar.
The conduct of the Cheyennes, however, in declining our proffers of
peace, left the Indian question in that section of country still
unsettled; but this only rendered new plans necessary, plans which
were quickly determined upon. Other events of great public importance
rendered General Sheridan’s presence necessary elsewhere at an early
day.
It was therefore decided that he, accompanied by his escort of scouts
under Lieutenant Pepoon, should proceed northward to Camp Supply, while
I, with the Seventh Regulars and the Nineteenth Kansas Cavalry, and
my Osage scouts, a force numbering about fifteen hundred men, should
move westward in quest of the recalcitrant Cheyennes, and administer
to them such treatment as their past conduct might merit and existing
circumstances demanded. Satanta and Lone Wolf were still prisoners in
our hands, a portion of their tribe having failed thus far to comply
with the terms of the agreement by which they were to settle down
peaceably on their reservation. As the greater portion of the tribe,
however, was then encamped near us, and as both Satanta and Lone Wolf
were loud in their protestations of peace, it was decided to release
them. Accordingly, after conference with General Sheridan, I went to
the lodge in which I kept the two chiefs closely guarded as prisoners,
and informed them of the decision which had been arrived at in their
behalf, the only response being a most hearty and emphatic “How” from
the two robust chieftains.
General Sheridan had up to this time declined all their requests for
an interview, but now deemed it best to see them and speak a few
words of warning and caution as to their future conduct. No peace
commissioners were ever entertained by promises of good behavior,
peaceable intentions, and regrets for past offences, which smacked of
greater earnestness and sincerity than those volunteered by Lone Wolf
and Satanta when informed that they were free to rejoin their people.
According to their voluntary representations, their love for their
white brothers was unbounded; their desire for peace, their hatred of
war, ungovernable; and nothing would satisfy them in future but to be
permitted to lead their people “the white man’s road,” by cultivating
the soil, building schoolhouses and churches, and forever eschewing a
predatory or warlike life.
Alas, the instability of human resolutions--particularly of the human
in an Indian! and the resolutions are expressed--not formed--simply
to obtain a certain advantage, or, as is most usually the case, to
tickle the fanciful imagination of some thoroughly well-meaning but
utterly impractical peace commissioner, whose favorable influence is
believed by the Indian to be all-potent in securing fresh invoices of
new blankets, breech-loading arms, and provisions. Neither blankets,
breech-loading arms, nor an unnecessary amount of provisions were
distributed by the military among the adherents of Satanta and Lone
Wolf.
Scarcely one year had elapsed, however, before Satanta defiantly
informed the General of the Army, then on a visit to Fort Sill, that
he had just returned from an expedition to Texas, during which he
and his party had murdered and robbed several white men. It was this
confession which led to Satanta’s trial, conviction, and sentence to
death by the civil authorities of Texas. Through the intercession of
the General Government, the Executive of Texas was induced to commute
the punishment of Satanta from hanging to imprisonment for life, a step
which all familiar with Indians and Indian management knew would result
sooner or later in his release, and that of his confederate, Big Tree.
Importuned constantly by the tender-hearted representations of the
peace commissioners, who could not be induced to look upon Satanta and
Big Tree as murderers, the Governor of Texas very unwisely yielded to
their persistent appeals, and upon the strength of promises solemnly
made by the peace commissioners, according to which not only Satanta
and Big Tree were to abstain from acts of bloodshed and murder in the
future, but their entire tribe was also to remain at peace and within
their reservation limits, the two chiefs who had unfortunately escaped
the halter were again turned loose to engage in acts of hostility
against the whites; an opportunity they and their treacherous people
have not been slow to improve from that day to this.
The winter of 1868–’69 was rapidly terminating, acting as a forcible
reminder to us that if we hoped to operate in the field with any
advantage over the Cheyennes, the movement must be made before the
spring grass should make its appearance for the benefit of the Indian
ponies. Accordingly, as soon as our arrangements were perfected, our
camp at the present site of Fort Sill, Indian Territory, was broken up,
and General Sheridan, accompanied by his staff and escort, set out for
Camp Supply in the north, while my command faced westward and began
its search for the Cheyennes, passing along the southern base of the
Witchita mountains, on the afternoon of inauguration day, at old Camp
Radziminsky, a station which had been occupied by our troops prior to
the war between the Northern and Southern States, and whose name, no
doubt, will recall pleasant reminiscences to many who afterwards wore
the blue or the gray.
On the morning of the first day after leaving the Witchita mountains
behind us, no little excitement was created throughout the command
by the discovery of a column of smoke directly on our course, and
apparently about fifteen or twenty miles in front of us. That Indians
had originated the fire was beyond a doubt, as we all knew that beyond
us, in the direction of the smoke, the country was inhabited by no
human beings save hostile Indians. I at once decided to push on with
the command to the point from which the smoke was ascending, and
discover if possible some trace of the Indians. Be it understood that
neither I nor any members of my command supposed for one moment that
when we arrived at the desired point we would find the Indians there
awaiting our arrival, but we did hope to discover their trail. Of the
many experienced frontiermen embraced in the command, including of
course California Joe, there were none who judged the distance which
separated us from the smoke as greater than could be easily passed over
by us before three or four o’clock that afternoon.
It was evidently not a signal smoke--ascending from a single point and
regulated by human control--but appeared from our standpoint more like
a fire communicated to the prairie grass from an abandoned or neglected
camp fire. Pushing on as rapidly as our horses could travel, we were
again reminded from time to time of the deceptive character of the
plains as regards distances. When three o’clock arrived, and we had
been marching steadily for nine hours, the dense and changing columns
of deep gray smoke, which had been our guiding point all day, seemed
as far distant as when our march began in the morning. Except to water
our animals, and once to enable the men to prepare a cup of coffee,
no halts were made from six o’clock in the morning until we finally
reached the desired locality--not at three or four o’clock in the
afternoon, but at two o’clock that night.
Our surmises proved correct. The fire had evidently been communicated
to the dry winter grass from some Indian camp fire. The Indians of
course had gone; but where? As this was a question that could not
be solved until daylight, and as all of us were glad enough of an
opportunity to get a few hours’ repose, the troops bivouacked in
promiscuous order as they arrived.
Only those who have enjoyed similar experiences know how brief the
preparation required for sleep. As for myself, as soon as the necessary
directions had been given relating to the command, I unsaddled my
horse, arranged my saddle for my pillow, tethered my horse within easy
reach, and in less time than has been required to write these few
lines, I was enjoying one of those slumbers which only come as the
reward of a day of earnest activity in the saddle.
As soon as it was light enough for our purpose, we were in the saddle
and searching in all directions for the trail left by the Indians
who had fired the prairie. Our Osage scouts were not long in making
the desired discovery. The trail led westward, following the general
course of a small valley in which it was first discovered. The party
was evidently a small one, numbering not more than fifteen persons,
but the direction in which they were moving led me to hope that by
following them carefully and with due caution to prevent discovery of
our pursuit, we might be led to the main village.
All that day our Osage scouts clung to the trail with the pertinacity
of sleuth hounds. The course led us up and across several different
streams of beautiful, clear water; but to our great disappointment, and
to that of our horses as well, we discovered, upon attempting to quench
our thirst at different times, that every stream was impregnated to the
fullest degree with salt.
Later in the day this became a serious matter, and had we not been on
an Indian trail, I should have entertained earnest apprehensions as
to whether or not we were destined to find pure water by continuing
further in the direction we were then moving; but I felt confident that
the Indians we were pursuing were familiar with the country, and would
no doubt lead us, unintentionally of course, to streams of fresh water.
One of the streams we crossed was so strongly impregnated with salt
that the edges near the banks were covered with a border of pure
white salt, resembling the borders of ice often seen along rivulets
in winter. This border was from one to three feet in width, and
sufficiently thick to support the weight of a horse. Fortunately the
Indian trail, as I had anticipated, led us to a refreshing spring of
pure, cold water near by. Here we halted to prepare a cup of coffee
before continuing the pursuit.
While halted at this point I observed a trooper approaching with an
armful of huge cakes of pure white salt, gathered from the salt stream
just described, and which flowed at the foot of the hill from which
also bubbled forth the spring of fresh water to which we were indebted
for the means of preparing our first meal on that day. Salt was not an
abundant article with us at that time, and the trooper referred to,
aware of this fact, had, in behalf of himself and comrades, collected
from the literal “salt of the earth” a quantity ample for all present
need. After conveying his valuable load to the vicinity of the cook
fire, he broke the cakes of salt into small particles with an axe, and
then passing the fragments through a coffee-mill, he was in possession
of table salt whose quality would have satisfied a more exacting
epicure than a hungry cavalryman.
Finishing our meal, which not only was our breakfast for that day, but
a late dinner as well, we resumed the pursuit, observing before doing
so that the Indians had also made a brief halt at the same point, and
had built a fire and prepared their meal, as we had done after them.
Crossing a high ridge, or divide, the trail led us down into a
beautiful open valley. After following up the course of the latter
several miles, the freshness of the trail indicated that the Indians
had passed over it that same day. As it was not our purpose to overtake
them, but to follow as closely as prudence would allow, I determined
to go into camp until the following morning. Soon after resuming the
pursuit next day rain began to fall, at first slowly, but later in
the day in copious showers. I knew the Indians would not travel in
the rain if they could avoid it, unless they knew they were pursued,
and of this fact I had reason to believe they were still ignorant, as
evidences found all along the trail indicated that they were moving
very leisurely.
To avoid placing ourselves in too close proximity to them, I ordered
a halt about noon, and began preparation for camping for the night.
Our wagons were still in rear. In the mean time the horses were all
unsaddled and picketed out in the usual manner to graze. As was my
usual custom upon halting for the night, I had directed the Osage
scouts, instead of halting and unsaddling, to advance in the direction
we were to follow next day, and examine the country for a distance of
a few miles. We had barely completed the unsaddling of our horses and
disposed of them over the grazing ground, when I discovered the Osage
scouts returning over the ridge in front of us as fast as their ponies
could carry them. Their story was soon told. Disliking to travel in the
rain, the Indians whom we were pursuing had gone into camp also, and
the Osage scouts had discovered them not more than a mile from us, the
ridge referred to preventing the Indians from seeing us or being seen
by us.
Quickly the words “Saddle up” flew from mouth to mouth, and in a
marvellously brief time officers and men were in the saddle and, under
the guidance of the Osage scouts, were moving stealthily to surprise
the Indian camp. Passing around a little spur of the dividing ridge,
there before us, at a distance of but a few hundred yards, stood the
half-erected lodges of the Indians, while scattered here and there
in the immediate vicinity were to be seen the Indian ponies and pack
animals, grazing in apparent unconsciousness of the close proximity of
an enemy. At a given signal the cavalry put spurs to their steeds, drew
their revolvers, and in a few moments were in possession of the Indian
camp, ponies and all--no, not all, for not a single Indian could be
discovered.
The troops were deployed at a gallop in all directions, but failed to
find the trace of an Indian. Our capture was apparently an empty one.
How the occupants of the Indian camp had first discovered our presence
and afterwards contrived to elude us was a mystery which even puzzled
our Osage scouts. This mystery was afterwards explained, and in order
to avoid detaining the reader, I will anticipate sufficiently to state
that in the course of subsequent events we came face to face, under a
flag of truce, with the late occupants of the Indian camp, and learned
from them that in this instance history had reproduced itself. Rome was
saved by the cackling of geese: the Indians owed their safety to the
barking of dogs--not the barking of dogs belonging to their own camp,
but to ours.
It seemed that during the haste and excitement attendant upon the
discovery of the close proximity of the Indian camp to ours, two of our
dogs, whether or not sharing in the bellicose humor of their masters,
engaged in a quarrel, the noise of which reached the quick ears of the
Indians nearly one mile distant. Comprehending the situation at once,
the Indians, realizing the danger of delay, abandoned their camp and
ponies and fled on foot, the better to effect concealment and elude
pursuit.
On the following day we resumed the march. There being no longer any
trail for us to follow, we continued in the same direction, believing
that the small party we had been pursuing had been directing their
course toward the location of the main village, which was somewhere
to the westward of us. Day after day we travelled in this direction,
hoping to discover some sign or trail which might give us a clue
to the whereabouts of the Cheyenne village. We had left the Indian
Territory far behind us, and had advanced into Texas well toward the
102d meridian of longitude. Nearly all hope of discovering the Indians
had vanished from the minds of the officers and men, when late in the
afternoon the trail of a single lodge was discovered, leading in a
southwesterly direction. The trail was nearly if not quite one month
old; hence it did not give great encouragement. To the surprise of most
of the command, I changed the direction of our march at once, and put
the Osages on the trail, having decided to follow it.
This may seem to the reader an ill-advised move, but the idea under
which the decision was made was, that the owner of the lodge the trail
of which we had discovered had probably been absent from the main
village in search of game, as is customary for small parties of Indians
at that season of the year. In the spring, however, the entire tribe
assembles at one point and determines its plans and movements for the
summer, whether relating to war or hunting. There was a chance--a
slight one, it is true--that the trail of the single lodge just
discovered might lead us to the rendezvous of the tribe. I deemed it
worthy of our attention, and a pursuit of a few days at furthest would
determine the matter.
Following our faithful Osages, who experienced no difficulty in keeping
the trail, we marched until near sundown, when we arrived at the
banks of a small stream upon which, and near a cool, bubbling spring,
we discovered the evidences of an Indian camp, which must have not
only included the lodge whose trail we had been following, but about
a dozen others. Here was a speedier confirmation of my hopes than
I had anticipated. Here I determined to encamp until morning, and
while the cavalry were unsaddling and pitching their tents, I asked
Mo-nah-see-tah to examine the Indian camp minutely and to tell me how
long a time had elapsed since its occupation by the Indians, how many
constituted the party, and the character and probable indications of
the latter.
No detective could have set about the proposed examination with
greater thoroughness than did this Indian girl. The ashes of the camp
fires were raked carefully away and examined with all the scrutiny
of a chemical analysis. Bits of cloth or fragments of the skins of
animals found within the limits of the camp were lifted from their
resting-places as tenderly as if they were articles of greatest value.
Here and there were to be seen the bones of deer or antelope which had
been obtained by the Indians as food. These Mo-nah-see-tah examined
carefully; then, shattering them between two stones, the condition
of the marrow seemed a point of particular importance to her as
tending to determine the length of time the bones had been lying on
the camp. After many minutes spent in this examination, during which
I accompanied her, a silent but far from disinterested spectator,
she, apparently like a judge who had been carefully reviewing all the
evidence, gave me her conclusions, communicating with me, through the
medium of the sign language, with a grace characteristic of the Indian
race, and which added to the interest of her statements.
Briefly summed up her conclusions were as follows: twelve lodges had
encamped at that point, probably constituting the band of some petty
chief, the different members of which, like the one whose trail we
had that day discovered, had been separated for purposes of hunting,
but had been called together at that point preparatory to joining
the main village. The lodges had left this camp not to exceed two
weeks previous to that date, and in all probability had moved to the
rendezvous appointed for the main tribe, which would without doubt
be found by other small bands from time to time, until the village
would all be assembled at one point. Moving in this manner and at this
early season of the year, when grass was scarce and no enemy known to
be in the country, the Indians would make very short moves each day,
passing merely from one stream to another, not accomplishing in one day
a greater distance, probably, than the cavalry would in two or three
hours.
This intelligence, of course, was most gratifying, and for
encouragement was soon communicated to the individual members of the
command. The trail was found to lead almost in a northerly direction,
slightly inclining to the east. Perhaps no one of the command
experienced such a feeling of hope and anxious suspense as the new
discoveries gave rise to in the breast of young Brewster, who now more
than ever believed, and with reason too, that he was soon to unravel or
forever seal the fate of his lost sister, whose discovery and release
had been the governing impulses of his life for months past.
With renewed interest the cavalry resumed the pursuit at daylight the
following morning. We had marched but a few miles before we reached a
second camping ground, which had been occupied not only by those whose
trail we were then following, but the number of fires showed that
the strength of the Indians had been increased by about twenty-five
lodges, thus verifying the correctness of the surmises advanced by
Mo-nah-see-tah.
Continuing our progress, we had the satisfaction of seeing still
further accessions to the trail, until it was evident that at least
one hundred lodges had united and passed in one body on the trail. As
we marched in one day over the distance passed over in three by the
Indians, and as the latter were moving unsuspicious of the presence
of an enemy in that section of the country, the trail was becoming
freshened as we advanced.
That night we encamped with every precaution calculated to conceal our
presence from the Indians. No fires were permitted until after dark,
and then but small ones, for fear the quick and watchful eye of the
Indian might detect the ascending columns of smoke. As soon as the
men had prepared their suppers the fires were put out. In the morning
breakfast was prepared before daylight, and the fires at once smothered
by heaping damp earth over them.
Resuming the pursuit as soon as it was sufficiently light to follow
the trail, we soon arrived at the camp vacated by the Indians the
previous day, the extent of which showed that from three to four
hundred lodges of Indians had occupied the ground. In many places the
decayed embers of the lodge fires were still glowing; while the immense
quantity of young cottonwood timber found cut and lying throughout the
camp stripped of its young bark, showed that the Indian ponies were
being mainly subsisted on cottonwood bark, the spring grass not being
sufficiently advanced to answer the purpose. Nothing indicated that
the Indians had departed in a precipitate manner, or that they had
discovered our approach. It was reasonable, therefore, to suppose that
we would come in contact with them that day, if not actually reach the
village.
All our plans were made accordingly. The Osages, as usual, were kept
in the advance, that their quick eyes might the sooner discover the
Indians should they appear in our front. In order to avail myself of
the earliest information, I, with Colonel Cook, accompanied the Osages.
Two of the latter kept in advance of all, and as they neared a ridge
or commanding piece of ground they would cautiously approach the crest
on foot and peer beyond, to ascertain whether an enemy was in sight
before exposing our party to discovery. This proceeding, a customary
one with Indians, did not excite unusual attention upon the part of
Colonel Cook and myself, until once we saw Hard Rope, the head warrior,
who was in advance, slowly ascend a slight eminence in our front,
and, after casting one glimpse beyond, descend the hill and return to
us as rapidly as his pony could carry him. We almost anticipated his
report, so confident was everybody in the command that we were going to
overtake the village.
In a few words Hard Rope informed us that less than a mile beyond the
hill from which he had obtained a view, there was in plain sight a
large herd of Indian ponies grazing, being herded and driven by a few
Indian boys. As yet they had not seen us, but were liable to discover
the column of troops further to the rear. To judge of the situation I
dismounted, and, conducted by Hard Rope, advanced to the crest of the
hill in front and looked beyond; there I saw in plain view the herd of
ponies, numbering perhaps two hundred, and being driven in the opposite
direction toward what seemed the valley of a stream, as I could see the
tops of the forest trees which usually border the water courses.
The ponies and their protectors soon disappeared from view, but whether
they had discovered us yet or not I was unable to determine. Sending a
messenger back as rapidly as his horse could carry him, I directed the
troops to push to the front, and to come prepared for action. I knew
the village must be near at hand, probably in the vicinity of the trees
seen in the distance. As the country was perfectly open, free from
either ravines or timber capable of affording concealment to Indians, I
took my orderly with me and galloped in advance in the direction taken
by the Indians, leaving Colonel Cook to hasten and direct the troops as
the latter should arrive.
After advancing about half way to the bluff overlooking the valley I
saw about half a dozen Indian heads peering over the crest, evidently
watching my movements; this number was soon increased to upwards of
fifty. I was extremely anxious to satisfy myself as to the tribe whose
village was evidently near at hand. There was but little doubt that it
was the Cheyennes, for whom we had been searching. If this should prove
true, the two white girls whose discovery and release from captivity
had been one of the objects of the expedition, must be held prisoners
in the village which we were approaching; and to effect their release
unharmed then became my study, for I remembered the fate of the white
woman and child held captive by a band of this same tribe at the battle
of the Washita. I knew that the first shot fired on either side would
be the signal for the murder of the two white girls. While knowing the
Cheyennes to be deserving of castigation, and feeling assured that
they were almost in our power, I did not dare to imperil the lives of
the two white captives by making an attack on the village, although
never before or since have we seen so favorable an opportunity for
administering well-merited punishment to one of the strongest and most
troublesome of the hostile tribes. Desiring to establish a truce with
the Indians before the troops should arrive, I began making signals
inviting a conference. This was done by simply riding in a circle, and
occasionally advancing toward the Indians on the bluff in a zigzag
manner. Immediately there appeared on the bluffs about twenty mounted
Indians; from this group three advanced toward me at a gallop, soon
followed by the others of the party. I cast my eyes behind me to see
if the troops were near, but the head of the column was still a mile
or more in rear. My orderly was near me, and I could see Colonel Cook
rapidly approaching about midway between the column and my position.
Directing the orderly to remain stationary, I advanced toward the
Indians a few paces, and as soon as they were sufficiently near made
signs to them to halt, and then for but one of their number to advance
midway and meet me. This was assented to, and I advanced with my
revolver in my left hand, while my right hand was held aloft as a token
that I was inclined to be friendly. The Indian met me as agreed upon,
and in response to my offer exchanged friendly greetings, and shook
hands. From him I learned that the village of the entire Cheyenne tribe
was located on the streams in front of us, and that Medicine Arrow,
the head chief of the Cheyennes, was in the group of Indians then in
view from where we stood. Little Robe, with his band numbering about
forty lodges, was a short distance further down the stream. I asked
the Indian to send for Medicine Arrow, as I desired to talk with the
head chief. Calling to one of his companions, who had halted within
hailing distance, the latter was directed to convey to Medicine Arrow
my message, to do which he set off at a gallop.
At this juncture I perceived that the Indians, to the number of twenty
or more, had approached quite near, while some of the party seemed
disposed to advance to where I was. To this I had decided objections,
and so indicated to the Indian who was with me. He complied with my
wishes, and directed his companions to remain where they were. As a
precaution of safety, I took good care to keep the person of the Indian
between me and his friends. Medicine Arrow soon came galloping up
accompanied by a chief.
While engaged in shaking hands with him and his companions, and
exchanging the usual salutation, “How,” with the new arrivals, I
observed that the Indians who had been occupying a retired position
had joined the group, and I found myself in the midst of about twenty
chiefs and warriors. Medicine Arrow exhibited the most earnest desire
to learn from me the number of troops following me. Whether this
question was prompted by any contemplated act of treachery, in case my
followers were few in number, or not, I do not know. But if treachery
was thought of, the idea was abandoned when I informed him that my
followers numbered fifteen hundred men, the advance guard being then in
sight. Medicine Arrow then informed me that his village was near by,
and that the women and children would be greatly excited and alarmed
by the approach of so large a body of troops. To give assurance to them
he urged me to accompany him to his village in advance of the troops,
and by my presence satisfy his people that no attack upon them would be
made. This I consented to do.
By this time Colonel Cook had again joined me, also Dr. Lippincott.
Leaving the doctor with directions for the troops, and taking Colonel
Cook with me, I started with Medicine Arrow and a considerable party
of his warriors to the village, Medicine Arrow urging us to put our
horses to the gallop. The reader may regard this movement on my part as
having been anything but prudent, and I will admit that viewed in the
ordinary light it might seem to partake somewhat of a foolhardy errand.
But I can assure them that no one could be more thoroughly convinced
of the treachery and bloodthirsty disposition of the Indian than I
am, nor would I ever trust life in their hands except it was to their
interest to preserve that life; for no class of beings act so much
from self-interest as the Indian, and on this occasion I knew, before
accepting the proposal of the chief to enter his village, that he and
every member of his band felt it to be to their interest not only to
protect me from harm, but treat me with every consideration, as the
near approach of the troops and the formidable number of the latter
would deter the Indians from any act of hostility, knowing as they did
that in case of an outbreak of any kind it would be impossible for a
great portion of the village, particularly the women and children, to
escape. I considered all this before proceeding to the village.
As we were turning our horses’ heads in the direction of the village,
I caught sight of a familiar face in the group of Indians about me; it
was that of Mah-wis-sa, the squaw whom I had sent as peace commissioner
from our camp near Fort Sill, and who had failed to return. She
recognized me at once, and laughed when I uttered the word “Mutah-ka,”
referring to the hunting-knife I had loaned her as she was about to
depart on her errand of peace. A brisk gallop soon brought us to the
village, which was located beneath the trees on the bank of a beautiful
stream of clear running water. The name of the latter I found to be the
Sweetwater; it is one of the tributaries of Red river, and is indicated
on the map as crossing the 100th meridian not far south of the Canadian
river.
Medicine Arrow hurried me to his lodge, which was located almost in
the centre of the village, the latter being the most extensive I had
ever seen. As soon as I had entered the lodge I was invited to a seat
on one of the many buffalo robes spread on the ground about the inner
circumference of the lodge. By Medicine Arrow’s direction the village
crier, in a loud tone of voice, began calling the chiefs together
in council. No delay occurred in their assembling. One by one they
approached and entered the lodge, until fifteen of the leading chiefs
had taken their seats in the circle within the lodge in the order of
their rank. I was assigned the post of honor, being seated on the right
of Medicine Arrow, while on my immediate right sat the medicine man of
the tribe, an official scarcely second in influence to the head chief.
The squaw of Medicine Arrow built a huge fire in the centre of the
lodge. As soon as all the chiefs had assembled, the ceremonies, which
were different from any I ever witnessed before or since, began.
The chiefs sat in silence while the medicine man drew forth from a
capacious buckskin tobacco pouch, profusely ornamented with beads and
porcupine quills, a large red clay pipe, with a stem about the size of
an ordinary walking-stick. From another buckskin pouch which hung at
his girdle he drew forth a handful of kinnikinic, and placed it on a
cloth spread on the ground before him; to this he added, in various
amounts, dried leaves and herbs, with which he seemed well supplied.
After thoroughly mixing these ingredients, he proceeded with solemn
ceremony to fill the pipe with the mixture, muttering at times certain
incantations, by which no doubt it was intended to neutralize any power
or proclivity for harm I may have been supposed to possess.
To all of this I was a silent but far from disinterested spectator. My
interest perceptibly increased when the medicine man, who was sitting
close to me, extended his left hand and grasped my right, pressing it
strongly against his body over the region of his heart, at the same
time, and with complete devoutness of manner, engaging in what seemed
to me a petition or prayer to the Great Spirit; the other chiefs from
time to time ejaculating, in the most earnest manner, their responses,
the latter being made simultaneously. To the Indians it was a most
solemn occasion, and scarcely less impressive to me, who could only
judge of what was transpiring by catching an occasional word, and by
closely following their signs.
After the conclusion of the address or prayer by the medicine man, the
latter released my hand, which up to this time had been tightly grasped
in his, and taking the long clay pipe in both hands, it likewise was
apparently placed under an imaginary potent spell, by a ceremony almost
as long as that which I have just described. This being ended, the
medicine man, first pointing slowly with the stem of the pipe to each
of the four points of the compass, turned to me, and without even so
much as saying, “Smoke, sir?” placed the mouthpiece of the long stem in
my mouth, still holding the bowl of the pipe in his hand.
Again taking my right hand in his left, the favor or protecting
influence of the Great Spirit was again invoked in the most earnest
and solemn manner, the other chiefs joining at regular intervals with
their responses. Finally, releasing my hand, the medicine man lighted
a match, and applying it to the pipe made signs to me to smoke. A
desire to conform as far as practicable to the wishes of the Indians,
and a curiosity to study a new and interesting phase of the Indian
character, prompted me to obey the direction of the medicine man, and
I accordingly began puffing away with as great a degree of nonchalance
as a man unaccustomed to smoking could well assume. Now being, as I
have just stated, one of that class which does not number smoking
among its accomplishments, I took the first few whiffs with a degree
of confidence which I felt justified in assuming, as I imagined the
smoking portion of the ceremony was to be the same as usually observed
among Indians so devoted to the practice, in which each individual
takes the pipe, enjoys half a dozen whiffs, and passes it to his next
neighbor on his left. That much I felt equal to; but when, after
blowing away the first half dozen puffs of smoke from my face, the
medicine man still retained his hold of the pipe, with an evident
desire that I should continue the enjoyment of this Indian luxury, I
proceeded more deliberately, although no such rule of restraint seemed
to govern the volubility of the medicine man, whose invocation and
chants continued with unabated vigor and rapidity.
When the first minute had added to itself four more, and still I was
expected to make a miniature volcano of myself, minus the ashes, I
began to grow solicitous as to what might be the effect if I was
subjected to this course of treatment. I pictured to myself the
commander of an important expedition seated in solemn council with a
score and a half of dusky chieftains, the pipe of peace being passed,
and before it had left the hands of the aforesaid commander, he
becoming deathly sick, owing to lack of familiarity with the noxious
weed or its substitutes. I imagined the sudden termination of the
council, the absurdity of the figure cut, and the contempt of the
chiefs for one who must, under the circumstances, appear so deficient
in manly accomplishments. These and a hundred similar ideas flashed
through my mind as I kept pulling vigorously at the pipe, and wondering
when this thing would terminate.
Fortunately for my peace of body as well as of mind, after a period
which seemed to me equal to a quarter of an hour at least, I felt
relieved by the medicine man taking the pipe from my mouth, and,
after refilling it, handing it to the head chief, sitting on my left,
who, drawing three or four long, silent whiffs, passed it to his next
neighbor on his left; and in similar manner it made the circle of the
chiefs, until it finally returned to the medicine man, who, after
taking a few final whiffs, laid it aside, much to my relief, as I
feared the consequences of a repetition of my former effort.
Romeo, the interpreter, having been mounted upon an indifferent
animal, had fallen to the rear of the column during the march that
day, and I was deprived of his services during my interview with the
chief. Colonel Cook, during this time, was in an adjoining lodge, each
moment naturally becoming more solicitous lest upon the arrival of the
troops there should be a collision between the Indians and the excited
volunteers. To the inquiries of the chiefs I explained the object of
our march, without alluding to the two captive girls, the time not
having arrived for discussing that subject. Having resolved to obtain
the release of the captives, all other purposes were necessarily laid
aside; and as I knew that the captives could not be released should
hostilities once occur between the troops and Indians, I became for
the time being an ardent advocate of peace measures, and informed the
chiefs that such was my purpose at the time. I also requested them to
inform me where I would find the most suitable camping ground in the
vicinity of the village, to which request Medicine Arrow replied that
he would accompany me in person and point out the desired ground.
When this offer was made I accepted it as a kindness, but when the
chief conducted me to a camp ground separated from the village, and
from all view of the latter, I had reason to modify my opinion of his
pretended kindness, particularly when coupled with his subsequent
conduct. My command soon came up, and was conducted to the camp ground
indicated by Medicine Arrow, the distance between the camp and the
village not exceeding three-fourths of a mile. I was still uncertain
as to whether there were any grounds to doubt that the two white girls
were captives in Medicine Arrow’s village. I anxiously awaited the
arrival of Mo-nah-see-tah, who could and would solve this question. She
came with the main body of the troops, and I at once informed her whose
village it was alongside of which we were located.
To my inquiry as to whether the two white girls were prisoners in
Medicine Arrow’s village, she promptly replied in the affirmative,
and at the same time exhibited a desire to aid as far as possible in
effecting their release. It was still early in the afternoon, and I did
not deem it necessary, or even advisable, to proceed with undue haste
in the negotiations by which I expected to bring about the release of
the two captives. Although our camp, as already explained, was cut off
from a view of the village, yet I had provided against either surprise
or strategem, by posting some of my men on prominent points near by,
from which they obtained a full view of both our camp and the village,
and thus rendered it impossible for any important movement to take
place in the latter without being seen. I felt confident that as soon
as it was dark the entire village would probably steal away, and leave
us in the lurch; but I proposed to make my demand for the surrender of
the captives long before darkness should aid the Indians in eluding us.
From fifty to one hundred chiefs, warriors, and young men were
assembled at my headquarters, or about the camp fire built in front
of headquarters. Apparently they were there from motives of mere
curiosity, but later developments proved they had another object in
view. Finally Medicine Arrow came to my camp, accompanied by some of
his head men, and after shaking hands with apparent cordiality, stated
that some of his young men, desirous of manifesting their friendship
for us, would visit our camp in a few minutes, and entertain us by a
serenade. This idea was a novel one to me, and I awaited the arrival of
the serenaders with no little curiosity.
Before their arrival, however, my lookouts reported unusual commotion
and activity in the Indian village. The herd of the latter had been
called in, and officers sent by me to investigate this matter confirmed
the report, and added that everything indicated a contemplated flight
on the part of the Indians. I began then to comprehend the object
of the proposed serenade; it was to occupy our attention while the
village could pack up and take flight. Pretending ignorance of what was
transpiring in the village, I continued to converse, through Romeo,
with the chiefs, until the arrival of the Indian musicians. These,
numbering about a dozen young men, were mounted on ponies which,
like themselves, were ornamented in the highest degree, according to
Indian fashion. The musicians were feathered and painted in the most
horrible as well as fantastic manner. Their instruments consisted of
reeds, the sounds from which more nearly resembled those of the fife
than any other, although there was a total lack of harmony between the
various pieces. As soon as the musicians arrived they began riding in
a gallop in a small circle, of which circle our little group, composed
of a few officers and the chiefs, composed the centre. The display of
horsemanship was superb, and made amends for the discordant sounds
given forth as music.
During all this time reports continued to come in, leaving no room to
doubt that the entire village was preparing to decamp. To have opposed
this movement by a display of force on the part of the troops would
have only precipitated a terrible conflict, for which I was not yet
prepared, keeping in mind the rescue of the white girls. I did not
propose, however, to relinquish the advantage we then had by our close
proximity to the village, and permit the latter to place several miles
between us.
Knowing that the musicians would soon depart, and with them perhaps
the chiefs and warriors then grouped about my camp fire, I determined
to seize the principal chiefs then present, permit the village to
depart if necessary, and hold the captured chiefs as hostages for the
surrender of the white girls and the future good behavior of the tribe.
This was a move requiring not only promptness but most delicate and
careful handling, in order to avoid bloodshed. Quietly passing the
word to a few of the officers who sat near me around the camp fire, I
directed them to leave the group one by one, and, in such manner as
not to attract the attention of the Indians, proceed to their companies
and select quickly some of their most reliable men, instructing the
latter to assemble around and near my camp fire, well armed, as if
merely attracted there by the Indian serenade. The men thus selected
were to come singly, appear as unconcerned as possible, and be in
readiness to act promptly, but to do nothing without orders from me.
In this manner about one hundred of my men were, in an inconceivably
short space of time, mingled with the Indians, who, to the number of
forty or more, sat or stood about my camp fire, laughing in their
sleeves (had they not been minus these appendages), no doubt, at the
clever dodge by which they were entertaining the white men while their
village was hastening preparations for a speedy flight. When the
musicians had apparently exhausted their programme, they took their
departure, informing us that later in the evening they would return and
repeat the performance; they might have added, “with an entire change
of programme.”
After their departure the conversation continued with the chiefs until,
by glancing about me, I saw that a sufficient number of my men had
mingled with the Indians to answer my purpose. Of the forty or more
Indians in the group, there were but few chiefs, the majority being
young men or boys. My attention was devoted to the chiefs, and acting
upon the principle that for the purposes desired half a dozen would
be as valuable as half a hundred, I determined to seize the principal
chiefs then present, and permit the others to depart. To do this
without taking or losing life now became the problem. Indicating in a
quiet manner to some of my men who were nearest to me to be ready to
prevent the escape of three or four of the Indians whom I pointed out,
I then directed Romeo to command silence on the part of the Indians,
and to inform them that I was about to communicate something of great
importance to them. This was sufficient to attract their undivided
attention. I then rose from my seat near the fire, and unbuckling my
revolver from my waist asked the Indians to observe that I threw my
weapons upon the ground, as an evidence that in what I was about to do
I did not desire or propose to shed blood unless forced to do so. I
then asked the chiefs to look about them and count the armed men whom I
had posted among and around them, completely cutting off every avenue
of escape. They had attempted, under pretence of a friendly visit to my
camp, to deceive me, in order that their village might elude us, but
their designs had been frustrated, and they were now in our power. I
asked them to quietly submit to what was now inevitable, and promised
them that if they and their people responded in the proper manner to
the reasonable demands which I intended to make, all would be well, and
they would be restored to their people.
The reader must not imagine that this was listened to in tame silence
by the thoroughly excited Indians, old and young. Upon the first
intimation from me regarding the armed men, and before I could explain
their purpose, every Indian who was dismounted sprang instantly to
his feet, while those who were mounted gathered the reins of their
ponies; all drew their revolvers or strung their bows, and for a few
moments it seemed as if nothing could avert a collision, which could
only terminate in the annihilation of the Indians, and an equal or
perhaps greater loss on our part. A single shot fired, an indiscreet
word uttered, would have been the signal to commence. My men behaved
admirably, taking their positions in such manner that each Indian
was confronted by at least two men. All this time the Indians were
gesticulating and talking in the most excited manner; the boys and
young men counselling resistance, the older men and chiefs urging
prudence until an understanding could be had.
The powers of Romeo as interpreter were employed without stint, in
repeating to the chiefs my urgent appeals to restrain their young
men and avoid bloodshed. Even at this date I recall no more exciting
experience with Indians than the occasion of which I now write. Near me
stood a tall, gray-haired chief, who, while entreating his people to be
discreet, kept his cocked revolver in his hand ready for use, should
the emergency demand it. He was one of the few whom I had determined to
hold. Near him stood another, a most powerful and forbidding-looking
warrior, who was without firearms, but who was armed with a bow,
already strung, and a quiver full of iron-pointed arrows. His coolness
during this scene of danger and excitement was often the subject of
remark afterward between the officers whose attention had been drawn
to him. He stood apparently unaffected by the excitement about him,
but not unmindful of the surrounding danger. Holding his bow in one
hand, with the other he continued to draw from his quiver arrow after
arrow. Each one he would examine as coolly as if he expected to engage
in target practice. First he would cast his eye along the shaft of the
arrow, to see if it was perfectly straight and true. Then he would with
thumb and finger gently feel the point and edge of the barbed head,
returning to the quiver each one whose condition did not satisfy him.
In this manner he continued until he had selected perhaps half a dozen
arrows, with which he seemed satisfied, and which he retained in his
hand, while his quick eye did not permit a single incident about him
to escape unnoticed. The noise of voices and the excitement increased
until a movement began on the part of the Indians who were mounted,
principally the young men and boys. If the latter could be allowed to
escape and the chiefs be retained, the desired object would be gained.
Suddenly a rush was made. But for the fact that my men were ordered not
to fire, the attempt of the Indians would not have been successful. I,
as well as the other officers near me, called upon the men not to fire.
The result was that all but four broke through the lines and made their
escape. The four detained, however, were those desired, being chiefs
and warriors of prominence.
Forming my men about them in such impassable ranks that a glance was
sufficient to show how futile all further efforts to escape would
prove, I then explained to the four captive Indians that I knew the
design under which they had visited our camp; that I also knew that in
their village were held as captives two white girls, whose release the
troops were there to enforce, and to effect their release, as well as
to compel the Cheyennes to abandon the war path and return to their
reservation, I had seized the four Indians as hostages. To prove my
sincerity and earnest desire to arrange these matters amicably, and
without resort to force, the Indians were told they might select one of
their number, whom I would release and send as a messenger of peace to
the village, the latter having left in indiscriminate flight as soon as
the seizure of the chiefs was made.
It became a matter of great difficulty, without the employment of
forces to induce the four Indians to give up their arms. I explained
to them that they were prisoners, and it was one of our customs to
disarm all men held as prisoners. Should they be released, however, I
assured them their arms would be restored to them. No argument could
prevail upon them to relinquish their arms until I stated to them that
a persistence in their refusal would compel me to summon a sufficient
number of men to take the arms by force; and it was even necessary to
parade the men in front of them before the arms were finally given up.
After a lengthy conference with each other, they announced that they
had agreed upon one of their number who, in accordance with my promise,
should be released and sent to the tribe as bearer of my demands, and
of any messages they might desire to send to their people.
I accordingly caused bountiful presents of coffee and sugar to be given
the one so chosen, returned to him his pony and arms, and intrusted
him with verbal messages to his tribe, the substance of which was as
follows: First, I demanded the unconditional surrender of the two
white girls held captive in the village; hitherto surrenders of white
captives by Indians had only been made on payment of heavy ransom.
Second, I required the Cheyenne village, as an evidence of peaceable
intentions and good faith on their part, to proceed at once to their
reservation, and to locate near Camp Supply, reporting to the military
commander at that station. Third, I sent a friendly message to Little
Robe, inviting him to visit me with a view to the speedy settlement of
the questions at issue, promising him unmolested transit coming and
returning for him and as many of his people as chose to visit me. In
case of failure to comply with the first two of my demands, hostilities
would be continued, and my command would at once commence the pursuit
of the village, which, considering its size and the poor condition of
the ponies at that early season of the year, would be unable to escape
from the cavalry.
The Indian who was to go as bearer of these demands was also invited to
return, assured that whether the response of his people should prove
favorable or not, he should be granted a safe-conduct between the camp
and the village. Inwardly congratulating himself, no doubt, upon the
good fortune which gave him his liberty, the messenger of peace or war,
as his tribe might elect, took his departure for his village. With him
went the earnest wishes for success of every inmate of the camp; but
if this was the feeling of the command generally, who can realize the
intense interest and anxiety with which young Brewster now awaited the
result of this effort to secure the freedom of his sister? And if the
two forlorn, helpless girls knew of the presence of troops of their
own race, what must have been the bitter despondency, the painful
relinquishment of all hope as they saw the village and its occupants
commencing a hasty flight, and no apparent effort upon the part of the
troops to effect their release?
What comfort it would have been to these ill-fated maidens could they
have known, before being hurried from the village, of the steps already
taken to restore them to home and friends, or better still, if one
of them could have known that almost within the sound of her voice,
a brother was patiently but determinedly biding the time that should
restore his sister to his arms.
Relying upon the influence which I believed Little Robe would exert
upon his people, and knowing the pressure we were able to bring to
bear through the three chiefs we held as hostages, I felt confident
that sooner or later the Cheyennes would be forced to release the
two white girls from their captivity. Placing a strong guard over
the three chiefs, and warning them not to attempt to escape if they
valued their lives, I returned to my tent after having ordered every
comfort possible to be provided for our prisoners consistent with their
position.
It was perhaps an hour or more after dark when an Indian voice was
heard calling from one of the hillocks overlooking the camp. I
proceeded to the guard fire near which the three chiefs were still
seated engaged in conversation, and through Romeo inquired who the
parties were whose voices we heard, and their object. They informed me
that the voices were those of some of their young men who were anxious
to ascertain if their friends the captives were still alive. Anxious
that they should not only see that their friends were alive, but well
treated, I desired to induce them to come within our lines and visit
the captive chiefs. This was communicated to them through the chiefs,
who called to them in tones capable of being heard far beyond the point
at which the young Indians were posted. But this did not satisfy their
suspicious natures; they imagined some trap, and declined to accept the
invitation. Romeo, the only one who could converse freely in the Indian
tongue, might have been able to persuade them to come in, but it was
not safe for him to venture beyond the line of our pickets and trust
himself in the power of the young Indians.
In this emergency I thought of Mo-nah-see-tah, in whom I had every
confidence, and who I believed might be successful in inducing her
friends to come in. Sending for her, I soon acquainted her with
my plan, to which she gave her ready assent, only expressing an
apprehension that in passing our own chain of sentries in the darkness,
they might mistake her for an enemy and fire upon her. This difficulty
I removed by offering to escort her safely through the line of pickets,
and there await her return. Starting at once in the darkness, she
clinging to my hand with the natural timidity of a girl, we proceeded
to the picket station nearest to the point from which the sound of
voices had come, and after explaining to the sentry our purpose, passed
beyond as far as it was prudent to do, and then, bidding Mo-nah-see-tah
to proceed on her mission, I halted to await her return. A few moments
later I heard her voice in the darkness calling to her friends beyond;
back came the quick response, and soon after I could distinguish the
tones of the assembled group as Mo-nah-see-tah endeavored to convince
them of their security in trusting to the promises made them.
Her arguments finally prevailed over their suspicions, and in the dim
light of the stars I could see her returning, accompanied by four
or five others. Not caring to tempt them by meeting them alone so
far from support, I slowly retired until I was near the picket post.
Here the Indians found me, and after the form of an introduction by
Mo-nah-see-tah and a general hand-shaking, the entire party proceeded
without hesitation to the guard fire, where they joined their less
fortunate chiefs.
It may strike the reader with some surprise that Mo-nah-see-tah,
herself a captive in our hands, should have voluntarily returned
to us that night after once being safely beyond our lines. But she
only confirmed the confidence that was placed in her. During her
imprisonment, if her stay in our camp without a guard may be termed
imprisonment, she had become a great favorite with the entire command;
not only this, but she believed she would in due time be given up to
her own people, and that until then she would receive kind treatment at
our hands and be exposed to less personal danger and suffering during
hostilities than if with her village.
The visit of the young men to our camp that night could not but have a
beneficial influence upon the tribe, as they were enabled to see that
the three chiefs were being treated with the utmost consideration, and
were being held, as informed at first, simply as hostages, to enforce
compliance with demands which even an Indian’s ideas of right and
wrong must pronounce just. After a lengthy conversation between the
captives and their friends, the latter took their departure, charged
with messages to the village, both from the captive chiefs and me,
similar to those transmitted through the chief who had been released
for that purpose.
The following day was passed without incident in awaiting the arrival
of tidings from the village. Early in the afternoon the pickets
reported a small body of Indians in sight. Upon a nearer approach
the party appeared to consist of about fifty mounted Indians. They
rode steadily in the direction of the camp, with no apparent wish to
conceal their movements, thus indicating that they were on an errand
of peace. When within half a mile or less of camp the entire party
dismounted, and after picketing their ponies out to graze, advanced on
foot directly toward camp. So strange a proceeding, and at a time when
the excitement regarding our relations with the Indians ran high, was
sufficient to assemble nearly all the occupants of camp to watch the
approach of this delegation of Indians. The latter were apparelled in
their best and most highly colored clothes. As they came near, it was
perceived that several paces in advance of the main group strode two
chiefs, evidently leaders of the party; both advanced with uncovered
heads. Suddenly I thought I detected a familiar face and form in the
taller of the two chiefs in front, and on more careful scrutiny I
recognized my former friend and guest Little Robe, who had thus quickly
responded to my invitation to cast aside all doubts and come and visit
me, with a view to bringing about more friendly relations between his
people and the whites.
As soon as I recognized him I advanced to meet him. He grasped my
hand and embraced me with what seemed to me real cordiality. Waiting
until the other members of his party came up, I shook hands with each
individual, and then invited them to my tent. As the tent would not
accommodate the entire party, Little Robe designated about a dozen of
the most important, who entered, while the others remained outside. I
soon found that in Little Robe I had a hearty coadjutor in the work
before me. He admitted that the white girls were held as captives in
the Cheyenne village, which was the first positive evidence received
of this fact. He also stated, what I had no reason to doubt, that
he had at various times attempted to purchase them, with a view, if
successful, of returning them to the nearest military post; but his
efforts in this direction had always failed. He admitted the justice
of my demands upon his people, and assured me that to bring about a
satisfactory condition of affairs he would use every exertion and
employ all the influence at his command. It was to assure me of this
desire on his part that he had hastened to visit me.
Knowing that the surest and speediest way to establish a state of
good feeling in an Indian is to provide liberally for the wants of
his stomach, I ordered a beef to be killed and distributed among the
followers of Little Robe; with this also were distributed the usual
supplies of coffee, sugar, flour, etc., so that the recipients were
not only prepared to regard us as at least very kindly disposed, but I
knew the effect on the village, when the result of the visit, and the
treatment extended to our guests was described, would materially aid us
in our negotiations with the tribe.
Little Robe, while earnest in his desire to see the white girls
returned to us, frankly admitted that his influence was not supreme,
and there were those who would object to their release, at least
without compensation; and it might be that a satisfactory settlement
of the question might be delayed for many days. After partaking of a
bountiful repast, Little Robe and his party set out for the village,
promising to send me word the following day as to his success. Another
day was passed in waiting, when the chief who had accompanied Little
Robe the previous day again visited us, but brought no decisive or
satisfactory reply. The substance of the reply was that the Cheyennes
desired us to release the three chiefs then held by us as hostages,
after which they would be prepared to consider the question of the
release of the two white girls. To this I sent back a reply that we
would remain in the camp we then occupied until the following day,
when, if a favorable answer should not have been received, we would
follow on their trail and encamp nearer to the village, the great
distance then separating us, about twelve miles, being a hindrance in
the way of transmitting messages promptly from one to the other.
I knew that the village was in no condition for a rapid or extended
flight, and could be overhauled by the cavalry whenever desired; at
the same time, to allow as much freedom in their deliberations as
possible, I had not been unwilling that a few miles should separate us.
No reply was received; consequently we packed up and marched down the
Sweetwater, on the trail of the village, about ten miles, and went into
camp. Here I received another visit from the chief who had previously
acted as diplomatic courier between the camp and village, but the
response of the Cheyennes was still unsatisfactory, and exhibited a
disinclination on their part to make any decided promises respecting
the release of the captive white girls. They insisted as preliminary
to such decision that the three chiefs held by us should be restored
to liberty, after which we might discuss the question relating to the
release of the girls.
I will not weary the reader by describing the various subterfuges
resorted to by the Indians, by which they strove to avoid or delay the
surrender of the white girls without first, as had been customary,
receiving a ransom. Finally, after I had almost exhausted the patience
of the troops, particularly of the Kansas regiment which had been
raised and organized mainly to effect the recapture of the white
girls, or else avenge the outrage of which they had been the victims,
I determined to force matters to an issue without further quibbling on
the part of the Indians.
I sent for a delegation of chiefs from the Cheyenne village to receive
my ultimatum. They came, and upon their arrival I assembled them in my
tent, the three captured chiefs being also permitted to be present, as
the conference, as will be seen, was to be of deep interest to them.
After recounting to the chiefs the incidents of our pursuit of the
village, their surprise at being overtaken, the stratagems by which
they hoped to elude us, the steps we had already taken to obtain the
release of the white girls, and the delays interposed by the Indians,
I stated that I had but one other message to send to the village; and
upon the chiefs of the latter would rest the responsibility of peace
or war. Further delay would not be submitted to on our part. We knew
they had two of our race captives in the village, and we were there to
demand and enforce the demand for their release, cost what it might.
I then informed them that if by sunset the following day the two
white girls were not restored to our hands unharmed, the lives of the
three chiefs would be forfeited, and the troops would resume active
hostilities. At the same time I called attention to the fact that in
the famished condition of their ponies they could not expect to escape
the pursuit of the cavalry. Every argument which might have weight in
influencing a favorable decision was stated to them. The conference
then broke up, and the three chiefs were remanded to the custody of
the guard. The delegation from the village, after a brief interview
with their captive comrades, took a hasty departure, and set out upon
their return to the village, deeply impressed, apparently, with the
importance of promptness in communicating to the chiefs at the village
the decision which had been arrived at regarding the captives.
The terms given to the Indians soon became known to every individual in
the command, and naturally excited the deepest interest. All hoped for
a favorable issue, but no one regarded the events then transpiring with
the intense interest and anxiety felt by young Brewster, who now saw
that his long-cherished hope to recover his sister was either about to
be realized, or forever sealed in disappointment.
The captive chiefs did not pretend to conceal their solicitude as
to the part they were involuntarily made to play in the events then
transpiring. I did not expect prompt action on the part of the chiefs
in the village. I knew they would practise every delay conceivable
before complying with our demands; but when the question was forced
upon them as to whether they preferred to deliver up the white girls
to us or to force by their refusal the execution of the three chiefs,
their decision would be in favor of their people.
Three o’clock arrived, and no tidings from the village. By this time
the officers and men of the command had assembled near headquarters,
and upon the small eminences near by, eagerly watching the horizon
in the direction of the village, to catch the first glimpse of the
messengers who must soon arrive to avert the execution of the three
chiefs. Even the three chiefs became despondent as the sun slowly but
surely approached the horizon, and no tidings from the village reached
them. Finally Romeo came to me and stated that the three chiefs desired
to see me. I repaired to their place of confinement at once, and was
asked by the younger of the three if it was my firm purpose to make
good my words in the event of the failure of their people to release
the white girls. I replied in the affirmative. The chief then attempted
a little Indian diplomacy, by assuring me that in the village and among
his own people he was a man of great consequence, and could exert a
wide influence; for this reason he requested me to release him, and he
would hasten to the village, obtain the release of the two girls, and
return in time to save his two companions.
When this proposition was first made I attributed it to fear that
the chiefs in the village might decline to restore the two girls to
liberty, and the lives of the three chiefs would be sacrificed thereby;
but subsequent events proved that while this consideration may have
had its influence, the principal motive which prompted the proposition
was a desire to escape from our hands before the white girls should
be restored to us, as the chief referred to had been a party to their
capture and to the subsequent ill treatment they had received.
I replied to his proposal, that if he was of such importance in his
tribe as he claimed to be, he was the most proper person for me to
retain possession of, as his people would be more likely to accede to
my demands to save his life than that of a person of less consequence.
The sun was perhaps an hour high when the dim outlines of about twenty
mounted figures were discerned against the horizon, on a high hill,
two or three miles to the west of us. Instantly all eyes were directed
to the party, but the distance was too great to enable any of us to
clearly define either the number or character of the group. The eyes of
the three chiefs perceptibly brightened with hope. Securing my field
glass, I carefully scanned the party on the hill. Every one about me
waited in anxious suspense the result of my examination. Gradually,
under the magnifying powers of the glass, I was able to make out the
figures in sight. I could only determine at first that the group was,
as might be imagined, composed of Indians, and began counting them
audibly, when I discovered two figures mounted upon the same pony.
As soon as this was announced several of my companions at once
exclaimed, “Can they be the girls?” I could detect nothing, however, in
their appearance warranting such a conclusion, their dress apparently
being the same as that of the other individuals of the group. While
endeavoring to make out something more definite in regard to the party,
I saw the two figures descend from the pony, and, leaving the rest
of the group, advance toward us on foot. All this I reported to the
anxious bystanders, who became now more than ever convinced that the
two figures approaching must be the two girls. I began describing the
appearance of the two as well as I could, with the aid of the glass:
“One seems to have a short, heavy figure; the other is considerably
taller and more slender.” Young Brewster, who stood at my side,
immediately responded, “The last one must be my sister; she is quite
tall. Let me go and meet them; this anxiety is more than I can endure.”
But this I declined, fearing that should one of the two now approaching
us prove to be his sister, seeing her in the forlorn condition in
which she must be might provoke young Brewster beyond control, and
induce him to attempt to obtain revenge in a manner not governed by
either prudence or propriety. So I reluctantly declined to permit him
to advance beyond our lines. But by this time the two figures had
approached near enough to enable me clearly to determine that they were
really of white complexion, and undoubtedly the two girls whose release
we were so impatiently waiting for.
As the Kansas volunteers had left their homes and various occupations
in civil life to accomplish, among other results, the release of the
two girls who had been abducted from the frontier of their State, I
deemed it appropriate that that regiment should be the first to welcome
the two released captives to friends and freedom. Accordingly the three
senior officers of the regiment were designated to proceed beyond our
lines and conduct the two girls to camp--a duty whose performance
carried its pleasure with it. The three officers advanced to meet
the two figures (I use the term figures, as the dress was of that
nondescript pattern which renders this term most appropriate). They had
passed one fourth of the distance, perhaps, when young Brewster, whom
I had detained at my side with difficulty, bounded away, and the next
moment was running at full speed to greet his long-lost sister. Dashing
past the three officers, he clasped in his arms the taller of the two
girls. This told us all we had hoped for. We awaited their approach,
and as they drew near to the little brook which flowed just beyond the
point occupied by the group of officers around me, I stepped forward,
and extending my hands to the two girls, bade them a hearty welcome to
liberty. In a moment officers and men were struggling about them upon
all sides, eager to take them by the hand, and testify the great joy
felt at their deliverance from a life of captivity.
Men whom I have seen face death without quailing found their eyes
filled with tears, unable to restrain the deep emotion produced by this
joyful event. The appearance of the two girls was sufficient to excite
our deepest sympathy. Miss White, the younger of the two, though not
beautiful, possessed a most interesting face. Her companion would have
been pronounced beautiful by the most critical judge, being of such a
type as one might imagine Maud Müller to be.
Their joy at their deliverance, however, could not hide the evidences
of privation and suffering to which they had been subjected by their
cruel captors. They were clothed in dresses made from flour sacks, the
brand of the mills being plainly seen on each dress; showing that the
Indians who had held them in captivity had obtained their provisions
from the Government at some agency. The entire dress of the two girls
was as nearly like the Indian mode as possible; both wore leggings
and moccasins; both wore their hair in two long braids, and as if to
propitiate us, the Indians, before releasing them, had added to the
wardrobe of the two girls various rude ornaments, such as are worn by
squaws. About their wrists they wore coils of brass wire; on their
fingers had been placed numerous rings, and about their necks strings
of variously colored beads. Almost the first remark I heard young
Brewster make after the arrival of the two girls was, “Sister, do take
those hateful things off.”
Fortunately they were not the only white women in camp. I had a
white woman as cook, and to enable the two girls to improve their
wardrobe a little before relating to us the history of their capture
and captivity, they were conducted to the tent of the white woman
referred to, from whose limited wardrobe they were able to obtain
enough to replace the dresses made of flour sacks, and in a few minutes
reappeared presenting a much more civilized appearance than when they
first entered camp.
In a previous chapter I have given the main incidents of their capture.
The story of their captivity was that of hundreds of other women and
girls whose husbands, fathers, or brothers take their lives in their
hands and seek homes on the frontier. There was much in their story not
appropriate for these pages. They described how great their joy was at
encountering each other for the first time as prisoners in the hands
of the Indians. They had been traded repeatedly from the hands of one
chief to those of another, the last transfer having been effected only
two weeks prior to their release. Soon after their first meeting, it
was their good fortune, comparatively, to become the property of one
chief. This threw them into each other’s society, and tended to lighten
the horrors of their captivity. While thrown together in this manner,
they planned an escape. Their plan, it seems, was more the result of
desperation than of careful deliberation, as they had no idea as to
what state or territory the village was then in, nor in what direction
to travel should they escape from the village. Indeed, one of their
first questions on entering our lines was to ask in what part of the
country we were.
Determining at all hazards, however, to flee from their captors at the
first opportunity, and trust to chance to lead them to the settlements
or to some military post, they escaped from the village one night and
travelled for several hours in a northerly direction. During this
attempt to regain their liberty, they reached a wagon road, over
which wagons and horses had passed recently, and were congratulating
themselves upon the success of their effort, when a bullet whistled
past them, and in close proximity to them. Casting an anxious look,
they saw, to their horror and disappointment, their late captor or
owner riding at full speed in pursuit. Escape was impossible. Nothing
remained but to await the arrival of the chief, who came up excited
with savage rage at the idea of their attempt to escape him. Marching
back on foot to the village, they became the recipients of renewed
insults and taunts. Nor did it end here. The squaws of the village,
always jealous of white women when captives, took this opportunity to
treat them with the greatest severity for their attempt to regain their
liberty. The old chief, also, decided upon a change of programme. He
had invested several ponies when he became the possessor of the two
girls, and he did not propose to risk the loss of this property. So he
determined to separate the two girls by selling one of them; and the
two friends in misfortune were torn from each other. Miss White, in
consideration of three ponies given in exchange, passed into the hands
of another chief, whose lodge was generally located some miles from
that of her late master.
The story of the two girls, containing accounts of wrongs and ill
treatment sufficient to have ended the existence of less determined
persons, is too long to be given here. Besides indignities and insults
far more terrible than death itself, the physical suffering to which
the two girls were subjected was too great almost to be believed. They
were required to transport huge burdens on their backs, large enough
to have made a load for a beast of burden. They were limited to barely
enough food to sustain life; sometimes a small morsel of mule meat, not
more than an inch square, was their allowance of food for twenty-four
hours. The squaws beat them unmercifully with clubs whenever the men
were not present. Upon one occasion one of the girls was felled to the
ground by a blow from a club in the hands of one of the squaws. Their
joy therefore at regaining their freedom after a captivity of nearly a
year can be better imagined than described; while that of the brother
who had struggled so long and determinedly to regain his sister could
not be expressed in words.
After the momentary excitement consequent upon the safe arrival of
the girls in camp had subsided, officers, particularly of the Kansas
volunteers, came to me with the remark that when we first overtook the
Cheyenne village and I failed to order an attack when all the chances
were in our favor, they mentally condemned my decision as a mistake;
but with the results accomplished afterwards they found ample reason to
amend their first judgment, and frankly and cordially admit that the
release of the two captives was far more gratifying than any victory
over the Indians could have been if purchased by the sacrifice of their
lives.
With this happy termination of this much of our negotiations with the
Indians, I determined to march in the morning for Camp Supply, Indian
Territory, satisfied that with the three chiefs in our possession, and
the squaws and children captured at the Washita still held as prisoners
at Fort Hays, Kansas, we could compel the Cheyennes to abandon the war
path and return to their reservation. The three chiefs begged to be
released, upon the ground that their people had delivered up the two
girls; but this I told them was but one of the two conditions imposed;
the other required the tribe to return to their reservation, and until
this was done they need not hope for freedom; but in the mean while I
assured them of kind treatment at our hands.
Before dark a delegation of chiefs from the village visited camp to
likewise urge the release of the three chiefs. My reply to them was the
same as that I had given to the captives. I assured them, however, that
upon complying with their treaty obligations, and returning to their
reservation, the three chiefs would be restored to their people, and
we would return to them also the women and children captured at the
Washita. Seeing that no modification of these terms could be obtained,
they finally promised to accede to them, saying that their ponies, as
I knew to be the fact, were in no condition to travel, but as soon as
practicable they would surely proceed with their entire village to Camp
Supply, and abandon the war path forever; a promise which, as a tribe,
they have adhered to, from that day to this, with strict faith, so far
as my knowledge extends.
I had not heard from General Sheridan since we separated at Fort
Sill; he to set out for Camp Supply, and I with my command to begin
my present movement. But when near Camp Supply a courier met me with
despatches from General Sheridan--who had been meanwhile summoned to
Washington--informing me in regard to the arrangements made for my
command upon its arrival at Camp Supply. The Kansas volunteers were
to march to Fort Hays, and there be mustered out of the service. The
Seventh Cavalry was also to proceed to the same point, and there await
further orders, as the General in his note stated that he had concluded
to draw in the Seventh, and end the campaign.
In reply to my letter, written subsequently from Camp Supply, giving
him a detailed account of our operations, including the release of
the two white girls, I received a letter of warm encouragement from
the General, written from Chicago, where he had just established his
present headquarters. In that letter he wrote: “I am very much rejoiced
at the success of your expedition, and feel proud of our winter’s
operations and of the officers and men who have borne its privations
and hardships so manfully.... Give my kind regards to the officers, and
say how happy I should be to see them should any of them come this way
on leave.” These words of hearty sympathy and approval, from one who
had not only shared but appreciated at their true worth our “privations
and hardships,” were far more cheering and valued than the empty honor
contained in half a dozen brevets bestowed grudgingly, and recalled in
a moment of pique.
Making a brief halt at Camp Supply to rest our animals and replenish
our stores, my command continued its march to Fort Hays, crossing the
Arkansas river at Fort Dodge, Kansas. Upon our arrival at Fort Hays we
were met by the husband of young Brewster’s sister, who had learned
of her restoration to liberty from the published despatches which had
preceded us to Fort Hays. He was still lame from the effects of the
bullet wound received at the time the Indians carried off his bride,
whom he had given up as dead or lost to him forever. The joy of their
meeting went far to smooth over their late sorrow. They could not find
language to express their gratitude to the troops for their efforts
in restoring them to each other. As the Indians had robbed them of
everything at the time of the attack, a collection was taken up among
the troops for their benefit, which resulted in the accumulation of
several hundred dollars, to be divided between the two captives. The
time came for our guests to leave us, and rejoin their people, or
such of them as had survived the attack of the Indians. Good-bys were
spoken, and the two girls, so lately victims of the most heartless and
cruel captivity, departed, with husband, brother, and friends, for
their frontier homes, bearing with them the warm sympathies and cordial
good wishes of every soldier in the command.
Mo-nah-see-tah was anxious to visit her friends who were now captives
at Fort Hays, and who were kept in a large stockade at the post, our
camp being placed some two or three miles below the post. Accordingly
she repaired to the stockade, and spent several hours, relating, no
doubt, the story of our march since they had separated from each other.
She preferred to live in the cavalry camp, where she was allowed to
roam without the restraint of a guard; but it was deemed advisable
soon after to place her with the other women and children inside the
stockade. The three captive chiefs were also transferred to the same
place for safe keeping. Here a most unfortunate misunderstanding arose.
The chiefs had been confined inside the same enclosure with the women
and children, but in separate tents. The commanding officer of the
post decided to remove them to rooms in the guard-house, adjoining
the stockade. This was decided upon as a measure of security. There
was no interpreter kept at the post; consequently there was no way of
communicating with the Indians except by rude signs, and even this
method was but indifferently understood by the infantry soldiers
constituting the garrison of the post. From accounts given me by the
Indians afterwards, it seems the men of the guard, in the execution of
the order to transfer the three chiefs, entered the stockade muskets
in hand, and upon the failure of the chiefs to comprehend what was
required of them, the soldiers attempted to push the chiefs from the
stockade by force, pointing with their bayonets to the outside. The
chiefs, failing to understand a word spoken to them, and with the
natural suspicion of their race, imagined that they were being led or
driven forth to execution, and determined to die there and then. An
attack was at once made upon the guard with knives which they carried
beneath their blankets. The sergeant of the guard received a stab
in the back which almost proved mortal. This was the signal for a
determined fight between the three chiefs and the guard, the latter
having the decided advantage in numbers and weapons. The result could
not be long doubtful. One of the chiefs, Big Head, the young man who
had proposed to proceed to the village and obtain the release of the
two white girls, fell dead at the first fire of the guard. The oldest
of the three, Dull Knife, received a bayonet wound through the body
which proved fatal in a few days. The third, Fat Bear, was felled by a
blow from the butt of a musket, but did not receive serious injury.
Knowing that I could converse with the Indians, and from my
acquaintance with them might be able to quiet the excitement among the
remaining prisoners, the commanding officer of the post sent to me
for assistance. Upon repairing to the stockade, I found the women and
children in a state of great excitement and huddled together inside
their tents. Entering the stockade, I soon learned their version
of the affair, which did not vary materially from that just given.
Mo-nah-see-tah pointed to a bullet-hole in her blanket, the effect of
a stray shot fired during the mêlée. The affair was a source of deep
regret to all.
The Cheyennes, in accordance with their promise made to me, returned
to their reservation; and having thus far complied with the terms of
the agreement then made, it devolved upon the military authorities to
return to them their people whom we had, up to that time and since
the battle of the Washita, retained as prisoners of war. An order was
accordingly issued releasing the only surviving chief, Fat Bear, and
the women and children then held at Fort Hays. Wagons and subsistence
were furnished them from Fort Hays to Camp Supply, and a squadron of
the Seventh Cavalry escorted them to the latter point, where they were
received by their own people. Mo-nah-see-tah, although gladdened by the
prospect of being restored to her people, exhibited marked feelings of
regret when the time for her departure arrived. She had grown quite
accustomed to the easy, idle life she had led among the troops, as
compared with that mere existence of toil and drudgery to which all
tribes of Indians consign their squaws.
Romeo, who had accompanied us throughout the events described in these
pages as interpreter, took unto himself a wife from the Cheyenne
village, and thereafter became a sort of trader between the whites
and Indians. I believe he is still acting in that capacity. Lone Wolf
is still the leading chief of the Kiowas; but if public and private
advices are to be relied upon, he has acted with extremely bad faith
toward the Government, and even as these lines are being penned is
reported as absent from his reservation, leading a war party of
his people in committing depredations upon the people of the Texas
frontier. Satanta, since his release from the Texas State prison, has
led a comparatively quiet and uneventful life. How much of this is
due to his incarceration in prison for a short term of years can only
be inferred. Little Raven continues to exercise the powers of head
chief of the Arapahoes, although he is too old and infirm to exercise
active command. My former friend and companion, Yellow Bear, is the
second chief in rank to Little Raven, and probably will succeed to
the dignities of the latter ere many years have rolled around. Little
Robe, of the Cheyennes, whose acts and words were always on the side of
peace, died some three years ago.
A few words in regard to one other character with whom the reader of
these sketches has been made acquainted, and I shall have disposed
of the principal personages, not included in the military, whom the
reader has encountered from time to time. California Joe accompanied
my command to Fort Hays, Kansas, on the Kansas Pacific railroad, when
the troops were partially disbanded and sent to different stations.
California Joe had never seen a railroad nor a locomotive, and here
determined to improve his first opportunity in these respects, and to
take a trip in the cars to Leavenworth, distant about four hundred
miles. A few days afterward an officer of my command, happening to be
called to Leavenworth, thought he recognized a familiar form and face
in front of the leading hotel of the city. A closer scrutiny showed
that the party recognized was none other than California Joe. But how
changed! Under the manipulations of the barber, and through the aid
of the proprietor of a gentleman’s furnishing store, the long, curly
locks and beard of California Joe, both of which had avoided contact
with comb, brush, or razor for many years, had undergone a complete
metamorphosis. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and combed, while
his figure, a very commanding one, had discarded the rough suit of the
frontiersman, and was now adorned by the latest efforts of fashion. If
the reader imagines, however, that these changes were in keeping with
the taste of California Joe, the impression is wholly incorrect. He had
effected them simply for a sensation. The following day he took the
cars for the West, satisfied with the faint glimpse of civilization he
had had.
As I soon after left that portion of the plains in which these scenes
are laid, I saw no more of California Joe; but I often wondered what
had become of my loquacious friend, whose droll sayings and quaint
remarks had often served to relieve the tedium of the march or to
enliven the group about the camp-fire. I had begun, after a few years
had passed without trace or tidings from Joe, to fear that he had
perhaps gone to that happy hunting ground to which he no doubt had sent
more than one dusky enemy, when a few weeks ago I was most agreeably
surprised to receive indubitable evidence that California Joe was still
in the land of the living, but exactly where I could not determine,
as his letter was simply dated “Sierre Nevade Mountains, California.”
Now as this range of mountains extends through the entire length and
embraces a considerable portion of the State of California, Joe’s
address could not be definitely determined. But as his letter is so
characteristic of the man, I here introduce it as the valedictory of
California Joe:
SIERRE NEVADE MOUNTAINS, CALEFORNIA, March 16, 1874.
Dear General after my respets to you and Lady i thought that i
tell you that i am still on top of land yit i hev been in the
rockey mountain the most of the time sence last I seen you but i
got on the railroad and started west and the first thing I knew I
landed in san Francisco so I could not go any further except goin
by water and salt water at that so i turned back and headed for
the mountains once more resolved never to go railroading no more i
drifted up with the tide to sacramento city and i landed my boat so
i took up through town they say thar is 20 thousand people living
thar but it looks to me like to be 100 thousand counting chinaman
and all i cant describe my wolfish feeling but i think that i look
just like i did when we was chasing Buffalo on the cimarone so I
struck up through town and i come to a large fine building crowded
with people so bulged in to see what was going on and when i got in
to the counsil house i took a look around at the crowd and i seen
the most of them had bald heads so i thought to myself i struck it
now that they are indian peace commissioners so i look to see if
i would know any of them but not one so after while the smartess
lookin one got up and said gentlemen i introduce a bill to have
speckle mountain trout and fish eggs imported to california to
be put in the american Bear and yuba rivers--those rivers is so
muddy that a tadpole could not live in them caused by mining--did
any body ever hear of speckle trout living in muddy water and the
next thing was the game law and that was very near as bad as the
Fish for they aint no game in the country as big as mawking bird i
heard some fellow behind me ask how long is the legislaturs been in
session then i dropt on myself it wuzent Indian commissioners after
all so i slid out took across to chinatown and they smelt like a
kiowa camp in August with plenty buffalo meat around--it was gettin
late so no place to go not got a red cent so i happen to think of
an old friend back of town that i knowed 25 years ago so i lit out
and sure enough he was thar just as i left him 25 years ago baching
[leading the life of bachelor--G. A. C.] so i got a few seads i
going to plant in a few days give my respects to the 7th calvery
and except the same yoursly
CALIFORNIA JOE.
The events described in this chapter terminated my service in the field
on what is known as the southern and middle plains, embracing all
that portion of the plains south of the Platte river. From and after
the Washita campaign the frontiers of Kansas have enjoyed comparative
peace and immunity from Indian depredations. No general Indian war has
prevailed in that part of the country, nor is it probable that anything
more serious in this way than occasional acts of horse-stealing will
occur hereafter. Many of my friends have expressed surprise that I have
not included in “Life on the Plains” some of the hunting scenes and
adventures which have formed a part of my experience; but I feared the
introduction of this new feature, although probably the pleasantest and
in many respects most interesting of my recollections of border life,
might prolong the series of articles far beyond the length originally
assigned to them. I hope, however, at an early day to relate some of my
experiences with the large game so abundant on the plains, and in this
way fill up a blank in these articles which my friends who are lovers
of sport have not failed to observe.
As I pen these lines, I am in the midst of scenes of bustle and busy
preparation attendant upon the organization and equipment of a large
party for an important exploring expedition, on which I shall start
before these pages reach the publishers’ hands. During my absence I
expect to visit a region of country as yet unseen by human eyes, except
those of the Indian--a country described by the latter as abounding in
game of all varieties, rich in scientific interest, and of surpassing
beauty in natural scenery. Bidding adieu to civilization for the next
few months, I also now take leave of my readers, who I trust, in
accompanying me through my retrospect, have been enabled to gain a true
insight into a cavalryman’s “Life on the Plains.”
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed. Spelling variations in dialect were retained.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.
Text often refers to “Major Elliot” and “Major Elliott.” Both spellings
retained here.
Page 87: One entry in the table is not in chronological sequence.
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