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Indian Fights & Fighters

THE LAST OF CUSTER
Drawing by E. L. Blumenschein

AMERICAN FIGHTS AND FIGHTERS SERIES

Indian Fights and Fighters
THE SOLDIER AND THE SIOUX

BY

CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, LL.D.

Author of “Colonial,” “Border,” and “Revolutionary” Fights and Fighters

Illustrated with Original Drawings by Remington, Schreyvogel, Blumenschein, Crawford, Elwell, Deming, and Zogbaum

With Maps, Photographs, and Sketches from Life from Original Sources, many of which are now published for the first time

NEW YORK

THE McCLURE COMPANY

MCMVIII

Copyright, 1904, by

McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.

Published, December, 1904, N

Second Impression.

Copyright, 1904, by The Pearson Publishing Company

To that most eminent and useful

CHURCHMAN AND CITIZEN

OZI WILLIAM WHITAKER, D.D., LL.D.

Bishop of Pennsylvania

Whom I admire as a CLERIC, respect as a MAN, and love as a FRIEND

I dedicate

This Story of the West

He served so well

PREFACE

The writing of history requires three operations: (I) The collection of facts; (II) The classification and arrangement of facts; (III) The presentation and discussion of facts. I have collected the facts related in this book from every source open to me. These sources may be divided into two groups: (1) Published and (2) unpublished, matter. The published matter includes (a) official records; (b) books, and (c) magazine or other ephemeral articles. The unpublished matter includes (a) letters and (b) verbal communications.

I have made use of all these sources of information in gathering the facts. A list of some of the printed authorities consulted follows this preface. In addition thereto, I beg to acknowledge written communications from the following American Army officers, all now on the retired list except Colonels Godfrey and Brainard and Captain Livermore:—Lieutenant-General Nelson A. Miles; Major-General Robert P. Hughes; Brigadier-Generals Henry B. Carrington, George A. Forsyth, Louis H. Carpenter, Anson Mills, Charles A. Woodruff and Theo. F. Rodenbough; Colonel Edward E. S. Godfrey, commanding the Ninth Cavalry; Colonel David L. Brainard, Commissary of Subsistence; Lieutenant-Colonel Samuel M. Horton; Captains Henry R. Lemly, Francis M. Gibson, Nathan S. Jarvis, George E. Albee and R. L. Livermore, Tenth Cavalry; and the following civilians: President E. Benjamin Andrews; Doctors T. E. Oertel and D. D. Thompson; Messrs. W. Kent Thomas, Sigmund Schlesinger, Edward Esmonde, Phineas Towne, W. R. E. Collins, Hugh M. Johnson, Herbert Myrick, R. J. Smyth, William E. Morris, Nicholas E. Boyd, Theo. W. Goldin and Arthur Chapman; Mrs. Guy V. Henry and Mrs. James Powell.

In addition to these letters I have gathered much information in conversation with officers and others, not only recently but during many years spent in the West, where I was a frequent guest at army posts, in frontier towns, and at some of the Indian reservations. I knew many of the participants in the stirring incidents and heard the fascinating stories from their own lips.

The chapters of the Fort Phil Kearney series have been read and corrected as to matters of fact by General Carrington and Colonel Horton; those referring to the defense of Beecher’s Island, by General Forsyth; those describing the relief of Forsyth and the fight on the Beaver, by General Carpenter; those relating to the Little Big Horn campaign, by General Woodruff and Colonel Godfrey, and the account of the affair at Slim Buttes and the death of American Horse, by General Mills. All of these gentlemen gave me interesting details, anecdotes, etc., besides answering all my inquiries. Several of them put their private papers at my disposal. To Colonel Godfrey I am especially indebted for much interesting matter on the Little Big Horn campaign, and to Captain Gibson for the use of his unprinted account of the Battle of the Washita. The Office of the Secretary of War has been most kind in answering questions and furnishing information not otherwise procurable. Mr. W. H. Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution, has decided all questions as to the proper spelling of Indian names,[^[1]] and has given me the Indian equivalents of the names of prominent chiefs, as Crazy Horse, Sitting Bull, etc.

Several of the papers following are original contributions especially prepared for this book. The authors of these papers are indicated hereafter. For all expressions of opinion, for all comments, notes and inferences, not specifically attributed to somebody else, I alone am responsible.

To all who have aided me to make this series authoritative and definitive, my most grateful thanks are hereby heartily expressed.

I trust that in thus striving to preserve the records of those stirring times I have done history and posterity a service. The majority of those who fought on the plains have passed away. Many of the surviving participants in the adventures described are growing old. In a short time it would have been impossible to have secured the information here presented unless some one else had gone about it as I have.

With intervals devoted to other duties, I have been over a year and a half engaged in this congenial task. I have written literally hundreds of letters, to learn, or to verify, a fact, an incident, or a conclusion. It is interesting to call attention to the fact that information has been freely and generously given to me from every source whence I have asked it save three, one of which is noted in the appendix.

The series of historical books of which this forms the fourth seems to have won a permanent place for itself. The number of copies which found a welcome last year was greater than the number of the year before, although there was no new volume issued last fall to call renewed attention to the series. These books are generally spoken of by the title of the first published, “American Fights and Fighters.” It has been deemed proper, therefore, to adopt that name, which is sufficiently explicit and descriptive, as the generic name of the series. Hereafter all the books that have appeared, and those that are yet to appear in this series, will bear that general name, with the addition of a distinctive subtitle in each instance. The covers of the earlier books, accordingly, have been changed to read as follows:

• 1. American Fights and Fighters, Colonial.
• 2. American Fights and Fighters, Revolutionary—1812.
• 3. American Fights and Fighters, Border.

As I have stated, it is my hope to continue this series of books until I have covered all the wars that have been fought upon the American Continent since Columbus’s day.

So far as the American people are concerned—save in the case of the Mexican War—their struggles have generally been to establish a broader, nobler conception of human freedom. I would not have any one gather from this that our dealings with the Indian invariably have been characterized by that honesty and honor which should be at the base of every national undertaking—far from it! In this book, without growing sentimental, I have endeavored to be fair to the Indians; as in previous books, I have tried to deal justly by any and every enemy.[^[2]] To be honest and to be fair—these things are of prime importance in writing history and in living life.

I am now at work on two other volumes, a book on “South American Fights and Fighters” and a second volume of “Indian Fights and Fighters.” In this proposed Indian book I shall take up the further struggles of the United States with the Indians of the Northwest, notably Chief Joseph’s splendid migration with his Nez-Percés, the dash of the Cheyennes for freedom, Captain Jack and the Modoc War, the Ute War, the last outbreak of the Sioux, and various other affairs in the Northwest. Thereafter I contemplate a third book dealing with Arizona and the Apache.

I take this opportunity of asking every individual, soldier or civilian, who participated in any of these campaigns or battles, who has any material bearing upon them, and who is willing to allow me to look over it, kindly to send it to me in care of the publishers of this book, as soon as possible, as I expect to issue the next volume of the series next fall. Any such material will be carefully preserved and returned by express in good order, and due credit—also a copy of the book!—will be given for any which may be of use to me in the next book, as in this one.

It is getting late, as I said, to write the history of some of these things, and I am actuated by an earnest desire to preserve the records before it is too late. Who will help me? Since I began writing history I have learned to disregard no authority, however humble, and to neglect no source of information, however obscure it may appear to a casual inspection. Therefore send me what you have or can prepare, and allow me to judge of its value.

American people are usually more familiar with the story of other peoples than with their own history. How often have I heard the charge made that there is nothing romantic or interesting in American history. I do not see how any one could read even the chapter headings of a book like this and say a thing like that. Where are there more splendid stories of dauntless heroism, of subtle strategy, of brilliant tactics, of fierce fighting, than are contained in these pages? I may have told them indifferently and may be the subject of just criticism therefor, but the stories at least are there. They speak for themselves. I could not spoil them if I tried. The facts ring like a trumpet-call to American manhood, be it white, or red, or black.

Cyrus Townsend Brady.

Brooklyn, N. Y.,

August 1, 1904.

[1]. Almost every author has a different way of spelling the names of the sub-tribes of the Siouan family.

[2]. For instance:—Every time a body of troops engages in a fight with Indians and the troops are outnumbered, or caught at a disadvantage, and the battle is continued until the troops are slaughtered, such an affair is popularly called a “massacre”; as “The Fetterman Massacre,” “The Custer Massacre.” I believe this to be an unwarranted use of the term. Fetterman and Custer attacked the Indians and fought desperately until they and their men were all killed. I call that a “battle” not a “massacre.” When an Indian war party raided a settlement or overwhelmed a train, or murdered children and women, that, I think, was a “massacre”; but these two instances were not. Consequently, I have carefully refrained from making use of that term in this book, except where it is justifiable. The reader may not agree with me in this position, but I would like to ask if any one ever heard of the “Massacre of Thermopylæ”? The Greeks fought there until all, save one, were killed. The results there were exactly those of the Fetterman affair and the battle of the Little Big Horn, but I have yet to read in history that the Persians “massacred” the Greeks in that famous pass. What is sauce for the Persians is sauce for the Red Men as well.

PREFACE

It will be noticed that this book differs from others of the American Fights and Fighters Series, and especially its immediate predecessor, “Indian Fights and Fighters,” in that I am not the author of all or most of it. In response to a request for contributions from participants in the Modoc and Nez Percé wars, numerous papers were submitted, all of such high value, not only from an historic but from a literary point of view as well, that I had not the presumption to rewrite them myself—not even the proverbial assurance of the historian would warrant that.

Therefore, I have contented myself with writing a general and comprehensive account of each of the two wars considered, leaving to the actors themselves the telling in full of the detailed story of the splendid achievements in which they were making history. I can affirm, therefore, that never before has there been included in a single volume such a remarkable and interesting collection of personal experiences in our Indian Wars as in this book.

And as I admire the doers of the deeds so, also, do I admire the tellers of the tales. Their modesty, their restraint, their habit of relating adventures which stir the blood and thrill the soul as a mere matter of course,—“all in the day’s work”—enkindles my enthusiasm. And how graphically these old soldiers wield their pens! What good story tellers they are!

And what different sorts and conditions of men are here represented! Major-generals and scouts, captains and sergeants, frontiersmen and troopers, soldiers and civilians, to say nothing of an Indian chief and a bishop, have all said their say in their own way. The reader will be glad, I know, that I have permitted these men, like Paul, to speak for themselves.

The whole book constitutes a trumpet call to American manhood, and honor, and courage, and that I believe to be true of the whole series.

The Army of the United States is sometimes slandered. A case in point is now in mind. The chief official of a city of no little prominence, who is also an author and a publicist of national repute, has recently put forth a bitter diatribe against our soldiers. Such a book as this refutes these unfounded accusations. The Army is not perfect—neither is the Church!—but not only man for man, but also as an organization it is the equal of any, and the superior of most, of the armies of the world! And I am sure that no one can get a much better training for the battle of life that he gets in the peace loving, hard working, honor seeking, duty following, never failing, hard fighting service of the United States—on sea or shore. I have been in both, worn the Army and also the Navy blue, and I know. We all deprecate the necessity for armies, but if we must have them, let us thank God for an army like that of our beloved country. I am glad to express this my deliberate and matured conviction, begot of much study, wide observation, and ripe experience.

Cyrus Townsend Brady.

Lake Winnipesaukee, Centre Harbor,

New Hampshire, July, 1907.

CONTENTS

❦

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

❦

DRAWINGS

PHOTOGRAPHS

MAPS AND PLANS

❦

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Part I
Protecting the Frontier

CHAPTER ONE
The Powder River Expedition

I. The Field and the Fighters

Since the United States began to be there never was such a post as Fort Philip Kearney, commonly called Fort Phil Kearney.[^[3]] From its establishment, in 1866, to its abandonment, some two years later, it was practically in a state of siege. I do not mean that it was beleaguered by the Indians in any formal, persistent investment, but it was so constantly and so closely observed by war parties, hidden in the adjacent woods and the mountain passes, that there was little safety outside its stockade for anything less than a company of infantry or a troop of cavalry; and not always, as we shall see, for those.

Rarely in the history of the Indian wars of the United States have the Indians, no matter how preponderant in force, conducted a regular siege, Pontiac’s investment of Detroit being almost unique in that particular. But they literally surrounded Fort Phil Kearney at all times. Nothing escaped their observation, and no opportunity to harass and to cut off detached parties of the garrison, to stampede the herds, or to attack the wagon trains, was allowed to pass by. Not a stick of timber could be cut, not an acre of grass mowed, except under heavy guard. Herds of beef cattle, the horses for the cavalry and mounted infantry, the mules for the supply wagons, could not graze, even under the walls of the fort, without protection. The country teemed with game. Hunting parties were absolutely forbidden. To take a stroll outside the stockade on a summer evening was to invite death, or worse if the stroller happened to be a woman. There was no certainty about the attacks, except an assurance that one was always due at any given moment. As old James Bridger, a veteran plainsman and fur trader, a scout whose fame is scarcely less than that of Kit Carson, and the confidential companion adviser of Carrington in 1866, was wont to say to him: “Whar you don’t see no Injuns thar they’re sartin to be thickest.”

Taking at random two average months in the two different years during which the post was maintained, one in the summer, another in the fall, I find that there were fifteen separate and distinct attacks in one and twenty in the other. In many of these, in most, in fact, one or more men were killed and a greater number wounded. Not a wagon train bound for Montana could pass up the Bozeman trail, which ran under the walls of the fort, and for the protection of which it had been established, without being attacked again and again. Only the most watchful prudence, the most skilful management, and the most determined valor, prevented the annihilation of successive parties of emigrants seeking the new and inviting land.

The war with the Indians was about the ownership of territory, as most of our Indian wars have been. Indeed, that statement is true of most of the wars of the world. The strong have ever sought to take from the weak. The westward-moving tide of civilization had at last pressed back from the Missouri and the Mississippi the Sioux and their allies, the Cheyennes, the largest and most famous of the several great groups of Indians who have disputed the advance of the white man since the days of Columbus, saving perhaps the Creeks and the Iroquois.

The vast expanse of territory west of the hundredth meridian, extending from the Red River to the British Columbia boundary line, was at the time practically devoid of white settlements, except at Denver and Salt Lake, until the Montana towns were reached in the northwest.[^[4]] It is a great sweep of land which comprises every variety of climate and soil. The huge Big Horn Mountains severed that immense domain. The Sweet Water Country and all east of the Wind River Range, including South Pass and the region west of the great bend of the North Platte, had its prairies and fertile valleys. Just north of the Big Horn Mountain Range, which took in the territory which formed the most direct route to Central Montana, and the occupation of which was the real objective of Carrington’s expedition in the spring of 1866, was the most precious section, controlled by tribes jealous of any intrusion by the whites.

All along the Yellowstone and its tributaries, in spite of the frequent “Mauvaises Terres,” or “bad lands,” of apparent volcanic origin, the whole country was threaded with clear streams from the Big Horn Range. The valleys of these were luxuriant in their natural products and their promise. Enormous herds of buffalo roamed the plains, affording the Indian nearly everything required for his support. The mountains abounded with bear, deer and other game in great variety. The many rivers which traversed the territory teemed with fish, the valleys which they watered were abundantly fertile for the growing of the few crops which the Indian found necessary for his support. The land was desirable naturally and attracted the attention of the settlers.

It cannot be gainsaid that the Indians enjoyed a quasi-legal title to this land. But if a comparatively small group of nomadic and savage tribes insists upon reserving a great body of land for a mere hunting ground, using as a game preserve that which, in a civilized region, would easily support a great agricultural and urban population of industrious citizens seeking relief from the crowded and confined conditions of older communities, what are you going to do about it? Experience has shown that in spite of treaties, purchases and other peaceful means of obtaining it, there is always bound to be a contest about that land. The rights of savagery have been compelled to yield to the demands of civilization, ethics to the contrary notwithstanding. And it will always be so, sad though it may seem to many.

The close of the Civil War threw many soldiers out of employment. After four years of active campaigning they could not settle down to the humdrum life of village and country again. With a natural spirit of restlessness they gathered their families, loaded their few household belongings into wagons, and in parties of varying sizes made their way westward. Railroads began to push iron feelers across the territory. Engineers and road builders, as well as emigrants, demanded the protection of the government. At first most of the settlers merely wished to pass through the country and settle in the fair lands upon the other side, but the fertility and beauty that met their eyes on every hand irresistibly invited settlement on the journey.

At that time there were four great routes of transcontinental travel in use: southward over the famous Santa Fé trail; westward over the Kansas trail to Denver; westward on the Oregon trail through Nebraska and Salt Lake City to California and Oregon; northwestward on the Bozeman trail through Wyoming to Montana. The Union Pacific road was building along the Oregon trail, the Kansas Pacific along the Kansas trail to Denver, while the great Santa Fé system was not yet dreamed of.

The railroads being in operation for short distances, the only method of transportation was in the huge Conestoga wagon, or prairie schooner which, with its canvas top raking upward fore and aft over a capacious wagon box, looked not unlike the hull of the boat from which it took its name. These wagons were drawn by four or six mules—sometimes by oxen, known as “bull teams”—and, stores there being none, carried everything that a settler was apt to need in the new land, including the indispensable wife and children.

I am concerned in this article only with the Bozeman or Montana trail.

Early in 1866 Government Commissioners at Fort Laramie, Nebraska, were negotiating a treaty with the Sioux and Northern Cheyennes to secure the right of way for emigrants through that territory which, by the Harney-Sanborne treaty, had been conceded to them in 1865. Red Cloud, an Oglala Sioux, the foremost of the young warriors, led the objectors to the treaty, even to the point of fighting, and opposed the more conservative chiefs who deprecated war as eventually fatal to all their territorial claims. During this council, to anticipate later events, Carrington, then approaching with troops, arrived in advance, dismounted, and was introduced to the members of the council. Red Cloud, noticing his shoulder straps, hotly denounced him as the “White Eagle” who had come to steal the road before the Indian said yes or no. In full view of the mass of Indians who occupied the parade ground he sprang from the platform under the shelter of pine boughs, struck his tepees and went on the war-path. A telegram by Carrington advising suspension of his march until the council came to some agreement was negatived, and although Sunday he pushed forward nine miles beyond the fort before sunset.

One stipulation upon which the United States insisted was the establishment of military posts to guard the trail, without which it was felt the treaty would amount to nothing. The Brulé Sioux, under the lead of Spotted Tail, Standing Elk and others, favored the concession, and ever after remained faithful to the whites. The older chiefs of other Sioux bands, in spite of Red Cloud’s defection and departure, remained in council for some days and, although sullen in manner and noisy in protests, finally accepted valuable gifts and indemnities and so far satisfied the Commission that they despatched special messengers to notify the District Commander that “satisfactory treaties had been made with the tribes represented at Laramie and that its route was safe.” Emigrant trains were also pushed forward with their assurance that an ample force of regulars had gone up the country to ensure their safety. The sequel will appear later.

II. General Carrington’s Romantic Expedition

Pursuant to the plan, Brigadier-General Henry B. Carrington, Colonel of the Eighteenth Regular Infantry, was ordered with the second battalion of his regiment, about to become the Twenty-seventh Regular Infantry, to establish, organize and take command of what was known as the Mountain District. The Mountain District at that time had but one post in it, Fort Reno, one hundred and sixty miles from Fort Laramie. Carrington was directed to march to Fort Reno, move it forty miles westward, garrison it, and then, with the balance of his command, establish another post on the Bozeman trail, between the Big Horn Mountains and the Powder River, so as to command that valley much frequented by Indians; and, lastly, to establish two other posts, one on the Big Horn, the other on the Yellowstone, for the further protection of the trail.

General Carrington was a graduate of Yale College. He had been a teacher, an engineer and scientist, a lawyer and man of affairs, a student of military matters as well as Adjutant-General of Ohio for several years prior to the outbreak of the Civil War. At the beginning of that struggle he promptly moved one battery and several regiments of Ohio Militia into West Virginia to take part in the Battle of Phillipi before the State Volunteers could be mustered into the United States service. Without his solicitation, on May 14th, 1861, he had been appointed Colonel of the Eighteenth United States Infantry, promoted Brigadier-General November 29th, 1863, and had rendered valuable and important services during the war. He was a high-minded Christian gentleman, a soldier of large experience and proven courage, an administrator of vigor and capacity, and, as his subsequent career has shown, a man of fine literary talents.[^[5]] No better choice could have been made for the expedition.

After many delays, due principally to difficulties in securing transportation, a little army of seven hundred men, accompanied by four pieces of artillery, two hundred and twenty-six wagons, and a few ambulances containing the wives and children of several of the officers, set forth from old Fort Kearney, Nebraska, on the 19th of May, 1866. About two hundred of the men were veterans, the rest raw recruits. They were armed with old-fashioned Springfield, muzzle-loading muskets, save a few who had the new Spencer breech-loading carbine, a weapon of rather short trajectory, but a great improvement on the old army musket from the rapidity of fire which it permitted. A portion of the command was mounted from the discarded horses of a cavalry regiment going east to be mustered out. They were not trained horsemen, however, and at first were rather indifferent mounted infantrymen.

Among the soldiers were artificers and mechanics of every description. The government had provided appliances needed for building forts, including tools, doors, sash, glass, nails, stoves, steel, iron, mowers, reapers, scythes, and two steam sawmills. The officers were in the main a fine body of men, most of whom had learned their soldiering in the Civil War.

Copyright by D. F. Barry

GROUP OF FAMOUS WAR CHIEFS

It seems incredible to think that women should accompany such an expedition, but no grave anticipations of trouble with the Indians were felt by any persons in authority at that time. The Sioux and Cheyennes had consented to the opening of the road, and though they demurred to the forts, they had not absolutely refused the treaty when the government insisted upon it. The expedition was not conceived or planned for war. It was supposed to be a peaceable expedition. In fact, General Sherman, who visited Fort Kearney before the troops began to march, personally advised the ladies to accompany the expedition as very attractive in its object and wholly peaceful. Had the authorities known what was to happen, a force three times as great would scarcely have been thought adequate for the purpose. But even had there been a full knowledge of the dangers incurred, the army women would have gone with their husbands.

History records no greater instances of romantic devotion than those exhibited by the army wife. She stands peculiar among American women to-day in that particular. The army woman in a hostile country risked much more than the men. Her fate when captured was terrible beyond description—one long agony of horror and shame until death put an end to it. I have talked with army officers of large experience and have read what others have said, and the universal testimony is that no woman who was ever captured by the plains Indians west of the Missouri was spared. It was commonly agreed among the officers and men of regiments accompanied by women—and fully understood by the women as well—that in the last extremity the women were to be shot by their own friends, rather than to be allowed to fall into the hands of the savages; but no such apprehension attended this march.

The army woman’s knowledge of the peril in the usual border warfare was not an imaginary one, either. As we may read in letters and books written by army wives, it was brought home to them directly again and again. After every campaign poor, wretched women of stranded and robbed emigrant trains or devastated settlements were brought into the various camps, to whom these army women ministered with loving care, and from whom they heard frightful and sickening details that froze the blood; yet the army wife herself never faltered in her devotion, never failed in her willingness to follow wherever her husband was sent. And, save for the actual campaigning in the field, the army wife was everywhere—sometimes there, too.

In this particular expedition there were several little children, from some of whom I have gleaned details and happenings. One of these lads, while at Fort Kearney before the march, became so expert with the bow and arrow in target shooting with young Pawnee Indians near the fort, that he challenged General Sherman to shoot over the flagstaff. The youngster accomplished it by lying upon his back with feet braced against the bow, and the general squarely withdrew from the contest, declining to follow the boy’s ingenious artifice.

The march was necessarily a slow one and the distance great—some six hundred miles—so that it was not until the twenty-eighth of June they reached Fort Reno. There they were menaced by the Indians for the first time and every endeavor was made to stampede their herds. The officers and men were fast becoming undeceived as to the character of their expedition. To abandon Fort Reno, or to remove it, was not practicable. Carrington ordered it re-stockaded and put in thorough repair, garrisoned it from his command, and with the balance, something over five hundred, advanced farther into the unknown land on the 9th of July. On the 13th of July, 1866, he established his camp on the banks of the Big Piney Creek, an affluent of the Powder River, about four miles from the superb Big Horn Range, with snow-capped Cloud Peak towering nine thousand feet into the heavens, close at hand. A few days later, on a little, flower-decked, grass-covered plateau, bare of trees, which fortunately happened to be just the size to contain the fort he proposed to erect, and which sloped abruptly away in every direction, forming a natural glacis, he began building the stockade.

III. The Outpost of Civilization

The plateau lay between two branches of the Piney. To the eastward of the smaller branch rose a high hill called Pilot Hill. West of it was another ridge which they named Sullivant Hills. Southwest of Sullivant Hills was a high ridge called Lodge Trail Ridge, the main branch of the Piney Creek flowing between them, so that the water supply was at the eastern or “Water Gate” of the fort. The Bozeman trail passed westward, under Pilot Hill in front of the fort, crossing the Big Piney as it neared Sullivant Hills, and then, circling around Lodge Trail Ridge for easier ascent, advanced northward, twice crossing Peno Creek and its branches, before that stream joined Goose Creek, a tributary to Tongue River, one of the chief forks of the Yellowstone. The first branch of the Peno was five miles from the fort, and the second twelve miles farther, where the garrison had to cut hay, but the branch nearer the fort was especially associated with the events of December 21st, as well as with the fight of the sixth of the same month.

The spot was delightful. Adjacent to the fort were broad stretches of fertile, brilliantly flowered, grassy, river and mountain creek valleys. The mountains and hills were covered with pines. Game there was in plenty; water was clear and abundant. Wood, while not immediately at hand, else the place would not have been practicable of defense without tremendous labor in clearing it, was conveniently adjacent.

General Carrington marked out the walls of the fort, after a survey of the surrounding country as far as Tongue River, set up his sawmills, one of them of forty horse-power, capable of cutting logs thirty inches in diameter, established a logging camp on Piney Island, seven miles distant, with no intervening hills to surmount, which made transportation easy, and began the erection of the fort. Picket posts were established upon Pilot and Sullivant Hills, which overlooked approaches both from the east and the road to the mountains. Three times Indians attempted to dislodge these pickets, once at night; but case-shot exploding over them, and each time causing loss of men or ponies, ended similar visitations.

The most careful watchfulness was necessary at all hours of the day and night. The wood trains to fetch logs to the sawmills went out heavily guarded. There was fighting all the time. Casualties among the men were by no means rare. At first it was difficult to keep men within the limits of the camp; but stragglers who failed to return, and some who had been cut off, scalped and left for dead, but who had crawled back to die, convinced every one of the wisdom of the commanding officer’s repeated orders and cautions.[^[7]]

To chronicle the constant succession of petty skirmishes would be wearisome; yet they often resulted in torture and loss of life on the part of the soldiers, although the Indians in most instances suffered the more severely. One single incident may be taken as illustrative of the life of the garrison.

One afternoon, early in October, the picket reported that the wood train was attacked to the west, and shortly after signalled the approach of a small party of soldiers from the east. Detachments were sent from the post in both directions. It proved to be not a reinforcement of troops or ammunition supplies, but two ambulances with two contract surgeons and an escort of eight men, besides Bailey, the guide, and Lieutenant Grummond, who had just been appointed to the Eighteenth Infantry, and his young bride. As they approached the main gate, accompanied by the mounted men who had been sent out to meet them, they were halted to give passage to an army wagon from the opposite direction. It was escorted by a guard from a wood train, and brought in the scalped, naked, dead body of one of their comrades, a strange welcome, indeed, to the young wife, who, upon leaving Laramie, had been assured of a beautiful ride through fertile valleys without danger, and sadder yet in its sequel two months later.

Meanwhile the work of erecting the fort was continued. It was a rectangle, six hundred by eight hundred feet, inclosed by a formidable stockade of heavy pine logs standing eight feet high, with a continuous banquette, and flaring loopholes at every fourth log. There were enfilading blockhouses on the diagonal corners, with portholes for the cannon, and quarters for officers and men, with other necessary buildings. The commanding officer’s quarters was a two-story building of framed lumber, surmounted by a watch-tower. The officers’ and men’s quarters were built of logs. The warehouses, four in number, eighty feet by twenty-four, were framed.

East of the fort proper was a corral of slightly less area, surrounded by a rough palisade of cottonwood logs, which inclosed the wood train, hay, and miscellaneous supplies. Everything—stockade, houses, stables, in all their details, blacksmith shops, teamsters’ quarters, and so on—was planned by Carrington himself.[^[8]]

The main fort inclosed a handsome parade ground, in the center of which arose the tall flagstaff planned and erected by a ship carpenter in the regiment. From it, on the 31st of October, with great ceremony and much rejoicing, the first garrison flag that ever floated over the land was unfurled. The work was by no means completed as it appears on the map, but it was inclosed, and there were enough buildings ready to house the actual garrison present, although the fort was planned for a thousand men, repeatedly promised but not furnished, while all the time both cavalry and the First Battalion of the Eighteenth were held within the peaceful limits of Fort Laramie’s control.

Early in August Captain Kinney, with two companions, had been sent ninety miles to the northward to establish the second post on the Big Horn, which was called Fort C. F. Smith, and was very much smaller and less important than Fort Phil Kearney. The third projected post was not established. There were not enough men to garrison the three already in the field, much less to build a fourth.

[3]. Although the general for whom this fort was named spelled his name Kearny, the name of the fort is written as above in all official documents I have examined.

[4]. The country is roughly comprehended by the boundary lines between which Mountain Standard, or 105th meridian, Time, prevails.

[5]. Among his literary works he is best known for his “Washington, the Soldier,” and his “Battles of the American Revolution,” which is the standard work of the kind. In a personal interview he told me he read some portion of the Bible in the original Greek and Hebrew every day for years. Not many army officers can say that, and very few civilians, either.

[6]. Killed at Slim Buttes

[7]. Just when the alarms were most frequent a messenger came to the headquarters, announcing that a train en route from Fort Laramie, with special messengers from that post, was corralled by Indians, and demanded immediate help. An entire company of infantry in wagons, with a mountain howitzer and several rounds of grape-shot, was hastened to their relief. It proved to be a train with mail from the Laramie Commission announcing the consummation of a “satisfactory treaty of peace with all the Indians of the Northwest,” and assuring the District Commander of the fact. The messenger was brought in in safety, and peace lasted until his message was delivered. So much was gained—that the messenger did not lose his scalp en route.

[8]. General W. B. Hazen, upon inspection of this post’s stockade, pronounced it “the best he had ever seen, except one built by the Hudson Bay Company, in British America.”

CHAPTER TWO
The Tragedy of Fort Phil Kearney

I. How the Fighting Began

To summarize the first six months of fighting, from the first of August to the close of the year, the Indians killed one hundred and fifty-four persons, including soldiers and citizens, wounded twenty more, and captured nearly seven hundred animals—cattle, mules, and horses. There were fifty-one demonstrations in force in front of the fort, and they attacked every train that passed over the trail.

As the fort was still far from completion, the logging operations were continued until mid-winter. On every day the weather permitted, a heavily guarded train of wood-cutters was sent down to Piney Island, or to the heavier timber beyond, where a blockhouse protected the choppers. This train was frequently attacked. Eternal vigilance was the price of life. Scarcely a day passed without the lookout on Pilot Hill signalling Indians approaching, or the lookout on Sullivant Hills reporting that the wood train was corralled and attacked. On such occasions a strong detachment would be mounted and sent out to drive away the Indians and bring in the wood train—an operation which was invariably successful, although sometimes attended with loss.

Hostile demonstrations were met by prompt forays or pursuits, as circumstances permitted; and on one occasion the general pursued a band that ran off a herd nearly to Tongue River; but flashing mirrors betrayed Indian attempts to gain his rear, and a return was ordered, abandoning the stolen stock.

One expedition is characteristic of many. On the afternoon of December 6th the lookout on Sullivant Hills signalled that the wood train was attacked, and Captain (Brevet-Lieutenant-Colonel) Fetterman, the senior captain present, was detailed with a squad of forty mounted men, including fifteen cavalrymen under Lieutenants Bingham and Grummond, with Sergeant Bowers of the infantry, a veteran of the Civil War, to relieve the wood train and drive the Indians toward the Peno Valley, while Carrington himself, with about a score of mounted infantrymen, would sweep around the north side of Lodge Trail Ridge and intercept them.

The Indians gave way before Fetterman’s advance, hoping to lure the troops into an ambush, but at a favorable spot they made a stand. The fighting there was so fierce that the cavalry, which by a singular circumstance was without its officers, gave way and retreated headlong across the valley toward the ridge. The mounted infantry stood its ground, and under Fetterman’s intrepid leadership was making a brave fight against overwhelming odds, the number of Indians present being estimated at more than three hundred. It would have gone hard with them, however, had not Carrington and the first six of his detachment suddenly swept around a small hill or divide and taken the Indians in reverse. The general had been forced to advance under fire, and meeting the fugitive cavalry, ordered them to fall in behind his own detachment. He was filled with anxiety as to the course of the fight on the other side of the ridge.

THE FORT PHIL KEARNEY FIGHTERS

For portrait of General Carrington, see illustration opposite page [174]

Carrington, in his official report,[^[10]] says: “But six men turned the point with me, one a young bugler of the Second Cavalry, who told me that Lieutenant Bingham had gone down the road around the hill to my right. This seemed impossible, as he belonged to Fetterman’s command. I sounded the recall on his report, but in vain. One of my men fell and his horse on him. The principal chief operating during the day attempted to secure his scalp, but dismounting, with one man to hold the horses and reserving fire, I succeeded in saving the man and holding the position until joined by Fetterman twenty minutes later. The cavalry that had abandoned him had not followed me, though the distance was short; but the Indians, circling round and yelling, nearly one hundred in number, with one saddle emptied by a single shot fired by myself, did not venture to close in.”

The rear detachment and Fetterman soon joined, and by the efforts of the combined parties the Indians were compelled to flight. It was a close call for all, but Lieutenants Grummond and Bingham were yet unaccounted for. Search was instantly made for these two officers and the infantry sergeant, who had become separated from their command while chasing some scattered Indians. One of the officers, Lieutenant Bingham, was dead. Lieutenant Grummond, after a hand-to-hand fight, was closely pressed by mounted Indians and was barely rescued. Sergeant Bowers had been fearfully wounded and scalped, although he was still alive, but died immediately.[^[11]] He had killed three Indians before he had been overborne. The cavalrymen, mostly recruits, were deeply ashamed of their defection, which was partly due to the incaution of their officers in leaving them to pursue a few Indians, and they were burning with a desire to retrieve their reputation, which they bravely did with their lives some two weeks later.

The casualties in the little command were two killed, five wounded. A messenger was sent to the fort for an ambulance, and the command retired in good order without further sight of the Indians. Lieutenant Bingham was not the first officer killed; for, five months before, Lieutenant Daniels, riding ahead of a small party of soldiers escorting several officers and the wife of Lieutenant Wands from Fort Laramie, had been killed in full view of the party. He had been horribly tortured with a stake before he died, and the savages put on his clothing and danced on the prairie just out of range, in front of the party, which was too small to do more than stand on the defensive. Lieutenant Grummond’s wife was in the fort during the fighting on the sixth of December, and her joy at her husband’s safe return can be imagined.

On the eighth of December President Andrew Johnson congratulated Congress that treaties had been made at Fort Laramie, and that all was peace in the Northwest!

On the 19th of December, in this peaceful territory, the wood train was again attacked in force. Carrington promptly sent out a detachment under Captain Powell with instructions to relieve the wood train, give it his support, and return with it, but not to pursue threatening Indians, for experience had shown that the Indians were constantly increasing in numbers and growing bolder with every attack. Powell efficiently performed his task. The Indians were driven off, and, although he was tempted to pursue them, he was too good a soldier to disobey orders, so he led his men back in safety to the fort.

By this time all warehouses were finished, and it was estimated that one large wood train would supply logs enough for the completion of the hospital, which alone needed attention.

Impressed by Powell’s report, Carrington himself accompanied the augmented train on the 20th, built a bridge across to Piney Island to facilitate quick hauling, and returned to the fort to make ready for one more trip only. No Indians appeared in sight on that date. Already several hundred large logs had been collected for winter’s firewood, besides the slabs saved at the sawmill.

It cannot be denied that there was much dissatisfaction among some of the officers at Carrington’s prudent policy. They had the popular idea that one white man, especially if he were a soldier, was good for a dozen Indians; and although fifteen hundred lodges of Indians were known to be encamped on the Powder River, and there were probably between five and six thousand braves in the vicinity, they were constantly suggesting expeditions of all sorts with their scanty force. Some of them, including Fetterman and Brown, “offered with eighty men to ride through the whole Sioux Nation!” While the mettle of the Sioux Nation had not yet been fairly tried by these men, Carrington was wise enough to perceive that such folly meant inevitable destruction, and his consent was sternly refused.

The total force available at the fort, including prisoners, teamsters, citizens and employees, was about three hundred and fifty—barely enough to hold the fort, should the Indians make an attack upon it. Besides which, details were constantly needed to carry despatches, to deliver the mail, to get supplies, to succor emigrant trains, and so on. The force was woefully inadequate, and the number of officers had been depleted by detachment and other causes until there were but six left.

Ammunition was running low. There were at one time only forty rounds per man available. Repeated requests and appeals, both by letter and telegram, for reinforcements and supplies, and especially for modern and serviceable weapons, had met with little consideration. The officials in the far East hugged their treaty, and refused to believe that a state of war existed; and, if it did exist, were disposed to censure the commanding officer for provoking it. In several instances presents given in the treaty at Fort Laramie were found on the persons of visiting Indians, and one captured Indian pony was heavily loaded with original packages of those presents.

Carrington had done nothing to provoke war, but had simply carried out General Sherman’s written instructions, sent him as late as August, to “avoid a general war, until the army could be reorganized and increased;” but he defended himself and command stoutly when attacked. Some of the officers, therefore, covertly sneering at the caution of the commander, were burning for an opportunity to distinguish themselves on this account, and had practically determined to make or take one at the first chance. Fetterman and Brown, unfortunately, were the chief of these malcontents.

II. The Annihilation of Fetterman’s Command

On the 21st of December, the ground being free from snow, the air clear and cold, the lookout on Sullivant Hills signalled about eleven o’clock in the morning that the wood train had been corralled, and was again attacked in force about a mile and a half from the fort. A relief party of forty-nine men from the Eighteenth Infantry, with twenty-seven troopers from the Second Cavalry, a detachment from which, nearly all recruits and chiefly armed with muskets as their carbines had not reached Laramie, had joined the post some months before, was at once ordered out.

The command was first given to Captain Powell, with Lieutenant Grummond in charge of the cavalry. Grummond had a wife in delicate health at the post, and he was cautioned by the officers to take care not to be led into a trap, although his experience on the 6th, when he had so narrowly escaped death, was, it would seem, the best warning he could have had. This body of men was the best armed party at the post, a few of those designated carrying the Spencer repeating carbines. Each company had been directed to keep forty rounds per man on hand for immediate use in any emergency, besides extra boxes always kept in company quarters. The men had been exercised in firing recently and some of the ammunition had been expended, although they still had an abundant supply for the purposes of the expedition. Carrington personally inspected the men before they left, and rejected those who were not amply provided.

The situation of the wood train was critical, and the party was assembled with the greatest despatch. Just as they were about to start, Captain Fetterman, who had had less experience in the country and in Indian fighting than the other officers, for he had joined the regiment some time after the fort had been built and expected assignment to command Fort C. F. Smith, begged for the command of the expedition, pleading his senior captaincy as justification for his request. Carrington reluctantly acceded to his plea, which indeed he could scarcely have refused, and placed him in charge, giving him strict and positive instructions to “relieve the wood train, drive back the Indians, but on no account to pursue the Indians beyond Lodge Trail Ridge,” and that so soon as he had performed this duty he was to return immediately to the fort.

Captain Fetterman, as has been said, had frequently expressed his contempt for the Indians, although his fight on December 6th had slightly modified his opinions. Carrington, knowing his views, was particular and specific in his orders. So necessary did he think the caution that he repeated it to Lieutenant Grummond, who, with the cavalry, followed the infantry out of the gate, the infantry, having less preparation to make, getting away first. These orders were delivered in a loud voice and were audible to many persons—women, officers, and men in the fort. The general went so far as to hasten to the gate after the cavalry had left the fort, and from the sentry platform or banquette overlooking it, called out after them again, emphatically directing them “on no account to pursue the Indians across Lodge Trail Ridge.”

The duty devolved upon Captain Fetterman was exactly that which Captain Powell had performed so satisfactorily a few days before. With Captain Fetterman went Captain Brown, with two citizens, frontiersmen and hunters, as volunteers. These two civilians, Wheatley and Fisher, were both armed with the new breech-loading rapid-fire Henry rifle, with which they were anxious to experiment on the hostiles. Wheatley left a wife and children in the fort.

Captain Frederick Brown, a veteran of the Civil War, had just been promoted, had received orders detaching him from the command, and was simply waiting a favorable opportunity to leave. He was a man of the most undaunted courage. His position as quartermaster had kept him on the watch for Indians all the time, and he announced on the day before the battle that he “must have one chance at the Indians before he left.” It is believed, however, that his impetuous counsel, due to his good luck in many a brush with assailing parties, which he had several times pursued almost alone, largely precipitated the final disaster.

The total force, therefore, including officers and citizens, under Fetterman’s command, was eighty-one—just the number with which he had agreed to ride through the whole Sioux Nation. No one in the command seems to have had the least idea that any force of Indians, however great, could overcome it.

Captain Fetterman, instead of leading his men direct to the wood train on the south side of Sullivant Hills, double-quicked toward the Peno Valley on to the north side. Perhaps he hoped that he could take the Indians in reverse and exterminate them between his own troops and the guard of the wood train—which all told comprised some ninety men—when he rounded the western end of the hills. This movement was noticed from the fort; but, as it involved no disobedience of orders, and as it might be considered a good tactical manœuver, no apprehension was felt on account of it.

The Indians surrounding the wood train were well served by their scouts, and when they found that Fetterman’s force was advancing on the other side of the hill, they immediately withdrew from the wood train, which presently broke corral and made its way to the Piney, some seven miles northwest of the fort, unmolested. As Fetterman’s troops disappeared down the valley, a number of Indians were observed along the Piney in front of the fort. A spherical case-shot from a howitzer in the fort exploded in their midst, and they vanished. The Indians were much afraid of the “gun that shoots twice,” as they called it.

At that time it was discovered that no doctor had gone with the relieving party, so Acting-Assistant Surgeon Hines, with an escort of four men, was sent out with orders to join Fetterman. The doctor hastened away, but returned soon after with the information that the wood train had gone on, and that when he attempted to cross the valley of the Peno to join Fetterman’s men he found it full of Indians, who were swarming about Lodge Trail Ridge, and that no sign of Fetterman was observed. Despite his orders, he must have gone over the ridge.

The alarm caused in the fort by this news was deepened by the sound of firing at twelve o’clock. Six shots in rapid succession were counted, and immediately after heavy firing was heard from over Lodge Trail Ridge, five miles away, which continued with such fierceness as to indicate a pitched battle. Carrington instantly despatched Captain Ten Eyck with the rest of the infantry, in all about fifty-four men, directing him to join Fetterman’s command, then return with them to the fort. The men went forward on the run. A little later forty additional men were sent after Ten Eyck. Carrington at once surmised that Fetterman had disobeyed orders, either wittingly or carried away by the ardor of the pursuit, and was now heavily engaged with the Indians on the far side of the ridge.

Counting Fetterman’s detachment, the guards of the wood train, and Ten Eyck’s detachments, the garrison of the fort was now reduced to a very small number. The place, with its considerable extent, might now be attacked at any time. Carrington at once released all prisoners from the guard-house, armed the quartermaster’s employees, the citizens, and mustered altogether a force of only one hundred and nineteen men to defend the post.[^[12]] Although every preparation for a desperate defense had been made, there were not enough men to man the walls.

The general and his remaining officers then repaired to the observatory tower, field glasses in hand, and in apprehension of what fearful catastrophe they scarcely allowed themselves to imagine. The women and children, especially those who had husbands and fathers with the first detachment, were almost crazed with terror.

Presently Sample, the general’s own orderly, who had been sent with Ten Eyck, was seen galloping furiously down the opposite hill. He had the best horse in the command (one of the general’s), and he covered the distance between Lodge Trail Ridge and the fort with amazing swiftness. He dashed up to headquarters with a message from Ten Eyck, stating that “the valley on the other side of the ridge is filled with Indians, who are threatening him. The firing has stopped. He sees no sign of Captain Fetterman’s command. He wants a howitzer sent out to him.”

The following note was sent to Captain Ten Eyck:

“Forty well-armed men, with three thousand rounds, ambulances, stores, etc., left before your courier came in. You must unite with Fetterman. Fire slowly, and keep men in hand. You would have saved two miles toward the scene of action if you had taken Lodge Trail Ridge. I order the wood train in, which will give fifty men to spare.”

No gun could be sent him. Since all the horses were already in the field, it would have required men to haul it. No more could be spared, and not a man with him could cut a fuse or handle the piece anyway. The guns were especially needed at the fort to protect women and children.

Late in the afternoon Ten Eyck’s party returned to the fort with terrible tidings of appalling disaster. In the wagons with his command were the bodies of forty-nine of Fetterman’s men; the remaining thirty-two were not at that time accounted for. Ten Eyck very properly stood upon the defensive on the hill and refused to go down into the valley in spite of the insults and shouts of the Indians, who numbered upward of two thousand warriors, until they finally withdrew. After waiting a sufficient time, he marched carefully and cautiously toward Peno Valley and to the bare lower ridge over which the road ran.

There he came across evidences of a great battle. On the end of the ridge, nearest the fort, in a space about six feet square, inclosed by some huge rocks, making a sort of a rough shelter, he found the bodies of the forty-nine men whom he had brought back. After their ammunition had been spent, they had been stripped, shot full of arrows, hacked to pieces, scalped, and mutilated in a horrible manner. There were no evidences of a very severe struggle right there. Few cartridge shells lay on the ground. Of these men, only four besides the two officers had been killed by bullets. The rest had been killed by arrows, hatchets, or spears. They had evidently been tortured to death.

Brown and Fetterman were found lying side by side, each with a bullet wound in the left temple. Their heads were burned and filled with powder around the wounds. Seeing that all was lost, they had evidently stood-face to face, and each had shot the other dead with his revolver. They had both sworn to die rather than be taken alive by the Indians, and in the last extremity they had carried out their vows. Lieutenant Grummond, who had so narrowly escaped on the 6th of December, was not yet accounted for, but there was little hope that he had escaped again.

III. Carrington’s Stern Resolution

The night was one of wild anxiety. Nearly one-fourth of the efficient force of the fort had been wiped out. Mirror signals were flashed from the hills during the day, and fires here and there in the night indicated that the savages had not left the vicinity. The guards were doubled, every man slept with his clothing on, his weapons close at hand. In every barrack a noncommissioned officer and two men kept watch throughout the night. Carrington and the remaining officers did not sleep at all. They fully expected the fort to be attacked. The state of the women and children can be imagined, although all gossip and rumor were expressly prohibited by the commander.

The next day was bitterly cold. The sky was overcast and lowering, with indications of a tremendous storm. The Indians were not accustomed to active operations under such conditions, and there was no sign of them about. Carrington determined to go out to ascertain the fate of his missing men. Although all the remaining officers assembled at his quarters advised him not to undertake it, lest the savages, flushed with victory, should attempt another attack, Carrington quietly excused his officers, told the adjutant to remain with him, and the bugle instantly disclosed his purpose in spite of dissenting protests. He rightly judged that the moral effect of the battle would be greatly enhanced, in the eyes of the Indians, if the bodies were not recovered. Besides, to set at rest all doubts it was necessary to determine the fate of the balance of his command. His own wife, as appears from her narrative,[^[13]] approved his action and nerved herself to meet the possible fate involved, while Mrs. Grummond was the chief protestant that, as her husband was undoubtedly dead, there should be no similar disaster invited by another expedition.

In the afternoon, with a heavily armed force of eighty men, Carrington went in person to the scene of battle. The following order was left with the officer of the day: “Fire the usual sunset gun, running a white lamp to masthead. If the Indians appear fire three guns from the twelve-pounder at minute intervals, and, later, substitute a red lantern for the white.” Pickets were left on two commanding ridges, as signal observers, as the command moved forward. The women and children were placed in the magazine, a building well adapted for defense, which had been stocked with water, crackers, etc., for an emergency, with an officer pledged not to allow the women to be taken alive, if the General did not return and the Indians overcame the stockade.

Passing the place where the greatest slaughter had occurred, the men marched cautiously along the trail. Bodies were strung along the road clear to the western end farthest from the fort. Here they found Lieutenant Grummond. There were evidences of a desperate struggle about his body. Behind a little pile of rock, making a natural fortification, were the two civilians who had been armed with the modern Henry rifle. By the side of one fifty shells were counted, and nearly as many by the side of the other brave frontiersman. Behind such cover as they could obtain nearby lay the bodies of the oldest and most experienced soldiers in Fetterman’s command.

In front of them they found no less than sixty great gouts of blood on the ground and grass, and a number of dead ponies, showing where the bullets of the defenders had reached their marks,[^[14]] and in every direction were signs of the fiercest kind of hand-to-hand fighting. Ghastly and mutilated remains, stripped naked, shot full of arrows—Wheatley with no less than one hundred and five in him, scalped, lay before them.

Brown rode to the death of both a little Indian “calico” pony which he had given to the general’s boys when they started from Fort Leavenworth, in November, 1865, and the body of the horse was found in the low ground at the west slope of the ridge, showing that the fight began there, before they could reach high ground.[^[15]] At ten o’clock at night, on the return, the white lamp at masthead told its welcome story of a garrison still intact.

Fetterman had disobeyed orders. Whether deliberately or not, cannot be told. He had relieved the wood train, and instead of returning to the post, had pursued the Indians over the ridge into Peno Valley, then along the trail, and into a cunningly contrived ambush. His men had evidently fought on the road until their ammunition gave out, and then had either been ordered to retreat to the fort, or had retreated of their own motion—probably the latter. All the dead cavalry horses’ heads were turned toward the fort, by the way. Fetterman and Brown, men of unquestioned courage, must have been swept along with their flying men. There may have been a little reserve on the rocks on which they hoped to rally their disorganized, panic-stricken troops, fleeing before a horde of yelling, blood-intoxicated warriors. I imagine them vainly protesting, imploring, begging their men to make a stand. I feel sure they fought until the last. But these are only surmises; what really happened, God alone knows.

The judgment of the veteran soldiers and the frontiersmen, who knew that to retreat was to be annihilated, had caused a few to hold their ground and fight until they were without ammunition; then with gun-stocks, swords, bayonets, whatever came to hand, they battled until they were cut down. Grummond had stayed with them, perhaps honorably sacrificing himself in a vain endeavor to cover the retreat of the rest of his command. The Indian loss was very heavy, but could not exactly be determined.

Copyright, 1902, by Charles Schreyvogel
LIEUTENANT GRUMMOND SACRIFICING HIMSELF TO COVER THE RETREAT
Drawing by Charles Schreyvogel

IV. The Reward of a Brave Soldier

Such was the melancholy fate of Fetterman and his men. The post was isolated, the weather frightful. A courier was at once despatched to Fort Laramie, but such means of communication was necessarily slow, and it was not until Christmas morning that the world was apprised of the fatal story. In spite of the reports that had been made and fatuously believed, that peace had obtained in that land, it was now known that war was everywhere prevalent. The shock of horror with which the terrible news was received was greater even than that attendant upon the story of the disastrous battle of the Little Big Horn, ten years later. People had got used to such things then; this news came like a bolt from the blue.

Although Carrington had conducted himself in every way as a brave, prudent, skilful, capable soldier, although his services merited reward, not censure, and demanded praise, not blame, the people and the authorities required a scapegoat. He was instantly relieved from command by General Cooke, upon a private telegram from Laramie, never published, before the receipt of his own official report, and was ordered to change his regimental headquarters to the little frontier post at Fort Caspar, where two companies of his first battalion, just become the new Eighteenth, were stationed, while four companies of the same battalion, under his lieutenant-colonel, were ordered to the relief of Fort Phil Kearney.

The weather had become severe and the snow was banked to the top of the stockade. The mercury was in the bulb. Guards were changed half-hourly. Men and women dressed in furs made from wolfskins taken from the hundreds of wolves which infested the outside butcher-field at night, and which were poisoned by the men for their fur. Upon the day fixed precisely for the march, as the new arrivals needed every roof during a snow-storm which soon became a blizzard, Carrington, his wife and children, his staff and their families, including Mrs. Grummond, escorting the remains of her husband to Tennessee, and the regimental band, with its women and children, began that February “change of headquarters.” They narrowly escaped freezing to death. More than one-half of the sixty-five in the party were frosted, and three amputations, with one death, were the immediate result of the foolish and cruel order.

It was not until some time after that a mixed commission of soldiers and civilians, which thoroughly investigated Carrington’s conduct, having before them all his books and records from the inception of the expedition until its tragic close, acquitted him of all blame of any sort, and awarded him due praise for his successful conduct of the whole campaign. His course was also the subject of inquiry before a purely military court, all of them his juniors in rank, which also reported favorably. General Sherman expressly stated that “Colonel Carrington’s report, to his personal knowledge, was fully sustained,” but by some unaccountable oversight or intent, the report was suppressed and never published, thereby doing lasting injustice to a brave and faithful soldier.

At the same time the government established the sub-post between Laramie and Fort Reno, so earnestly recommended by Carrington, in October, calling it Fort Fetterman, in honor of the unfortunate officer who fell in battle on the 21st of December.

Perhaps it ill becomes us to censure the dead, but the whole unfortunate affair arose from a direct disobedience of orders on the part of Fetterman and his men. They paid the penalty for their lapse with their lives; and so far, at least, they made what atonement they could. A year later opportunity was given the soldiers at Phil Kearney to exact a dreadful revenge from Red Cloud and his Sioux for the slaughter of their brave comrades.

[9]. Killed on Lodge Trail Ridge

[10]. Published by the United States Senate in 1887.

[11]. At the burial of Sergeant Bowers, Captain Brown, who had known him during the Civil War, pinned his Army of the Cumberland badge upon his breast, and this was found when the remains were reinterred in 1878.

[12]. Phil Kearney Garrison, at date of massacre, from “Post Returns”:—

Ninety rifles worn out by use on horseback. Citizen employees used their private arms.

Information furnished by General H. B. Carrington.

[13]. “Ab-sa-ra-ka, Land of Massacre,” by Mrs. Carrington, of which Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote to General Carrington as follows: “What an interesting record is that of Mrs. Carrington! I cannot read such a story of devotion and endurance in the midst of privations and danger, without feeling how little most of us know of what life can be when all the human energies are called out by great enterprises and emergencies.”

[14]. The Indians, where possible, remove the bodies of their slain. They did during this campaign, as few dead Indians ever came into possession of the troops.

[15]. Once, while loading the bodies in the wagons, a nervous sergeant mistook one of the pickets for Indians in the rear, and gave the alarm. His detail was sharply ordered by the general to “leave their ammunition and get back to the fort as best they could, if they were afraid; for no armed man would be allowed to leave until the last body was rescued.”

CHAPTER THREE
The Thirty-two Against the Three Thousand

I. The Improvised Corral on Piney Island

Red cloud, who had been one of the subchiefs of the Sioux, gained so much prestige by the defeat and slaughter of Fetterman’s men that he became at once the leading war chief of the nation.[^[16]] The angry braves, flushed with conquest and eager for blood, hastened to enroll themselves by thousands in his band.

Fort Phil Kearney had been in a state of siege before: it was more closely invested now than ever. Contrary to their usual avoidance of the war-path in cold weather, throughout the long and bitter winter there was no intermittence to the watchfulness of the Indians. The garrison was constantly in arms. Attacks of all sorts were made with increasing frequency. The letters from the soldiers which got through to the East adequately describe their sense of the dire peril which menaced them. “This may be my last letter” is a frequent phrase. Travel on the trail was abandoned. As soon as possible in the spring, reinforcements were hurried up and the fort was completed, but the same state of affairs continued right along without intermission.

With the advance of summer Red Cloud gathered his warriors and determined upon a direct attack upon the fort itself. He was tired of skirmishing, stampeding stock, cutting off stragglers, etc. He wanted war, real war, and he got it! If, or when, he captured the fort, he would advance upon the other two forts in succession and so clear the country, once and for all, of the detested invaders, whose soldierly qualities he seems to have held in contempt. For the campaign he proposed he assembled no fewer than three thousand warriors, the flower of the Sioux Nation. Probably half of them were armed with firearms, Winchester rifles, Spencer repeating carbines, or old army muskets, including those that had been captured from Fetterman’s party. Under cover of frequent skirmishes, which prevented much scouting on the part of the troops, Red Cloud gathered his warriors undiscovered and unmolested, and prepared to attack about the first of August, 1867.

The limits of the military reservation had been fixed at Washington—without adequate knowledge of the ground and in disregard of General Carrington’s request and protests—so as to exclude the timber land of Piney Island, from which the post had been built, and from which the nearest and most available wood supply must be obtained. The post had been completed, but immense supplies of wood would be required for fuel during the long and severe winter. This was to be cut and delivered at the fort by a civilian outfit which had entered upon a contract with the government for the purpose. One of the stipulations of the contract was that the woodmen should be guarded and protected by the soldiers.

Wood-cutting began on the 31st of July, 1867, and Captain and Brevet-Major James Powell, commanding “C” Company, of the twenty-seventh Infantry, which was formerly a battalion of the Eighteenth a part of the command which had built the fort, and to which Fetterman and his men had belonged, was detailed with his company to guard the contractor’s party. Captain Powell had enlisted in the army in 1848 as a private soldier. The Civil War had given him a commission in the regular service, and in its course he had been twice brevetted for conspicuous gallantry, once at Chickamauga and the second time during the Atlanta campaign, in which he had been desperately wounded. He had had some experience in Indian fighting before and since he came to the post, and had distinguished himself in several skirmishes, notably in the relief of the wood train, a few days before Fetterman’s rashness and disobedience precipitated the awful disaster.

Arriving at Piney Island, some seven miles from the post, Powell found that the contractor had divided his men into two parties. One had its headquarters on a bare, treeless, and comparatively level plain, perhaps one thousand yards across, which was surrounded by low hills backed by mountains farther away. This was an admirable place to graze the herds of mules required to haul the wagons. As will be seen, it could also be turned into a highly defensive position. The other camp was in the thick of the pine wood, about a mile away across the creek, at the foot of the mountain. This division of labor necessitated a division of force, which was a misfortune, but which could not be avoided.

Powell sent twelve men under a noncommissioned officer to guard the camp in the wood, and detailed thirteen men with another noncommissioned officer to escort the wood trains to and from the fort. With the remaining twenty-six men and his lieutenant, John C. Jenness, he established headquarters on the plain in the open.

The wagons used by the wood-cutters were furnished by the quartermaster’s department. In transporting the cordwood, the woodmen made use of the running gears only, the wagon bodies having been deposited in the clearing. In order to preserve their contents and to afford as much protection as possible to their occupants in case of Indian attacks, the quartermaster’s department was in the habit of lining the wagon beds with boiler iron; and, to give their occupants an opportunity to fight from concealment, loopholes were cut in the sides. Almost every authority who has written of the fight has concluded that the particular wagon beds in question were so lined. This is a mistaken though natural conclusion. In a letter to an old comrade who wrote an account of the subsequent action,[^[17]] Powell makes no mention of any iron lining, and it is certain that the wagons were not lined, but were just the ordinary wooden wagon beds.[^[18]]

There were fourteen of these wagon bodies. Powell arranged them in the form of a wide oval. At the highest point of the plain, which happened to be in the center, this corral was made. The wagon beds were deep, and afforded ample concealment for any one lying in them. I sometimes wonder why Powell did not stand these beds on their sides instead of their bottoms, making a higher and stouter inclosure, the bottoms being heavier than the sides; but it is clear that he did not. There were plenty of tools, including a number of augers, in the camp, and with these Powell’s men made a number of loopholes about a foot from the ground, in the outward sides of the wagons.

At the ends of the oval, where the configuration of the ground made it most vulnerable for attack, especially by mounted men, two wagons complete—that is, with bodies and running gears—were placed a short distance from the little corral. This would break the force of a charge, and the defenders could fire at the attacking party underneath the bodies and through the wheels. The spaces between the wagon bodies were filled with logs and sacks of grain, backed by everything available that would turn a bullet. The supplies for the soldiers and wood party were contained in this corral.

The Wagon-Box Corral on Piney Island

Instead of the old Springfield muzzle-loading musket, with which the troops mainly had been armed up to this time, Powell’s men were provided with the new Allen modification of the Springfield breech-loading rifle. He had enough rifles for his men and for all the civilian employees, and a large number of new Colt revolvers, with plenty of ammunition for all. The new rifle had never been used by the troops in combat with the Indians, and the latter were entirely ignorant of its tremendous range and power and the wonderful rapidity of fire which it permitted. They learned much about it in the next day or two, however. A quantity of clothing and blankets was issued to the troops at the fort on the first of August, and supplies for Powell’s men were sent down to him.

II. The Wild Charge of the Sioux

Having matured his plans, Red Cloud determined to begin his attack on Fort Phil Kearney by annihilating the little detachment guarding the train.[^[19]] Parties of Indians had been observed in the vicinity for several days, but no attack had been made since Powell’s arrival until the second of August, when, about nine o’clock in the morning,[^[20]] a party of some two hundred Indians endeavored to stampede the herd of mules. The herders, who were all armed, stood their ground and succeeded for the time being in beating back the attack. While they were hotly engaged with the dismounted force, sixty mounted Indians succeeded in getting into the herd and running it off. At the same time five hundred other Indians attacked the wood train at the other camp.

The affair was not quite a surprise, for the approach of the Indians had been detected and signalled from the corral on the island a few moments before. In the face of so overwhelming a force the soldiers and civilians at the wood train immediately retreated, abandoning the train and the camp. Here four of the lumbermen were killed. The retreat, however, was an orderly one, and they kept back the Indians by a well-directed fire.

Meanwhile the herders, seeing the stampede of the mules, made an effort to join the party retreating from the wood train. The Indians endeavored to intercept them and cut them off. Powell, however, with a portion of his force, leaving the post in command of Lieutenant Jenness, immediately dashed across the prairie and attacked the savages in the rear. They turned at once, abandoning the pursuit of the herders, and fell upon Powell, who in his turn retreated without loss to the corral. His prompt and bold sortie had saved the herders, for they were enabled to effect a junction with the retreating train men and their guards and the soldiers and civilians, and eventually gained the fort, although not without hard fighting and some loss. One thing that helped them to get away from the Indians was that the savages stopped to pillage the camp and burn it and the train. Another thing was the presence of Powell’s command, which they could not leave in the rear. After driving away the others and completing the destruction of the camp, they turned their attention to Powell’s corral.

Some of the clothing that had been received the day before had not been unpacked or distributed, so it was used to strengthen the weak places in the corral. Powell’s men lay down in the wagon beds before the loopholes; blankets were thrown over the tops of the beds to screen the defenders from observation and in the hope of perhaps saving them from the ill effects of the plunging arrow fire, and everything was got ready. Everybody had plenty of ammunition.

Some of the men who were not good shots were told off to do nothing but load rifles, of which there were so many that each man had two or three beside him, one man making use of no less than eight. Four civilians succeeded in joining the party in the corral—a welcome addition, indeed, bringing the total number up to thirty-two officers and men. Among this quartet was an old frontiersman who had spent most of his life hunting in the Indian country, and who had been in innumerable fights, renowned for his expertness in the use of the rifle—a dead-shot. This was the man to whom the eight guns were allotted. Powell, rifle in hand, stationed himself at one end of the corral; Jenness, similarly armed, was posted at the other, each officer watching one of the openings covered by the complete wagons, which were loaded with supplies so they could not be run off easily by hand.

While all these preparations were being rapidly made, although without confusion or alarm, the surrounding country was filling with a countless multitude of Indians. It was impossible at the time to estimate the number of them, although it was ascertained that more than three thousand warriors were present and engaged. Red Cloud himself was in command, and with him were the great chiefs of the great tribes of the Sioux, who were all represented—Unkpapas, Miniconjous, Oglalas, Brulés, and Sans Arcs, besides hundreds of Cheyennes.

So confident of success were they that, contrary to their ordinary practices, they had brought with them their women and children to assist in carrying back the plunder. These, massed out of range on the farthest hills, constituted an audience for the terrible drama about to be played in the amphitheater beneath them.

We can well imagine the thoughts of that little band of thirty-two, surrounded by a force that outnumbered them one hundred to one. Their minds must have gone back to that winter day, some seven months before, when twice their number had gone down to defeat and destruction under the attack of two-thirds of their present foemen. It is probable that not one of them ever expected to escape alive. The chances that they could successfully withstand an attack from so overwhelming a number of foes of such extraordinary bravery were of the smallest. But not a man flinched, not a man faltered. They looked to their weapons, settled themselves comfortably in the wagon beds, thought of Fetterman and their comrades, and prayed that the attack might begin and begin at once. There were no heroics, no speeches made. Powell quietly remarked that they had to fight for their lives now, which was patent to all; and he directed that no man, for any reason, should open fire until he gave the order.

Some little time was spent by the Indians in making preparations, and then a force of about five hundred Indians, magnificently mounted on the best war ponies and armed with rifles, carbines, or muskets, detached themselves from the main body and started toward the little corral lying like a black dot on the open plain. They intended to ride over the soldiers and end the battle with one swift blow. Slowly at first, but gradually increasing their pace until their ponies were on a dead run, they dashed gallantly toward the corral, while the main body of the savages, at some distance in their rear, prepared to take advantage of any opening that might be made in the defenses. It was a brilliant charge, splendidly delivered.

Such was the discipline of Powell’s men that not a shot was fired as the Indians, yelling and whooping madly, came rushing on. There was something terribly ominous about the absolute silence of that little fortification. The galloping men were within one hundred yards now, now fifty. At that instant Powell spoke to his men. The inclosure was sheeted with flame. Out of the smoke and fire a rain of bullets was poured upon the astonished savages. The firing was not as usual—one volley, then another, and then silence; but it was a steady, persistent, continued stream, which mowed them down in scores. The advance was thrown into confusion, checked but not halted, its impetus being too great; and then the force divided and swept around the corral, looking for a weak spot for a possible entrance. At the same moment a furious fire was poured into it by the warriors, whose position on their horses’ backs gave them sufficient elevation to enable them to fire over the wagon beds upon the garrison. Then they circled about the corral in a mad gallop, seeking some undefended point upon which to concentrate and break through, but in vain. The little inclosure was literally ringed in fire. Nothing could stand against it. So close were they that one bullet sometimes pierced two Indians.[^[21]]

CHARGE OF RED CLOUD ON THE CORRAL AT PINEY ISLAND
Drawing by R. Farrington Elwell

Having lost terribly, and having failed to make any impression whatever, the Indians broke and gave way. They rushed pell-mell from the spot in frantic confusion till they got out of range of the deadly storm that swept the plain. All around the corral lay dead and dying Indians, mingled with killed and wounded horses kicking and screaming with pain, the Indians stoically enduring all their sufferings and making no outcry. In front of the corral, where the first force of the charge had been spent, horses and men were stretched out as if they had been cut down by a gigantic mowing-machine. The defenders of the corral had suffered in their turn. Lieutenant Jenness, brave and earnest in defense, had exposed himself to give a necessary command and had received a bullet in his brain. One of the private soldiers had been killed and two severely wounded. The thirty-two had been reduced to twenty-eight. At that rate, since there were so few to suffer, the end appeared inevitable. The spirit of the little band, however, remained undaunted. Fortunately for them, the Indians had met with so terrible a repulse that all they thought of for the time being was to get out of range. The vicinity of the corral was thus at once abandoned.

III. Red Cloud’s Baptism of Fire

Red Cloud determined, after consultation with the other chiefs, upon another plan which gave greater promise of success. Seven hundred Indians, armed with rifles or muskets and followed by a number carrying bows and arrows, were told off to prepare themselves as a skirmishing party. Their preparations were simple, and consisted of denuding themselves of every vestige of clothing, including their war shirts and war bonnets. These men were directed to creep forward, taking advantage of every depression, ravine, or other cover, until they were within range of the corral, which they were to overwhelm by gun and arrow fire. Supporting them, and intended to constitute the main attack, were the whole remaining body of the Indians, numbering upward of two thousand warriors.

With the wonderful skill of which they were masters, the skirmishing party approached near to the corral and began to fire upon it. Here and there, when a savage incautiously exposed himself, he was shot by one of the defenders; but in the main the people of the corral kept silent under this terrible fusillade of bullets and arrows. The tops of the wagon sides were literally torn to pieces; the heavy blankets were filled with arrows which, falling from a distance, did no damage. The fire of the Indians was rapid and continuous. The bullets crashed into the wood just over the heads of the prostrate men, sounding like cracking thunder; yet not one man in the wagon beds was hurt. Arguing, perhaps from the silence in the corral, that the defenders had been overwhelmed and that the time for the grand attack had arrived, signal was given for the main body of the Indians to charge.

They were led by the nephew of Red Cloud, a superb young chieftain, who was ambitious of succeeding in due course to the leadership now held by his uncle. Chanting their fierce war songs, they came, on arranged in a great semicircle. Splendid, stalwart braves, the flower of the nation, they were magnificently arrayed in all the varied and highly-colored fighting panoply of the Sioux. Great war bonnets streamed from the heads of the chiefs, many of whom wore gorgeous war shirts; the painted bodies of others made dashes of rich color against the green grass of the clearing and the dark pines of the hills and mountains behind. Most of them carried on their left arms painted targets or shields of buffalo hide, stout enough to turn a musket shot unless fairly hit.

Under a fire of redoubled intensity from their skirmishers they broke into a charge. Again they advanced in the face of a terrible silence. Again at the appointed moment the order rang out. Again the fearful discharge swept them away in scores. Powell’s own rifle brought down the dauntless young chief in the lead. Others sprang to the fore when he fell and gallantly led on their men. Undaunted, they came on and on, in spite of a slaughter such as no living Indian had experienced or heard of. The Indians could account for the continuous fire only by supposing that the corral contained a greater number of defenders than its area would indicate it capable of receiving. So, in the hope that the infernal fire would slacken, they pressed home the attack until they were almost at the wagon beds. Back on the hills Red Cloud and the veteran chiefs, with the women and children, watched the progress of the battle with eager intensity and marked with painful apprehension the slaughter of their bold warriors.

The situation was terribly critical. If they came on a few feet farther the rifles would be useless, and the little party of twenty-eight would have to fight hand-to-hand without reloading. In that event the end would be certain; but just before the Indians reached the corral, they broke and gave way. So close had they come that some of the troopers in their excitement actually rose to their knees and threw the augers with which the loopholes had been made, and other missiles, in the faces of the Indians. Others, however, kept up the fire, which was indeed more than mortal humanity could stand.

What relief filled the minds of the defenders, when they saw the great force which had come on so gallantly reeling back over the plains in frantic desire to get to cover, can easily be imagined. Yet such was the courage, the desperation of these Indians, in spite of repulse after repulse and a slaughter awful to contemplate, that they made no less than six several and distinct charges in three hours upon that devoted band. After the first attack made by the men on horseback, not a single casualty occurred among the defenders of the corral. It was afternoon before the Sioux got enough.

The Indians could not account for this sustained and frightful fire which came from the little fort, except by attributing it to magic. “The white man must have made bad medicine,” they said afterwards, before they learned the secret of the long-range, breech-loading firearm, “to make the guns fire themselves without stopping.” Indeed, such had been the rapidity of the fire that many of the gun-barrels became so hot that they were rendered useless. To this day the Indians refer to that battle as “the bad medicine fight of the white man.”

The ground around the corral was ringed with Indian slain. They were piled up in heaps closer by, and scattered all over the grass farther away. Nothing is more disgraceful in the eyes of an Indian chieftain or his men than to permit the dead bodies of those killed in action to fall into the hands of the enemy. Red Cloud recognizing the complete frustration of his hopes of overwhelming Fort Phil Kearney and sweeping the invaders out of the land at that time, now only wished to get his dead away and retreat. In order to do so he threw forward his skirmishers again, who once more poured a heavy fire on the corral.

This seemed to Powell and his exhausted men the precursor of a final attack, which they feared would be the end of them. Indeed Powell, in his report, says that another attack would have been successful. From the heat and the frightful strain of the long period of steady fighting, the men were in a critical condition. The ammunition, inexhaustible as it had seemed, was running low; many of the rifles were useless. They still preserved, however, their calm, unbroken front to the foe, and made a slow, deliberate, careful reply to the firing that was poured upon them.

Red Cloud, however, had no thought of again attacking. He only wanted to get away. Under cover of his skirmishers he succeeded in carrying off most of the dead, the wounded who were able to crawl getting away themselves. A warrior, protecting himself as well as he could with the stout buffalo-hide shield he carried, would creep forward, attach the end of a long lariat to the foot of a dead man, and then rapidly retreating he would pull the body away. All the while the hills and mountains resounded with the death chants of the old men and women.

At the close of these operations a shell burst in the midst of the Indian skirmishers, and through the trees off to the left the weary defenders saw the blue uniforms of approaching soldiers, who a moment afterwards debouched in the open.

An astonishing sight met the eyes of the relief party. Clouds of Indians covered the plain. The little corral was still spitting fire and smoke into the encircling mass. They had got there in time then. Without hesitation the troops deployed and came forward on the run. Their cheers were met by welcoming shouts from Powell and his heroic comrades.

The herders, woodsmen, and guards who had escaped from their camp in the morning, had reached the fort at last with the news of Powell’s imminent danger. Major Smith, with one hundred men and a howitzer, was at once despatched to his support. No one dreamed that the force of Indians was so great, or perhaps more men would have been sent, although the number at the fort was still insufficient to permit of the detachment of a very large party. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon. The Indians, disheartened and dismayed by their fearful repulse, sullenly retreated before the advance of the charging soldiers. There was a splendid opportunity presented to them to wipe out Smith’s command with their overwhelming force, for they could have attacked him in the open; but they had had enough for that day, and the opportunity was not embraced.

Major Smith realized instantly that the proper thing for him to do, in the face of such great odds, was to get Powell’s men and return with all speed. Carrying the bodies of the dead and wounded, the little band of defenders joined the rescuers and returned to the fort, leaving the barren honors of the field to the Indians, Awho occupied it on the heels of the retiring soldiers.[^[22]]

IV. After the Battle. The Scout’s Story

Powell modestly estimated he had killed sixty-seven Indians and wounded one hundred and twenty. Most of his men declared the Indian loss to have been between three and four hundred, but it was not until a year after the battle that the real facts were ascertained from the Indians themselves. The loss in killed and wounded in the engagement, on the part of the Indians, was one thousand one hundred and thirty-seven. In other words, each of the defenders had accounted for at least thirty-six of the Indians. Amply, indeed, had the little band avenged the death of their comrades under Fetterman.

As Colonel Dodge justly says, the account reads like a story of Cortes.[^[23]] At first sight it appears to be incredible. In explanation of it, the following account, which Colonel Dodge has preserved of a subsequent conversation between the frontiersman to whom the eight guns were allotted and the department commander is of deep interest:—

“How many Indians were in the attack?” asked the General.

“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say fer sartin, but I think thar wur nigh onto three thousand uv ’em.”

“How many were killed and wounded?”

“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say fer sartin, but I think thar wur nigh onto a thousand uv ’em hit.”

“How many did you kill?”

“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say; but gi’me a dead rest, I kin hit a dollar at fifty yards every time, and I fired with a dead rest at more’n fifty of them varmints inside of fifty yards.”

“For Heaven’s sake, how many times did you fire?” exclaimed the astonished General.

“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say, but I kept eight guns pretty well het up for more’n three hours.”

On this occasion Powell received his third brevet for heroism and distinguished conduct on the field.

The next fall a new treaty was made with the Indians, and the post which had been the scene alike of heartbreaking disaster and defeat and of triumph unprecedented, was abandoned to them. The troops were withdrawn. The Indians at once burned it to the ground. It was never reoccupied, and to-day is remembered simply because of its association with the first and, with one exception, the most notable of our Indian defeats in the west, and with the most remarkable and overwhelming victory that was ever won by soldiers over their gallant red foemen on the same ground.

At this writing (September, 1903) the once mighty Red Cloud, now in his eighty-ninth year, is nearing his end, and already various claimants for the now practically empty honor of the Head-Chieftainship of the Sioux have arisen, the two most prominent candidates being young Red Cloud and the son of old Sitting Bull.

Note

Since the first publication of this article I have received the following letter, which, as it tends to confirm what seems incredible, the terrible Indian loss, I quote in full:

Dear Mr. Brady:

Although I am much nearer three score than fifty, I still enjoy historical romance and facts, and I have, I think, read most of your writings. I have just read your last article and it recalls a conversation with Red Cloud twenty years ago.

He was with my dear old friend, “Adirondack Murray” and, I think, J. Amory Knox and myself. He, Murray and Knox had been photographed in a group. In reminiscing in regard to the Piney Island battle, he said he went in with over three thousand braves and lost over half. Murray asked him if he meant over fifteen hundred had been killed then, and he said:

“I lost them. They never fought again.”

He knew Murray, Knox and myself wielded the pen sometimes but that we never used private talks. I tell you the above for your personal satisfaction. Sincerely,

W. R. E. Collins,

1438 Broad—Exchange, New York.

3–22-’04.

[16]. Mahapiya-luta, Red Cloud, was one of the most famous of the great Sioux Nation. He was a fierce and ruthless warrior, but withal a man of his word. After the abandonment of Fort Phil Kearney he participated in no important actions with the soldiers, although he was elected head chief of the Sioux. In the war of 1876 his camp was surprised by General Mackenzie before he had an opportunity to go on the war-path. His men were disarmed, and with him were detained in the reservation. It was a fortunate thing for the army.

Recently the old chief was asked to tell the story of his most thrilling adventure. It was a tale of one man against seven, and the old man’s dim eyes grew bright and his wrinkled face lighted up with a strange light as he told it. A well-known warrior was jealous of Red Cloud, and, together with six of his followers, waylaid the young brave in a lonely spot.

Two of them were armed with rifles, the rest carried only bows and arrows, while Red Cloud had a Winchester. At the first fire Red Cloud fell with a bullet in his thigh, but from where he lay he contrived to kill every one of his assailants.

The skill and courage he displayed on that occasion won for him many admiring followers, and as war after war with the whites broke out and he won fresh laurels his followers increased in numbers. He joined the various secret societies, passed through the terrible agony of the sun dance, and when, in 1866, the chiefs of the tribe signed a “peace paper,” he stood out for and declared war. The fighting men flocked to his standard, and when the awful massacre in which he played so conspicuous a part occurred, he was proclaimed Chief of all the Sioux.

All the prestige he lost at Piney Island he regained upon the abandonment of the forts by the government, a most impolitic and unfortunate move.

[17]. General Rodenbough, in “Sabre and Bayonet.”

[18]. This statement is corroborated by private letter from a veteran soldier in the United States Army, who is one of the few survivors of the battle. Surgeon Horton, who was at the post from its establishment until it was abandoned, also says that the wagon beds were of ordinary boards, without lining or other protection.

[19]. On the same day an attack was made in force on Fort C. F. Smith, on the Big Horn.

[20]. Powell’s official report says nine, although a private letter written some time later makes the hour seven. It isn’t material, anyway: there was ample time for all the fighting both sides cared for before the day was ended.

[21]. “I know that my husband never expected to come out of that fight alive. He has told me that during the fight the Indians came up so close to the corral, that one shot would pass through the Indian in advance and kill or wound the one behind. My husband claimed the honor of killing Red Cloud’s nephew.”—Letter from Mrs. Annie Powell to me. Surgeon Horton states that the men told him on their return to the fort that the Indians were crowded so closely together that the conical bullets from their muskets killed four or five Indians in line behind one another. The Indians came up in solid masses on every side.

[22]. Dr. Horton writes me that when Powell’s men reached the post they were literally crazed with excitement and the nervous strain of the fight. The health of many of them was completely broken. Powell himself never fully recovered from the strain of that awful day, his wife informs me.

[23]. “Our Wild Indians,” by Colonel R. I. Dodge, U. S. A. Mrs. Powell, in a letter to me, also vouches for the anecdote quoted.

CHAPTER FOUR
Personal Reminiscences of Fort Phil Kearney and the Wagon-Box Fight

By Mr. R. J. Smyth.[^[24]]

“Cherokee, Ia., 6–27–1904.

As I was a member of the Carrington Powder River Expedition of 1866, I take the liberty of sending you a short sketch of happenings about Fort Phil Kearney. Being actively engaged with others for some two years in making the history of that place, I think that the account may be of interest.

I left Fort Leavenworth early in the spring of 1866. At Fort Kearney, Nebraska, we found Col. Carrington and a part of his command, consisting of several companies of the Eighteenth Regular Infantry. Early in April we received some recruits for said command, and in a short time started on what at that time was called the Carrington Powder River Expedition. We followed the overland trail (sometimes called the Salt Lake trail) up the south side of the South Platte River to Julesberg, crossed the river there, then crossed the divide to the North Platte. From here we went to Fort Laramie. From this point we marched west to Mussa ranch, crossed Horse Creek, and followed the Bozeman trail. This was a new road, and a short cut to Montana. After following this trail fifteen miles we struck the North Platte at Bridger’s Ferry. We crossed here in a ferryboat—a large flat boat attached to a large cable rope stretched across the river.

We followed the North Platte River up on the right side to a point opposite to the present site of Fort Fetterman. At this point we left the river and struck across the country, crossing Sand Creek and several other small creeks, among which I now remember the North, South, and Middle Cheyennes. They were then merely the dry beds of what would be quite large rivers at the time of the melting of the snow in the mountains. At a point twenty-two miles east of the Powder River we struck the head of the Dry Fork of the Powder River and followed it down to the river.

There on the west side we found Fort Reno, established by General Conner in ’65 and garrisoned by a few “galvanized soldiers.” The garrison had been greatly reduced by desertions during the winter, the soldiers making for Montana. “Galvanized soldiers” was a name given to captured Rebel soldiers who enlisted in the Union Army to do frontier duty in order to get out of prison, and incidentally to draw pay from Uncle Sam. We laid over here for a few days, and on the fourth of July the Indians stampeded the stock of Al. Leighton, the sutler. The colonel made a detail of soldiers and citizens to go out after the Indians and recover the stock if possible.

Courtesy of The Century Co.
“BOOTS AND SADDLES:” A START IN THE EARLY MORNING
Drawing by Frederic Remington

It was indeed a laughable sight to see the soldiers trying to ride mules that were not broken to ride—and the soldiers knew about as much about riding as the mules did. We followed the Indians to the Pumpkin Buttes and I am free to say for myself that I was very glad that we did not find them. Had we got in touch with them we would have had the smallest kind of a show to save our hair. The soldiers being mounted on green mules, and being armed with the old Springfield musket, and that strapped on their backs, a very few Indians could have stampeded the mules and, in fact, the soldiers as well.

We, the citizens, had made arrangements that if the Indians attacked us we would stick together and fight it out the best that we could. Jim Bridger, our guide, was with this party. He was an old timer in the mountains. I had two years experience in the mountains and plains prior to this time; the rest of the citizens were good men. We returned to the fort safely but did not recover any of the stock.

A day or two later we left the fort. The first day’s march was a very hard one, thirty-six miles to Crazy Woman’s Fork. This creek was a very fine one, clear, cool, and very rapid. The command was badly demoralized by this long, hot, and dry march, no water between that point and Fort Reno. The soldiers had been paid off a day or two before, many had been drunk, many more thoughtless, and did not provide for water in spite of orders. I saw five dollars paid for a canteen of water on this march. On our arrival at Crazy Woman’s Fort, the commanding officer detailed a guard to keep the soldiers from jumping into the creek and drinking too much water.

We laid over here two days, to repair wagons and bring in the stragglers. Had the Indians been on hand, they could have cleaned up many of the soldiers at this time. From this creek west to the Big Horn the country is very fine; plenty of wood, water, and grass; in fact, a paradise. We traveled west to the forks of the Pineys. The big and little Pineys fork near where we made our camp, sixty-five miles west of the Powder River.

On the twenty-fourth day of July we moved to the place where we established Fort Phil Kearney. The grasshoppers were so thick in the air that day that they nearly obscured the sun from sight.[^[25]] In fact, it did not look bigger than a silver dollar. The fort was built about as you have described it, and from the day that we established it until I left there, in November, ’67, the Indians were very much in evidence and plenty of fighting nearly all that time.

I was a teamster on this expedition, driving an ambulance team. Made several trips to Fort Laramie and to Fort C. F. Smith on the Big Horn. This latter Fort was established by Carrington a short time after the establishment of Fort Phil Kearney, and was a two-company post.

I was with the hay-making party down the Big Piney during a part of the summer of ’66. During one of our trips to the hay field, we were accompanied by a man who represented Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly as an artist. This man rode with me a part of the way. He intended to do some sketching near there but I advised him to stay with our outfit. However, he insisted on stopping by the way. On our return we found him dead, a cross cut on his breast, which indicated that they thought him a coward who would not fight. He wore long, black hair and his head had been completely skinned. Probably it was the work of a band of young Cheyenne bucks; they could cut the scalps into many pieces and thereby make a big show in camp. Was very sorry for this man; he appeared to be a perfect gentleman. His thought was, that if the Indians found him they would not hurt him, as he intended to show them his drawings, and also explain to them that he was not armed.

Later on the Indians got so thick that we had to abandon this hay-making business. The day that we broke camp we had a great deal of fighting with the Indians. I remember a soldier named Pate Smith who borrowed a revolver from me that day. This man was mounted. He rode too far ahead of the outfit, the Indians cut him off. Later we heard from the Crows that the Sioux caught him, skinned him alive. This man was an old volunteer soldier, but what show has a man with the old-fashioned Springfield musket? One shot and you are done.

I was at the Fort at the time of the Phil Kearney massacre and went down with the reinforcements to that sad scene. Our men were all down when we got there, and cut up in the most brutal manner, such as only a red brute would do. We buried them a little east of the fort. They fought a good fight, but were surprised and overpowered. As we approached the scene of action the country was black with Indians to the west.

The officers were clearly to blame for this slaughter; they disobeyed the colonel’s orders, which were to guard the wood train to the fort, and not to engage the Indians unless attacked by them. At a point about two miles west of the fort they left the wood train; crossed the Big Piney Creek; got nearly to the Peno Creek, and were ambushed by about three thousand Indians, and the entire command killed. This band of Indians included all of the different tribes of the Sioux, also Cheyennes, Blackfeet, Arapahoes, and some young renegade Crow bucks. I knew this latter statement to be true, from the fact that one member of Company C, Second Cavalry, had stolen a revolver from me some time before and it was with him in this fight. It was taken from his body by the Indians. Next spring a young Crow came to the fort. I saw the gun under his blanket and took it away from him. If he was in camp on the Big Horn with his people, he could not have got this gun on this field of slaughter. I had been wounded about six weeks prior to this fight and had not reported for duty, but on call for volunteers to reinforce the Fetterman party, reported for duty and went with the command to the scene of the massacre.

You are in error in stating that there was no communication with the outside world during this winter. I made one trip with my ambulance to Fort Laramie. We had an escort of ten cavalry soldiers. We made, I think, three trips after this without an escort, using pack mules, the party consisting of two packers and the mail-carrier, Van Volsey, a very fine man and a brave one, too. Last trip up I saw Indian signs in the dry forks of the Powder River, consisting of the remains of a camp fire, not entirely burned out, and some Indian traps lying around it. I refused to make another trip without an escort. On our arrival at the fort we reported the facts, and demanded an escort for the next trip. But owing to the fact that the stock was in such poor condition on account of the scarcity of food, they could not furnish one mounted.

They persuaded me to take one more trip with Van Volsey, which I foolishly consented to do. On the first day out I got snow blind and on our arrival at Fort Reno requested him to get a substitute in my place. He refused to do so and insisted that I accompany him to Fort Laramie, but after being on the road a short time, my eyes played out entirely. I had to return to the fort and there secured another man to take my place. They made the trip down all right and returning were accompanied by two or three soldiers, who were going to join their commands. They had got nearly to the head of the dry fork of the Powder River when the Indians killed the entire party. We found the bones of the men and mules and some of the mail sacks. We buried the men’s remains there.

During the summer of ’67 life was one continual round of fighting. We lost a great many men, but damaged the Sioux much more than during the previous year. The soldiers had better guns, and were far better Indian fighters. They had learned that it was safer to keep their faces to the Indians, than, as during the previous year, their backs. When you run from an Indian you are his meat.

On the day of the wagon-box fight, accompanied by my partner, I left the fort before daylight. We went to the foot-hills to get some deer. A short time after daylight we discovered a lot of Indian smoke signals on the hills, and decided that we had better get back to the fort. In making our way back we followed the Little Piney down for some distance, and found that the country was full of Indians. We then struck out for the wood train. The Indians had got between us and it. We then went to the wagon-box corral, and got there none too soon.

Your description of the corral is correct as I remember it to be. Its location is about right, except that it was not on an island. I never heard of Little Piney Island, and I do not believe such an island existed there at that time.[^[26]] The wagon boxes were of the ordinary government boxes. They were set off from the wagons, as the wagons were in corral. The intervals between were packed with logs, bales of blankets, clothing, sacks of corn, etc. As to the wagon boxes being lined with iron, you are right. They were not. Up to that time, and during my time on the plains, I never saw wagon boxes so lined. The wagon box that I was detailed to fight in had no such protection, but we had gunny sacks of corn placed on edge two deep on the inside of the box, with a two inch auger hole at the point where the four sacks came together. This made good protection for the body when lying down. As stated in your article, the tops of the wagon boxes were literally torn to pieces with the bullets fired at us by the Indians. Without this protection the fight would not have lasted very long.

There was a surplus of ammunition and guns. I had two Spencer carbines, and two revolvers (six-shot army Colt’s). During the first charge I emptied the carbines and the revolvers less two shots (reserved for myself in case of a show down). The balance of our men must have fired as many shots as I did. The soldier that was in the box with me had a needle gun and a Spencer; also one or two revolvers. And he kept them busy while he lived. This man was an infantry soldier—do not remember his company. He was shot through the head, dying in about two hours after being shot.

Lieutenant Jenness had just cautioned me not to expose my person, and to hold my fire until I was sure of getting an Indian at each shot. He had moved a few feet from my box when he was shot through the head. I think he died instantly. He was a grand, good man, and a fearless officer. I told him to keep under cover. He stated he was compelled to expose himself in order to look after his men.

I got a slight wound in my left hand; a bullet came in through my porthole, which I thought was close shooting for a Sioux.

This fight lasted about four hours, and was very hot from the start. I had been in several Indian fights prior to this time, but never saw the Indians make such a determined effort to clean us up before. They should have killed the entire party. They certainly had force enough to ride over us, but our fire was so steady and severe that they could not stand the punishment.

Our men stood the strain well, held their fire until the bullets would count. In fact, shooting into such a mass of Indians as charged on us the first time, it would be nearly impossible for many bullets to go astray. In all my experience in fighting Indians prior to this time, I never saw them stand punishment so well as they did at this time; they certainly brought all their sand with them. In charging on our little corral they rode up very close to the wagon boxes, and here is where they failed. Had they pushed home on the first charge, the fight would not have lasted ten minutes after they got over the corral.

Many dead and wounded Indians lay within a few feet of the wagon boxes. The wounded Indians did not live long after the charge was over. They would watch and try to get a bullet in on some of our men. We had to kill them for self-protection. Anyway, it was evening up the Fetterman deal. They never showed mercy to a wounded white man, and should not expect any different treatment. I had a canteen of water when the fight commenced, and used most of it to cool my guns.

You state that all of our loss occurred at time of the first charge. This is an error, as the man in my box was shot after he had been fighting nearly an hour. I think that his name was Boyle. Up to the time that he was shot he certainly filled the bill and did his duty, dying with his face to the foe as a soldier should.

I do not try to estimate the number of the Indians, but, as my partner said, “The woods were full of them.” This was the largest gathering of Indians that I ever saw, and the hardest fighting lot that I ever encountered.

When the reinforcements came in sight we took on a new lease of life, and when they dropped a shell over the Indians we knew that the fight was won. Indians will not stand artillery fire. They call it the “wagon gun.” The reinforcements came just in time. One hour more of such fighting would have exhausted our men and ammunition.

As to the Indians carrying off all their dead and wounded, here you are again mistaken, as many of our men carried away with them scalps, etc., taken from the bodies of the dead Indians near the corral.[^[27]] The Indians certainly hauled off all their dead and wounded that they could, but did not expose themselves very much in order to get the dead ones near the corral.

On arrival of reinforcements we immediately retreated to the fort. Captain Powell was the right man to command under such trying circumstances. No better or braver man ever held a lieutenant’s commission than Jenness. As to the Indian loss, I think you have overestimated it. We thought that we had killed and wounded some more than four hundred. However, you may be right in your estimates. We had the opportunity to clean up that number, and we certainly did our best to do so.

After the massacre of ’66 (Dec.) we received reinforcements, as I now remember, four companies of infantry and two companies, L and M, of the 2d Cav. This large additional force, stationed at a four-company fort, and only provisioned for four companies, caused a great deal of suffering during the winter, resulting in much sickness and many deaths from scurvy. Nearly all of us were suffering from this disease. I have never fully recovered from the effect of it.

Colonel Carrington was severely censured by the War Department and many others for the Fort Phil Kearney massacre, and, I think, unjustly. Had Col. Fetterman and Capt. Brown and the other officers in command obeyed his orders, the massacre would not have occurred, not, at least, at this time.

Fetterman and Brown were dare-devil fighters, always anxious for a fight, and took this opportunity to get into one. Capt. Brown, on his “calico” pony, was a familiar figure around this fort—the boys called him “Baldy.” The Indians were very anxious to kill Brown; he was a thorn in their sides. While we to some extent lay the blame of the massacre on Brown and Fetterman, to be honest, we were nearly all partly to blame. We were always harping at the colonel to send a large force out and fight the Indians, but he always insisted on a conservative course. We all thought up to that time that one hundred good men could walk through the entire Sioux Nation. This massacre demonstrated that in a fight in the open the Sioux should not have over five to one of us.

I was well posted in regard to the Carrington Powder River Expedition of 1866 and the history of Fort Phil Kearney from the date of establishment to Nov., 1867, and acquainted with all of the officers and many of the soldiers and citizens. I probably would not have written this little statement of actual history were it not for the fact that in your article you stated that you got some of the record from the only living member of the celebrated wagon-box fight. I am still in the flesh and will pull down the scale at two hundred pounds. In all probability there are others alive, as we all were young men at that time.

The history of the three forts established in 1865 and 1866, well written, would make interesting history, as almost every day was full of stirring events. Quite a number of the citizens in that country at this time were discharged volunteer soldiers and some rebel soldiers also. As a rule, they were hard nuts for the Indians to crack. It was noticeable that they would not take chances fighting citizens that they would take with the soldiers.

After leaving Fort Phil Kearney I went to Cheyenne and followed the Union Pacific R. R. to the finish. Was at Promontory Point in Utah when the Union Pacific and Central Pacific R. Rs. connected; this was one of the mile-stones in the history of the West, and practically solved the Indian problem. The Indians fought hard for this territory. It was the best hunting ground that they had left. There were many half-breeds among them, and they were daring and shifty fighters.

Respectfully yours,

R. J. Smyth”

[24]. The serial publication of these articles brought me many letters filled with corrections, suggestions, and other material, written by participants in the events described. Among them all none is more graphic and more interesting than this from Mr. Smyth, formerly Teamster with Carrington, which I count it a privilege to insert in this book in his own words.—C. T. B.

[25]. I have observed similar visitations in other parts of the West years ago.—C. T. B.

[26]. General Carrington’s map on page [27] shows the island. Mr. Smyth’s recollection is in error here.—C. T. B.

[27]. Surgeon Horton writes me that the “soldiers brought back to the fort the head of an Indian for a scientific study of Indian skulls!” He afterwards sent it to Washington. He also states that there were a number of dead bodies too near the corral for the Indians to get them during the action. When he and other officers visited the place the next day, after the withdrawal of the Indians, there were no dead bodies to be found, not even the headless one.—C. T. B.

CHAPTER FIVE
Forsyth and the Rough Riders of ’68

I. The Original “Rough Riders.”

No one will question the sweeping assertion that the grittiest band of American fighters that history tells us of was that which defended the Alamo. They surpassed by one Leonidas and his Spartans; for the Greeks had a messenger of defeat, the men of the Alamo had none. But close on the heels of the gallant Travis and his dauntless comrades came “Sandy” Forsyth’s original “Rough Riders,” who immortalized themselves by their terrific fight on Beecher’s Island on the Arickaree Fork of the Republican River, in Eastern Colorado, in the fall of 1868.

The contagion of the successful Indian attacks on Fort Phil Kearney had spread all over the Central West. The Kansas Pacific was then building to Denver, and its advance was furiously resisted by the Indians. As early as 1866, at a council held at Fort Ellsworth, Roman Nose, head chief of the Cheyennes, made a speech full of insolent defiance.

BEECHER’S ISLAND FIGHTERS

All contemporary portraits except Stillwell’s

“This is the first time,” said the gigantic warrior, who was six feet three and magnificently proportioned,[^[28]] “that I have ever shaken the white man’s hand in friendship. If the railway is continued I shall be his enemy forever.”

There was no stopping the railway. Its progress was as irresistible as the movement of civilization itself. The Indians went on the war-path. The Cheyennes were led by their two principal chiefs, Black Kettle being the second. We shall see subsequently how Custer accounted for Black Kettle. This story deals with the adventures of Roman Nose.

As fighters these Indians are entitled to every admiration. As marauders they merit nothing but censure. The Indians of the early days of the nation, when Pennsylvania and New York were border states, and across the Alleghenies lay the frontier, were cruel enough, as the chronicle of the times abundantly testify; but they were angels of light compared with the Sioux and Cheyennes, the Kiowas, Arapahoes and Comanches, and these in turn were almost admirable beside the Apache. The first-named group were as cruel as they knew how to be, and they did not lack knowledge, either. The Apaches were more ingenious and devilish in their practices than the others. The Sioux and the Cheyennes were brutal with the brutality of a wild bull or a grizzly bear. To that same kind of brutality the Apaches added the malignity of a wildcat and the subtlety of a snake. The men of the first group would stand out and fight in the open to gain their ends, although they did not prefer to. They were soldiers and warriors as well as torturers. The Apache was a lurking skulker, but, when cornered, a magnificent fighter also.[^[30]] General Crook calls him “the tiger of the human species.” However, from the point of detestableness there wasn’t much to choose between them.

Perhaps we ought not to blame the Indians for acting just as our ancestors of, say the Stone Age, acted in all probability. And when you put modern weapons and modern whisky in the hands of the Stone Age men you need not be surprised at the consequences. The Indian question is a terrible one any way you take it. It cannot be denied they have been treated abominably by the United States, and that they have good cause for resentment; but the situation has been so peculiar that strife has been inevitable.

As patriots defending their country, they are not without certain definite claims to our respect. Recognizing the right of the aborigines to the soil, the government has yet arbitrarily abrogated that right at pleasure. At times the Indians have been regarded as independent nations, with which all differences were to be settled by treaty as between equals; and again, as a body of subjects whose affairs could be and would be administered willy-nilly by the United States. Such vacillations are certain to result in trouble, especially as, needless to say, the Indians invariably considered themselves as much independent nations as England and France might consider themselves, in dealing with the United States or with one another. And the Indians naturally claimed and insisted that the territory where their fathers had roamed for centuries belonged solely and wholly to them. They admitted no suzerainty of any sort, either. And they held the petty force the government put in the field in supreme contempt until they learned by bitter experience the illimitable power of the United States.

To settle such a growing question in a word, offhand, as it were, is, of course, impossible, nor does the settlement lie within the province of these articles; but it may be said that if the United States had definitely decided upon one policy or the other, and had then concentrated all its strength upon the problem; if it had realized the character of the people with whom it was dealing, and had made such display of its force as would have rendered it apparent, to the keenest as well as to the most stupid and besotted of the Indians, that resistance was entirely futile, things might have been different. But it is the solemn truth that never, in any of the Indian wars west of the Missouri, has there been a force of soldiers in the field adequate to deal with the question. The blood of thousands of soldiers and settlers—men, women, and children—might have been spared had this fact been realized and acted upon.

The Cheyennes swept through western Kansas like a devastating storm. In one month they cut off, killed, or captured eighty-four different settlers, including their wives and children. They swept the country bare. Again and again the different gangs of builders were wiped out, but the railroad went on. General Sheridan finally took the field in person, as usual with an inadequate force at his disposal. One of his aides-de-camp was a young cavalry officer named George Alexander Forsyth, commonly known to his friends as “Sandy” Forsyth. He had entered the volunteer army in 1861 as a private of dragoons in a Chicago company. A mere boy, he had come out a brigadier-general. In the permanent establishment he was a major in the Ninth Cavalry. Sheridan knew him. He was one of the two officers who made that magnificent ride with the great commander that saved the day at Winchester, and it was due to his suggestion that Sheridan rode down the readjusted lines before they made the return advance which decided the fate of the battle. During all that mad gallop and hard fighting young Forsyth rode with the General. To-day he is the only survivor of that ride.

Forsyth was a fighter all through, and he wanted to get into the field in command of some of the troops operating directly on the Indians in the campaign under consideration. No officer was willing to surrender his command to Forsyth on the eve of active operations, and there was no way, apparently, by which he could do anything until Sheridan acceded to his importunities by authorizing him to raise a company of scouts for the campaign. He was directed, if he could do so, to enlist fifty men, who, as there was no provision for the employment of scouts or civilian auxiliaries, were of necessity carried on the payrolls as quartermasters’ employees for the magnificent sum of one dollar per day. They were to provide their own horses, but were allowed thirty cents a day for the use of them, and the horses were to be paid for by the government if they were “expended” during the campaign. They were equipped with saddle, bridle, haversack, canteen, blanket, knife, tin cup, Spencer repeating rifle, good for seven shots without reloading, six in the magazine, one in the barrel, and a heavy Colt’s army revolver. There were no tents or other similar conveniences, and four mules constituted the baggage train. The force was intended to be strictly mobile, and it was. Each man carried on his person one hundred and forty rounds of ammunition for his rifle and thirty rounds for his revolver. The four mules carried the medical supplies and four thousand rounds of extra ammunition. Each officer and man took seven days’ rations. What he could not carry on his person was loaded on the pack mules; scanty rations they were, too.

As soon as it was known that the troop was to be organized, Forsyth was overwhelmed with applications from men who wished to join it. He had the pick of the frontier to select from. He chose thirty men at Fort Harker and the remaining twenty from Fort Hayes. Undoubtedly they were the best men in the West for the purpose. To assist him, Lieutenant Frederick H. Beecher, of the Third Infantry, was detailed as second in command. Beecher was a young officer with a record. He had displayed peculiar heroism at the great battle of Gettysburg, where he had been so badly wounded that he was lame for the balance of his life. He was a nephew of the great Henry Ward Beecher and a worthy representative of the distinguished family whose name he bore. The surgeon of the party was Dr. John H. Mooers, a highly-trained physician, who had come to the West in a spirit of restless adventure. He had settled at Hayes City and was familiar with the frontier. The guide of the party was Sharp Grover, one of the remarkable plainsmen of the time, regarded as the best scout in the government service. The first-sergeant was W. H. H. McCall, formerly brigadier-general, United States Volunteers. McCall, in command of a Pennsylvania regiment, had been promoted for conspicuous gallantry on the field, when John B. Gordon made his magnificent dash out of Petersburg and attacked Fort Steadman.

The personnel of the troop was about equally divided between hunters and trappers and veterans of the Civil War, nearly all of whom had held commissions in either the Union or Confederate Army, for the command included men from both sides of Mason and Dixon’s line. It was a hard-bitten, unruly group of fighters. Forsyth was just the man for them. While he did not attempt to enforce the discipline of the Regular Army, he kept them regularly in hand. He took just five days to get his men and start on the march. They left Fort Wallace, the temporary terminus of the Kansas Pacific Railroad, in response to a telegram from Sheridan that the Indians were in force in the vicinity, and scouted the country for some six days, finally striking the Indian trail, which grew larger and better defined as they pursued it. Although it was evident that the Indians they were chasing greatly outnumbered them, they had come out for a fight and wanted one, so they pressed on. They got one, too.[^[31]]

II. The Island of Death

On the evening of the fifteenth of September, hot on the trail, now like a well-beaten road, they rode through a depression or a ravine, which gave entrance into a valley some two miles wide and about the same length. Through this valley ran a little river, the Arickaree. They encamped on the south bank of the river about four o’clock in the afternoon. The horses and men were weary with hard riding. Grazing was good. They were within striking distance of the Indians now. Forsyth believed there were too many of them to run away from such a small body as his troop of scouts. He was right. The Indians had retreated as far as they intended to.

MAP OF FORSYTH’S DEFENSE OF BEECHER’S ISLAND, ARIKAREE RIVER, COLORADO
(Drawn by the author from rough sketches and maps furnished by General Forsyth)
Explanation of Map: A. Forsyth’s camp before attack. B. Rifle-pits on island. C. Low, unoccupied land on island with solitary cottonwood at end. D. Indian charge led by Roman Nose and Medicine Man. EE. Low banks fringed with trees. FF. Dry sandy bed of the river. HH. Indian riflemen on the banks. KK. Indian women and children on bluffs, half a mile from river. L. Ground sloping gently to river. M. Level grassy plain to bluffs.

The river bed, which was bordered by wild plums, willows and alders, ran through the middle of the valley. The bed of the river was about one hundred and forty yards wide. In the middle of it was an island about twenty yards wide and sixty yards long. The gravelly upper end of the island, which rose about two feet above the water level, was covered with a thick growth of stunted bushes, principally alders and willows; at the lower end, which sloped to the water’s edge, there rose a solitary cottonwood tree. There had been little rain for some time, and this river bed for the greater part of its width was dry and hard.[^[32]] For a space of four or five yards on either side of the island there was water, not over a foot deep, languidly washing the gravelled shores. When the river bed was full the island probably was overflowed. Such islands form from time to time, and are washed away as quickly as they develop. The banks of the river bed on either side commanded the island.

The simple preparations for the camp of that body of men were soon made. As night fell they rolled themselves in their blankets, with the exception of the sentries, and went to sleep with the careless indifference of veterans under such circumstances.

BEECHER’S ISLAND FIELD
The battle took place just about where the cattle are standing in the river. The shifting current has obliterated the Island.

Forsyth, however, as became a captain, was not so careless or so reckless as his men. They were alone in the heart of the Indian country, in close proximity to an overwhelming force, and liable to attack at any moment. He knew that their movements had been observed by the Indians during the past few days. Therefore the young commander was on the alert throughout the night, visiting the outposts from time to time to see that careful watch was kept.

Just as the first streaks of dawn began to “lace the severing clouds,” he happened to be standing by the sentry farthest from the camp. Silhouetted against the sky-line they saw the feathered head of an Indian. For Forsyth to fire at him was the work of an instant. At the same time a party which had crept nearer to the picket line unobserved dashed boldly at the horses, and resorting to the usual devices with bells, horns, hideous yells, and waving buffalo robes, attempted to stampede the herd.

Men like those scouts under such circumstances slept with their boots on. The first shot called them into instant action. They ran instinctively to the picket line. A sharp fire, and the Indians were driven off at once. Only the pack mules got away. No pursuit was attempted, of course. Orders were given for the men to saddle their horses and stand by them. In a few moments the command was drawn up in line, each man standing by his horse’s head, bridle reins through his left arm, his rifle grasped in his right hand—ready! Scarcely had the company been thus assembled when Grover caught Forsyth’s arm and pointed down the valley.

“My God!” he cried, “look at the Injuns!”

In front of them, on the right of them, in the rear of them, the hills and valleys on both sides of the river seemed suddenly to be alive with Indians. It was as quick a transformation from a scene of peaceful quiet to a valley filled with an armed force as the whistle of Roderick Dhu had effected in the Scottish glen.

The way to the left, by which they had entered the valley, was still open. Forsyth could have made a running fight for it and dashed for the gorge through which he had entered the valley. There were, apparently, no Indians barring the way in that direction. But Forsyth realized instantly that for him to retreat would mean the destruction of his command, that the Indians had in all probability purposely left him that way of escape, and if he tried it he would be ambushed in the defile and slain. That was just what they wanted him to do, it was evident. That was why he did not attempt it. He was cornered, but he was not beaten, and he did not think he could be. Besides, he had come for that fight, and that fight he was bound to have.

Whatever he was to do he must do quickly. There was no place to which he could go save the island. That was not much of a place at best, but it was the one strategic point presented by the situation. Pouring a heavy fire into the Indians, Forsyth directed his men to take possession of the island under cover of the smoke. In the movement everything had to be abandoned, including the medical stores and rations, but the precious ammunition—that must be secured at all hazards. Protected by a squad of expert riflemen on the river bank, who presently joined them, the scouts reached the island in safety, tied their horses to the bushes around the edge of it, and in the intervals of fighting set to work digging rifle-pits covering an ellipse twenty by forty yards, one pit for each man, with which to defend the upper and higher part of the island They had nothing to dig with except tin cups, tin plates, and their bowie knives, but they dug like men. There was no lingering or hesitation about it.

The chief of the Indian force, which was made up of Northern Cheyennes, Oglala and Brulé Sioux, with a few Arapahoes and a number of Dog Soldiers, was the famous Roman Nose, an enemy to be feared indeed. He was filled with disgust and indignation at the failure of his men to occupy the island, the strategic importance of which he at once detected. It is believed that orders to seize the island had been given, but for some reason they had not been obeyed; and to this oversight or failure was due the ultimate safety of Forsyth’s men. It was not safe to neglect the smallest point in fighting with a soldier like Forsyth.

With more military skill than they had ever displayed before, the Indians deliberately made preparations for battle. The force at the disposal of Roman Nose was something less than one thousand warriors. They were accompanied by their squaws and children. The latter took position on the bluffs on the east bank of the river, just out of range, where they could see the whole affair. Like the ladies of the ancient tournaments, they were eager to witness the fighting and welcome the victors, who, for they never doubted the outcome, were certain to be their own.

Roman Nose next lined the banks of the river on both sides with dismounted riflemen, skilfully using such concealment as the ground afforded. The banks were slightly higher than the island, and the Indians had a plunging fire upon the little party. The riflemen on the banks opened fire at once. A storm of bullets was poured upon the devoted band on the island. The scouts, husbanding their ammunition, slowly and deliberately replied, endeavoring, with signal success, to make every shot tell. As one man said, they reckoned “every ca’tridge was wuth at least one Injun.” The horses of the troop, having no protection, received the brunt of the first fire. They fell rapidly, and their carcasses rising in front of the rifle-pits afforded added protection to the soldiers. There must have been a renegade white man among the savages, for in a lull of the firing the men on the island heard a voice announce in perfect English, “There goes the last of their horses, anyway.” Besides this, from time to time, the notes of an artillery bugle were heard from the shore. The casualties had not been serious while the horses stood, but as soon as they were all down the men began to suffer.[^[33]]

During this time Forsyth had been walking about in the little circle of defenders encouraging his men. He was met on all sides with insistent demands that he lie down and take cover, and, the firing becoming hotter, he at last complied. The rifle-pit which Surgeon Mooers had made was a little wider than that of the other men, and as it was a good place from which to direct the fighting, at the doctor’s suggestion some of the scouts scooped it out to make it a little larger, and Forsyth lay down by him.

The fire of the Indians had been increasing. Several scouts were killed, more mortally wounded, and some slightly wounded. Doctor Mooers was hit in the forehead and mortally wounded. He lingered for three days, saying but one intelligent word during the whole period. Although he was blind and speechless, his motions sometimes indicated that he knew where he was. He would frequently reach out his foot and touch Forsyth. A bullet struck Forsyth in the right thigh, and glancing upwards bedded itself in the flesh, causing excruciating pain. He suffered exquisite anguish, but his present sufferings were just beginning, for a second bullet struck him in the leg, between the knee and ankle, and smashed the bone, and a third glanced across his forehead, slightly fracturing his skull and giving him a splitting headache, although he had no time to attend to it then.

III. The Charge of the Five Hundred

During all this time Roman Nose and his horsemen had withdrawn around the bend up the river, which screened them from the island. At this juncture they appeared in full force, trotting up the bed of the river in open order in eight ranks of about sixty front. Ahead of them, on a magnificent chestnut horse, trotted Roman Nose. The warriors were hideously painted, and all were naked except for moccasins and cartridge belts. Eagle feathers were stuck in their long hair, and many of them wore gorgeous feather war bonnets. They sat their horses without saddles or stirrups, some of them having lariats twisted around the horses’ bellies like a surcingle. Roman Nose wore a magnificent war bonnet of feathers streaming behind him in the wind and surmounted by two buffalo-horns; around his waist he had tied an officer’s brilliant scarlet silk sash, which had been presented to him at the Fort Ellsworth conference. The sunlight illumined the bronze body of the savage Hercules, exhibiting the magnificent proportions of the man. Those who followed him were in every way worthy of their leader.

As the Indian cavalry appeared around the bend to the music of that bugle, the fire upon the island from the banks redoubled in intensity. Forsyth instantly divined that Roman Nose was about to attempt to ride him down. He also realized that, so soon as the horses were upon him, the rifle fire from the bank would of necessity be stopped. His order to his men was to cease firing, therefore; to load the magazines of their rifles, charge their revolvers, and wait until he gave the order to fire. The rifles of the dead and those of the party too severely wounded to use them were distributed among those scouts yet unharmed. Some of the wounded insisted upon fighting. Forsyth propped himself up in his rifle-pit, his back and shoulders resting against the pile of earth, his rifle and revolver in hand. He could see his own men, and also the Indians coming up the river.

Presently, shouting their war songs, at a wild pealed whoop from their chief, the Indian horsemen broke into a gallop, Roman Nose leading the advance, shaking his heavy Spencer rifle—captured, possibly, from Fetterman’s men—in the air as if it had been a reed. There was a last burst of rifle fire from the banks, and the rattle of musketry was displaced by the war songs of the Indians and the yells of the squaws and children on the slopes of the hills. As the smoke drifted away on that sunny September morning, they saw the Indians almost upon them. In spite of his terrible wounds the heroic Forsyth was thoroughly in command. Waiting until the tactical moment when the Indians were but fifty yards away and coming at a terrific speed, he raised himself on his hands to a sitting position and cried, “Now!”

Copyright, 1900, by Charles Schreyvogel
ROMAN NOSE LEADING THE CHARGE AGAINST FORSYTH’S DEVOTED BAND
Drawing by Charles Schreyvogel

The men rose to their knees, brought their guns to their shoulders, and poured a volley right into the face of the furious advance. An instant later, with another cartridge in the barrel they delivered a second volley. Horses and men went down in every direction; but, like the magnificent warriors they were, the Indians closed up and came sweeping down. The third volley was poured into them. Still they came. The war songs had ceased by this time, but in undaunted spirit, still pealing his war cry above the crashing of the bullets, at the head of his band, with his magnificent determination unshaken, Roman Nose led such a ride as no Indian ever attempted before or since. And still those quiet, cool men continued to pump bullets into the horde. At the fourth volley the medicine man on the left of the line and the second in command went down. The Indians hesitated at this reverse, but swinging his rifle high in the air in battle frenzy, the great war chief rallied them, and they once more advanced. The fifth volley staggered them still more. Great gaps were opened in their ranks. Horses and men fell dead, but the impetus was so great, and the courage and example of their leader so splendid, that the survivors came on unchecked. The sixth volley did the work. Just as he was about to leap on the island, Roman Nose and his horse were both shot to pieces. The force of the charge, however, was so great that the line was not yet entirely broken. The horsemen were within a few feet of the scouts, when the seventh volley was poured into their very faces. As a gigantic wave meets a sharply jutting rock and is parted, falling harmlessly on either side of it, so was that charge divided, the Indians swinging themselves to the sides of their horses as they swept down the length of the island.

The scouts sprang to their feet at this juncture, and almost at contact range jammed their revolver shots at the disorganized masses. The Indians fled precipitately to the banks on either side, and the yelling of the war chants of the squaws and children changed into wails of anguish and despair, as they marked the death of Roman Nose and the horrible slaughter of his followers.

It was a most magnificent charge, and one which for splendid daring and reckless heroism would have done credit to the best troops of any nation in the world. And magnificently had it been met. Powell’s defense of the corral on Piney Island was a remarkable achievement, but it was not to be compared to the fighting of these scouts on the little open, unprotected heap of sand and gravel in the Arickaree.

As soon as the Indian horsemen withdrew, baffled and furious, a rifle fire opened once more from the banks. Lieutenant Beecher, who had heroically performed his part in the defense, crawled over to Forsyth and said:

“I have my death wound, General. I am shot in the side and dying.”

He said the words quietly and simply, as if his communication was utterly commonplace, then stretched himself out by his wounded commander, lying, like Steerforth, with his face upon his arm.

“No, Beecher, no,” said Forsyth, out of his own anguish; “it can not be as bad as that.”

“Yes,” said the young officer, “good-night.”

There was nothing to be done for him. Forsyth heard him whisper a word or two of his mother, and then delirium supervened. By evening he was dead. In memory of the brave young officer, they called the place where he had died Beecher’s Island.

At two o’clock in the afternoon a second charge of horse was assayed in much the same way as the first had been delivered; but there was no longer a great war chief in command, and this time the Indians broke at one hundred yards from the island. At six o’clock at night they made a final attempt. The whole party, horse and foot, in a solid mass rushed from all sides upon the island. They came forward, yelling and firing, but they were met with so severe a fire from the rifle-pits that, although some of them actually reached the foot of the island, they could not maintain their position, and were driven back with frightful loss. The men on the island deliberately picked off Indian after Indian as they came, so that the dry river bed ran with blood. The place was a very hell to the Indians. They withdrew at last, baffled, crushed, beaten.

With nightfall the men on the island could take account of the situation. Two officers and four men were dead or dying, one officer and eight men were so severely wounded that their condition was critical. Eight men were less severely wounded, making twenty-three casualties out of fifty-one officers and men.[^[34]] There were no rations, but thank God there was an abundance of water. They could get it easily by digging in the sandy surface of the island. They could subsist, if necessary, on strips of meat cut from the bodies of the horses. The most serious lack was of medical attention. The doctor lying unconscious, the wounded were forced to get along with the unskilled care of their comrades, and with water, and rags torn from clothing for dressings. Little could be done for them. The day had been frightfully hot, but, fortunately, a heavy rain fell in the night, which somewhat refreshed them. The rifle-pits were deepened and made continuous by piling saddles and equipments, and by further digging in the interspaces.

One of the curious Indian superstitions, which has often served the white man against whom he has fought to good purpose, is that when a man is killed in the dark he must pass all eternity in darkness. Consequently, he rarely ever attacks at night. Forsyth’s party felt reasonably secure from any further attack, therefore, notwithstanding which they kept watch.

IV. The Siege of the Island

As soon as darkness settled down volunteers were called for to carry the news of their predicament to Fort Wallace, one hundred miles away. Every man able to travel offered himself for the perilous journey. Forsyth selected Trudeau and Stillwell. Trudeau was a veteran hunter, Stillwell a youngster only nineteen years of age, although he already gave promise of the fame as a scout which he afterwards acquired. To them he gave the only map he possessed. They were to ask the commander of Fort Wallace to come to his assistance. As soon as the two brave scouts had left, every one realized that a long wait would be entailed upon the little band, if, indeed, it was not overwhelmed meanwhile, before any relieving force could reach the island. And there were grave doubts as to whether, in any event, Trudeau and Stillwell could get through the Indians. It was not a pleasant night they spent, therefore, although they were busy strengthening the defenses, and nobody got any sleep.

Early the next morning the Indians again made their appearance. They had hoped that Forsyth and his men would have endeavored to retreat during the night, in which event they would have followed the trail and speedily annihilated the whole command. But Forsyth was too good a soldier to leave the position he had chosen. During the fighting of the day before he had asked Grover his opinion as to whether the Indians could deliver any more formidable attack than the one which had resulted in the death of Roman Nose, and Grover, who had had large experience, assured him that they had done the best they could, and indeed better than he or any other scout had ever seen or heard of in any Indian warfare. Forsyth was satisfied, therefore, that they could maintain the position, at least until they starved.

The Indians were quickly apprised, by a volley which killed at least one man, that the defenders of the island were still there. The place was closely invested, and although the Indians made several attempts to approach it under a white flag, they were forced back by the accurate fire of the scouts, and compelled to keep their distance. It was very hot. The sufferings of the wounded were something frightful. The Indians were having troubles of their own, too. All night and all day the defenders could hear the beating of the tom-toms or drums and the mournful death songs and wails of the women over the bodies of the slain, all but three of whom had been removed during the night.[^[35]] These three were lying so near the rifle-pits that the Indians did not dare to approach near enough to get them. The three dead men had actually gained the shore of the island before they had been killed.

The command on the island had plenty to eat, such as it was. There was horse and mule meat in abundance. They ate it raw, when they got hungry enough. Water was plentiful. All they had to do was to dig the rifle-pits a little deeper, and it came forth in great quantities. It was weary waiting, but there was nothing else to do. They dared not relax their vigilance a moment. The next night, the second, Forsyth despatched two more scouts, fearing the first two might not have got through, thus seeking to “make assurance double sure.” This pair was not so successful as the first. They came back about three o’clock in the morning, having been unable to pass the Indians, for every outlet was heavily guarded.

The third day the Indian women and children were observed withdrawing from the vicinity. This cheered the men greatly, as it was a sign that the Indians intended to abandon the siege. The warriors still remained, however, and any incautious exposure was a signal for a volley. That night two more men were despatched with an urgent appeal, and these two succeeded in getting through. They bore this message:

“Sept. 19, 1868.

To Colonel Bankhead, or Commanding Officer,

Fort Wallace:

I sent you two messengers on the night of the 17th inst., 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.... Lieutenant Beecher is dead, and Acting Assistant Surgeon Mooers 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 is broken below the knee....

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 can hold out for six days longer if absolutely necessary, but please lose no time.

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.”

The fourth day passed like the preceding, the squaws all gone, the Indians still watchful. The wound in Forsyth’s leg had become excruciatingly painful, and he begged some of the men to cut out the bullet. But they discovered that it had lodged near the femoral artery, and fearful lest they should cut the artery and the young commander should bleed to death, they positively refused. In desperation, Forsyth cut it out himself. He had his razor in his saddle bags and, while two men pressed the flesh back, he performed the operation successfully, to his immediate relief.

The fifth day the mule and horse meat became putrid and therefore unfit to eat. An unlucky coyote wandered over to the island, however, and one of the men was fortunate enough to shoot him. Small though he was, he was a welcome addition to their larder, for he was fresh. There was but little skirmishing on the fifth day, and the place appeared to be deserted. Forsyth had half a dozen of his men raise him on a blanket above the level of the rifle beds so that he might survey the scene himself. Not all the Indians were gone, for a sudden fusillade burst out from the bank. One of the men let go the corner of the blanket which he held while the others were easing Forsyth down, and he fell upon his wounded leg with so much force that the bone protruded through the flesh. He records that he used some severe language to that scout.

On the sixth day Forsyth assembled his men about him, and told them that those who were well enough to leave the island would better do so and make for Fort Wallace; that it was more than possible that none of the messengers had succeeded in getting through; that the men had stood by him heroically, and that they would all starve to death where they were unless relief should come; and that they were entitled to a chance for their lives. He believed the Indians, who had at last disappeared, had received such a severe lesson that they would not attack again, and that if the men were circumspect they could get through to Fort Wallace in safety. The wounded, including himself, must be left to take care of themselves and take the chances of escape from the island.

The proposition was received in surprised silence for a few moments, and then there was a simultaneous shout of refusal from every man: “Never! We’ll stand by you.” McCall, the first sergeant and Forsyth’s right-hand man since Beecher had been killed, shouted out emphatically: “We’ve fought together, and, by Heaven, if need be, we’ll die together.”

They could not carry the wounded; they would not abandon them. Remember these men were not regular soldiers. They were simply a company of scouts, more or less loosely bound together, but, as McCall had pointed out, they were tied to one another by something stronger than discipline. Not a man left the island, although it would have been easy for the unwounded to do so, and possibly they might have escaped in safety.

For two more days they stood it out. There was no fighting during this time, but the presence of an Indian vedette indicated that they were under observation. They gathered some wild plums and made some jelly for the wounded; but no game came their way, and there was little for them to do but draw in their belts a little tighter and go hungry, or, better, go hungrier. On the morning of the ninth day, one of the men on watch suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting:

“There are moving men on the hills.” Everybody who could stand was up in an instant, and Grover, the keen-eyed scout, shouted triumphantly:

“By the God above us, there’s an ambulance!” They were rescued at last.

Note.—The serial publication of this article called forth another version of this affair, differing from it in some non-essential features, which was written by Mr. Herbert Myrick, and published serially. Mr. Myrick accounts for the “mysterious voice” which the scouts heard saying in English, “There goes the last of their horses anyway,” by disclosing the interesting fact that there were two renegade white men among the Indians. One of them was called “Nibsi” or “Black Jack,” a notorious desperado, who was afterwards hung for murder. The other was Jack Clybor, once a trooper of the Seventh Cavalry. Having been shot and left for dead in an engagement, the Indians captured him, nursed him back to life, adopted him, and named him “Comanche.” He was a singular compound of good and evil, and became as notorious for his good deeds as for his bad acts. Mr. Myrick has been collecting a mass of unknown and unpublished Western material for many years, which when published will undoubtedly clear up many mysteries, throw light upon many disputed questions, and prove of the deepest interest as well.

[28]. General Fry, in his valuable book, “Army Sacrifices,” now unfortunately out of print and scarce, thus graphically describes him: “A veritable man of war, the shock of battle and scenes of carnage and cruelty were as of the breath of his nostrils; about thirty years of age, standing six feet three inches high, he towered giant-like above his companions. A grand head with strongly marked features, lighted by a pair of fierce black eyes; a large mouth with thin lips, through which gleamed rows of strong, white teeth; a Roman nose with dilated nostrils like those of a thoroughbred horse, first attracted attention, while a broad chest, with symmetrical limbs on which the muscles under the bronze of his skin stood out like twisted wire, were some of the points of this splendid animal. Clad in buckskin leggings and moccasins elaborately embroidered with beads and feathers, with a single eagle feather in his scalp-lock, and with that rarest of robes, a white buffalo, beautifully tanned and soft as cashmere, thrown over his naked shoulders, he stood forth, the war chief of the Cheyennes.”

[29]. Killed on the Island

[30]. Charles F. Lummis refers to the Apaches as among the most ferocious and most successful warriors in history.

[31]. The reason a large body of men had not been detailed for the pursuit was that the greater the number the slower the movement would have been, and the Indians could and would have kept out of the way with ease. If the Indians were laying a trap for Forsyth, he was tempting them to stop and fight.

[32]. In dry seasons I have often seen Western river beds half a mile wide absolutely devoid of water. In the wet season these same beds would be roaring torrents from bank to bank.

[33]. As the Indians surrounded the island and the fire came in from all quarters, the men had to dig the earth for protection in rear as well as in front, and the rifle-pits were, in fact, hollows scooped out of the ground just long enough for a man to lie in.

[34]. Two of the scouts had been left behind, at Fort Wallace, because of illness.

[35]. The reason why an Indian will sacrifice everything to remove the body of one of his tribe or kin who has been killed, is to prevent the taking of his scalp. The religious belief of the Indians is that a man who is scalped cannot enter the happy hunting grounds, but is doomed to wander in outer darkness forever. For that reason he always scalps his enemy, so that when he himself reaches the happy hunting grounds he will not be bothered by a lot of enemies whom he has met and overcome during his lifetime. Naturally, it was a point of honor for him to get the bodies of his friends away, so that they might not be debarred from the Indian Heaven in the hereafter. Sometimes, however, the Indian did not scalp the body of a particularly brave man, for this reason: It is his belief that if he kills a man in battle and does not scalp him, that man will be his slave or servant in the happy hunting grounds, and although the victim still possesses capacities for mischief, the Indian sometimes risks all in the future glory that will come to him from holding in slavery a brave man, or a noted warrior, as a spiritual witness to his prowess. It is stated that the Indians never scalp the bodies of negroes and suicides. “Buffalo soldier heap bad medicine,” is their universal testimony when asked why they do not scalp negro troopers whom they have killed or captured. Perhaps they cannot scalp a woolly, kinky-haired black soldier, and that is the reason it is “bad medicine.” Suicide is “bad medicine,” too, for some unexplained reason.

CHAPTER SIX
The Journey of the Scouts and the Rescue of Forsyth

I. The Adventures of the Scouts

Trudeau and Stillwell, the first pair of scouts despatched by Forsyth with the story of his desperate situation on Beecher’s Island, left their commander about midnight on the evening of the first day of the attack. The Indians had withdrawn from the immediate vicinity of the river and were resting quietly in the camps on either side, although there were a number of warriors watching the island. The men bade a hasty good-by to their comrades, received their captain’s final instructions, and with beating hearts stole away on their desperate errand.

They neglected no precaution that experience could dictate. They even took off their boots, tied them together by the straps, slung them around their necks, and walked backward down the bed of the river in their stocking feet, so that, if the Indians by any chance stumbled upon their trail the next morning, it would appear to have been made by moccasined feet and perhaps escape attention, especially as the tracks would point toward the island instead of away from it. Further to disguise themselves, they wrapped themselves in blankets, which they endeavored to wear as the Indians did.

They proceeded with the most fearsome caution. Such was the circumspection with which they moved and the care necessary because of the watchfulness of the foe, who might be heard from time to time moving about on the banks, that by daylight they had progressed but two miles. During most of the time after leaving the river bed they had crawled on their hands and knees. Before sunrise they were forced to seek such concealment as they could find in a washout, a dry ravine, within sight and sound of the Indian camps. Providence certainly protected them, for if any of the Indians had happened to wander in their direction there was nothing to prevent their discovery; and if the savages had stumbled upon their hiding-place it would have been all up with them. Death by torture would have been inevitable if they were taken alive, and the only way to prevent that would be suicide. They had determined upon that. They had pledged each other to fight until the last cartridge, and to save that for themselves. They had nothing to eat and nothing to drink. The sun beat down upon them fiercely all the long day. After their experience of the one before, it was a day calculated to break down the strongest of men. They bore up under the strain, however, as best they could, and when darkness came they started out once more.

“SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH THEIR ARRIVAL A RATTLESNAKE MADE HIS APPEARANCE”
Drawing by Will Crawford

This night there was no necessity for so much caution and they made better progress, although they saw and successfully avoided several parties of Indians. When the day broke they were forced to conceal themselves again. The country was covered with wandering war parties, and it was not yet safe to travel by daylight. This day they hid themselves under the high banks of a river. Again they were fortunate in remaining unobserved, although several times bands of warriors passed near them. They traveled all the third night, making great progress. Morning found them on an open plain with no place to hide in but a buffalo wallow—a dry alkali mud-hole which had been much frequented in the wet season by buffalo—which afforded scanty cover at best.

During this day a large party of scouting Indians halted within one hundred feet of the wallow. Simultaneously with their arrival a wandering rattlesnake made his appearance in front of the two scouts, who were hugging the earth and expecting every minute to be discovered. The rattlesnake in his way was as deadly as the Indians. The scouts could have killed him easily had it not been for the proximity of the Cheyennes. To make the slightest movement would call attention to their hiding-place. Indeed, the sinister rattle of the venomous snake before he struck would probably attract the notice of the alert Indians. Between the savage reptile and the savage men the scouts were in a frightful predicament, which young Stillwell, a lad of amazing resourcefulness, instantly and effectually solved. He was chewing tobacco at the time, and as the snake drew near him and made ready to strike, he completely routed him by spitting tobacco juice in his mouth and eyes and all over his head. The rattlesnake fled; he could not stand such a dose. The Indians presently moved on, having noticed nothing, and so ended perhaps the most terrible half hour the two men had ever experienced.

They started early on the evening of the fourth night, and this time made remarkable progress. Toward morning, however, Trudeau all but broke down. The brunt of the whole adventure thereupon fell on Stillwell. He encouraged his older companion, helped him along as best he could, and finally, late at night, they reached Fort Wallace and told their tale. Instantly all was excitement in the post. Captain and Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Louis H. Carpenter, with seventy men of Troop H, of the Tenth Cavalry (a negro regiment), with Lieutenants Banzhaf and Orleman, Doctor Fitzgerald and seventeen scouts, with thirteen wagons and an ambulance, had been sent out from the post the day before with orders to make a camp on the Denver road, about sixty miles from the fort. From there he was to scout in every direction, keep off the Indians, and protect trains.

At eleven o’clock at night a courier was despatched to Carpenter with the following order:

“Headquarters, Fort Wallace, Kansas,

September 22, 1868, 11:00 P.M.

Brevet Lieut.-Colonel L. H. Carpenter, 10th U. S. Cavalry. On Scout.

Colonel:

The Commanding Officer directs you to proceed at once to a point on the “Dry Fork of the Republican,” about seventy-five or eighty miles north, northwest from this point, thirty or forty miles west by a little south from the forks of the Republic, with all possible despatch.

Two scouts from Colonel Forsyth’s command arrived here this evening and bring word that he (Forsyth) was attacked on the morning of Thursday last by an overwhelming force of Indians (700), who killed all the animals, broke Colonel Forsyth’s left leg with a rifle ball, severely wounding him in the groin, wounded Doctor Mooers in the head, and wounded Lieutenant Beecher in several places. His back is supposed to be broken. Two men of the command were killed and eighteen or twenty wounded.

The men bringing the word crawled on hands and knees two miles, and then traveled only by night on account of the Indians, whom they saw daily.

Forsyth’s men were intrenched in the dry bed of the creek with a well in the trench, but had only horse-flesh to eat and only sixty rounds of ammunition.

General Sheridan orders that the greatest despatch be used and every means employed to succor Forsyth at once. Colonel Bradley with six companies is now supposed by General Sheridan to be at the forks of the Republic.

Colonel Bankhead will leave here in one hour with one hundred men and two mountain howitzers.

Bring all your scouts with you.

Order Doctor Fitzgerald at once to this post, to replace Doctor Turner, who accompanies Colonel Bankhead for the purpose of dressing the wounded of Forsyth’s party.

I am, Colonel, very respectfully your obedient servant,

Hugh Johnson,

Acting Post Adjutant.

1st Lieutenant 5th Infantry.”

One hour afterward Bankhead himself, with one hundred men and two howitzers and the surgeon, started for the relief of Forsyth. With Bankhead went the undaunted Stillwell as guide. Trudeau had suffered so much during the perilous journey that he was unable to accompany the relief party, and he soon afterward died from the hardships and excitement of the horrible days he had passed through.

II. The Rescue of Forsyth

Carpenter had bivouacked on the evening of the 22d of September at Cheyenne Wells, about thirty-five miles from Fort Wallace. He had broken camp early in the morning and had marched some ten miles, when, from a high point on a divide he had reached, which permitted a full view of the Rocky Mountains from Pike’s to Long’s Peaks, he observed a horseman galloping frantically toward them. He was the courier despatched by Colonel Bankhead. Carpenter was a splendid soldier. He had received no less than four brevets for gallantry during the Civil War. He had been on Sheridan’s staff with Forsyth, and the two were bosom friends. No task could have been more congenial to him than this attempt at rescue.

He communicated the situation of their white comrades to his black troopers, and their officers crowded close about him. The orders were received with exultant cheers. The regiment had been raised since the war, and had not yet had a chance to prove its mettle. There were no veterans among them, and Carpenter and the other officers had been obliged to build the regiment from the ground up. Now was an opportunity to show what they could do. Carpenter had been trained to obey orders to the letter. In this instance he determined to disobey the command regarding Doctor Fitzgerald. It appeared to him that Bankhead had little hope that he (Carpenter) would find Forsyth, for he had sent him no guide; but Carpenter perceived that if he did find Forsyth—and he intended to find him—the conditions would be such that the services of a physician would be vitally necessary. He therefore retained the doctor. He also retained the wagon train, having no other way of carrying necessary supplies. For one reason, if he had detached a guard for the train, it would have weakened his force so greatly as to have made it inadequate to the enterprise. The mules were strong and fresh, and he decided to keep the wagons with him. The pace was to be a fast one, and he instructed the wagon masters that, if any of the mule teams gave out, they should be shot and, if necessary, the wagon should be abandoned.

Map of Marches to Relieve Colonel Forsyth and to Escort General Carr, Drawn by General Carpenter

There was no one in his command, he found, who had ever been in that territory. Indeed, it is probable that, save Forsyth’s men, no white men had ever penetrated that section of the country before. The map that Carpenter had was very defective. He studied over the matter a few moments, and then led his command toward the place where he supposed Forsyth to be. They advanced at a fast trot, with intervals of walking, and when they camped at night near some water holes they had covered nearly forty-five miles. The mules, under the indefatigable and profane stimulus of their drivers, had kept up with the rest. As soon as it was dawn the next day they started once more, and, after a twenty-mile ride, arrived at the dry bed of a river.

Whether this was the fork of the Republican, on which Forsyth was besieged, no one could tell. It happens that the Republican has three forks—a north fork, the Arickaree, and the south or dry fork. Carpenter was afraid to leave the fork he had found without satisfying himself that Forsyth was not there, so he concluded to scout up the river for some fifteen or eighteen miles. Finding nothing, he then turned northward again until he came to a stream flowing through a wide, grass-covered valley surrounded by high hills. As they entered the valley they came across a very large, fresh Indian trail. The scouts estimated that at least two thousand ponies had passed along the trail within a few hours. Various other signs showed a large village had moved down the trail.

They had traveled over forty miles this second day, and were apprehensive that the Indians, being so close to them, might attack them. It was nearly evening. A spot well adapted for defense was chosen near the water, the wagons were corralled, and preparations made for a stout resistance in case of an attack. While the men were making camp, Carpenter with a small escort rode to the top of one of the high hills bordering the valley. He could see for miles, but discovered no Indians nor any other living object in any direction. In front of them, however, on the top of another hill, were a number of scaffolds, each one bearing a human body. The Cheyenne method of burial was instantly recognized. A nearer look developed that the scaffolds had been recently erected. Five of them were examined, and in each case the body contained was that of a Cheyenne warrior, who had been killed by a gunshot wound. This was proof positive that they were some of the Indians who had been fighting against Forsyth.

While this was going on, one of the troopers noticed something white in a ravine on the opposite side of the valley. They galloped over to it, and found it to be an elaborate and beautiful tepee or wigwam, made out of freshly tanned white buffalo skins. The colonel dismounted, opened the tepee, and entered. There, upon a brush heap, lay a human figure wrapped in buffalo robes. When the robes were taken away the body of a splendid specimen of Indian manhood was disclosed. “He lay like a warrior taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him.” His stern and royal look, the iron majesty of his features, even though composed in death, revealed at once a native chieftain. In his breast was a great, gaping wound, which had pierced his heart. He lay in his war-gear, with his weapons and other personal property close at hand.

After the examination they recovered him and left him undisturbed. Then they went back to the camp. The corral was watchfully guarded during the night, but no one appeared to molest them. It was decided to follow the Indian trail at daylight, as it would probably lead to the site of Forsyth’s fight. Early the next morning, while they were packing up, they saw some horsemen coming over the hills to the south of them. They were white men, led by a scout named Donovan. Two more men had been despatched by Forsyth from the island on the third night of the siege, and being unobserved by the Indians, they had made their way to Fort Wallace. When they arrived there they found that Colonel Bankhead had already gone; whereupon Donovan had assembled five bold spirits and had immediately started out on the return journey. Fortunately for Carpenter, Donovan had struck the latter’s trail, and had followed it to the camp.

Carpenter thereupon took thirty of his best mounted troopers and the ambulance loaded with hardtack, coffee, and bacon, and set out on a gallop in the direction in which they supposed the island lay. Banzhaf was left in command of the rest, with orders to come on as fast as he could.

Carpenter went forward at a rapid gallop, and after traveling eighteen miles, while it was yet early in the morning, came to a spur of land from which he had a view of the surrounding country for miles. As he checked his horse on the brink, he saw to the right of him a valley through which meandered a narrow silver stream.

In the center of the valley there was an island. From it rose a solitary cottonwood. Men could be seen moving about the place. Donovan recognized it instantly. The horses of the detachment were put to a run, and the whole party galloped down the valley toward the island. The scouts swarmed across the river with cries of joy, and welcomed the soldiers. The faithful mules dragged the ambulance close behind. There was food for everybody. Carpenter was struck with the wolfish look on the faces of the hungry men as they crowded around the ambulance. Later one of them brought him a piece of mule or horse meat which was to have been served for dinner that day, if the rescuers had not appeared. Carpenter could not endure even the odor of it.

Galloping across the river bed, the first to enter the rifle-pits on the island was Carpenter. There, on the ground before him, lay Forsyth. And what do you suppose he was doing? He was reading a novel! Some one had found, in an empty saddle-bag, an old copy of Oliver Twist. Forsyth was afraid to trust himself. He was fearful that he would break down. He did not dare look at Carpenter or express his feelings. Therefore he made a pretense of being absorbed in his book.

The black cavalry had arrived in the very nick of time. Forsyth was in a burning fever. Blood-poisoning had set in, and his wounds were in a frightful condition. Another day and it would have been too late. Everything was gone from him but his indomitable resolution. Many others were in like circumstances. It was well that Carpenter had brought his surgeon with him, for his services were sadly needed. The men were taken off the island, moved half a mile away from the terrible stench arising from the dead animals; the wagon train came up, camps were made, the dead were buried on the island they had immortalized with their valor, and everything possible done for the comfort of the living by their negro comrades.

The doctor wanted to amputate Forsyth’s leg, but he protested, so that the amputation was not performed, and the leg was finally saved to its owner. One of the scouts, named Farley, however, was so desperately wounded that amputation had to be resorted to. The doctor performed the operation, assisted by Carpenter. A military commander in the field has to do a great many things.

The next day Bankhead made his appearance with his detachment. He had marched to the forks of the river and followed the Arickaree fork to the place. He was accompanied by two troops of the Second Cavalry, picked up on the way. He did not find fault with Carpenter for his disobedience in retaining Doctor Fitzgerald. On the contrary, such was his delight at the rescue that he fairly hugged his gallant subordinate.

As soon as it was possible, the survivors were taken back to Fort Wallace. Forsyth and the more severely wounded were carried in the ambulance. It took four days to reach the fort. Their progress was one long torture, in spite of every care that could be bestowed upon them. There was no road, and while the drivers chose the best spots on the prairie, there was, nevertheless, an awful amount of jolting and bumping.

Forsyth was brevetted a brigadier-general in the Regular Army for his conduct in this action. This was some compensation for two years of subsequent suffering until his wounds finally healed.

III. The End of Roman Nose

On the way back the men stopped at the white tepee in the lonely valley. Grover and McCall rode over to the spot with the officers and examined the body of the chieftain. They instantly identified him as Roman Nose. With a touch of sentiment unusual in frontiersmen they respected his grave, and for the sake of his valor allowed him to sleep on undisturbed. His arms and equipments, however, were considered legitimate spoils of war, and were taken from him. It was a sad end, indeed, to all his splendid courage and glorious defiance of his white foemen.

The loss of the Indians in the several attacks was never definitely ascertained. They admitted to seventy-five killed outright and over two hundred seriously wounded, but it is certain that their total losses were much greater. The fighting was of the closest and fiercest description, and the Indians were under the fire of one of the most expert bodies of marksmen on the plains at half pistol-shot distance in the unique and celebrated battle. The whole action is almost unparalleled in the history of our Indian wars, both for the thrilling and gallant cavalry charge of the Indians and the desperate valor of Forsyth and his scouts.

IV. A Few Words About Forsyth’s Men

The heroism and pluck of the men in the fight had been quite up to the mark set by their captain. A man named Farley had fought through the action with a severe bullet wound in the shoulder, which he never mentioned until nightfall; his father was mortally wounded, but he lay on his side and fought through the whole of the long first day until he died. Another man named Harrington was struck in the forehead by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft, but the head remained imbedded in the bone. An Indian bullet struck him a glancing blow in the forehead and neatly extricated the arrow—rough surgery, to be sure, but it served. Harrington tied a rag around his head, and kept his place during the whole three days of fighting.

When they first reached the island one of the men cried out, “Don’t let’s stay here and be shot down like dogs! Will any man try for the opposite bank with me?” Forsyth, revolver in hand, stopped that effort by threatening to shoot any man who attempted to leave the island. In all the party there was but one coward. In looks and demeanor he was the most promising of the company—a splendid specimen of manhood apparently. To everybody’s surprise, after one shot he hugged the earth in his rifle-pit and positively refused to do anything, in spite of orders, pleadings, jeers, and curses. He left the troop immediately on its arrival at Fort Wallace.

Per contra, one of the bravest, where all but one were heroes, was a little, eighteen-year old Jewish boy, who had begged to be enlisted and allowed to go along. He had been the butt of the command, yet he proved himself a very paladin of courage and efficiency when the fighting began.[^[36]]

One of the last acts of the recent Congress was the setting apart of one hundred and twenty acres of land in Yuma County, Colorado, as a national park. This reservation forever preserves Forsyth’s battlefield and the vicinity from settlement. On the edge of the river bank, on what was once Beecher’s Island, which the shifting river has now joined to the bank, is a wooden monument to Beecher and the other scouts who were buried somewhere in those shifting sands.[^[37]]

The few survivors of the battle have formed themselves into an association which holds an annual reunion on the battlefield. Soon there will be none of them left. Would it not be a graceful act for some one who honors courage, manliness, and devotion to duty to erect a more enduring monument to the memory of Beecher and his comrades than the perishable wooden shaft which now inadequately serves to call attention to their sacrifice and their valor?

Note.—The following interesting communication slightly modifies one of the statements in the above article. It certainly shows prompt decision upon the part of Lieutenant Johnson, who was left in command of the post after Bankhead’s departure.

Great Barrington, Mass., August 5th, 1904.

Dr. Brady says “Donovan had assembled five bold spirits, and had immediately started out on the return journey.” As a matter of fact, Donovan did no such thing. The departure of General Bankhead’s relief column stripped the garrison of Fort Wallace to seven enlisted men, took away the last horse, and placed me in command. Forsyth’s second note, brought by Donovan, fell into my hands. It was telegraphed in full to General Sheridan, who ordered me to spare no expense of men, money, and horses to hasten relief to Forsyth. By the promise of $100 each, four citizens of the neighboring town of Pond Creek were induced to seek the Carpenter command. Donovan I persuaded to guide them, promising him $100 in addition to his pay as a scout. This party started at daylight, on government mules, rode all day, all night, and found Carpenter’s command on the south fork of the Republican River, about ten miles southeast of the scene of the fight. Guided by these men, Carpenter pushed out, and Forsyth and his men were relieved some hours in advance of the arrival of the other relief commands.

The country from Fort Wallace to Arickaree Fork I passed over the following December, in an unsuccessful endeavor to secure the bodies of those killed in the fight. We surprised a village of Indians at the scene of the fight, fought them off, and found the body of one of the scouts, but Lieutenant Beecher’s and Dr. Mooers’ graves were empty. Yours very truly,

Hugh M. Johnson,

Late Lieutenant 5th U. S. Infantry.

[36]. In General Fry’s entertaining story of “Army Sacrifices,” the following little poem about him appears:

“When the foe charged on the breastworks

With the madness of despair,

And the bravest souls were tested,

The little Jew was there.

“When the weary dozed on duty,

Or the wounded needed care,

When another shot was called for,

The little Jew was there.

With the festering dead around them,

Shedding poison in the air,

When the crippled chieftain ordered,

The little Jew was there.”

[37]. “To-day cattle stand knee-deep in the Arickaree. The water no longer ripples around the island, as the shifting sands have filled the channel to the south. But if one digs under the cottonwoods he can find bullets, cartridges, and knives. And near at hand is the simple white shaft that tells where Beecher and Roman Nose, typifying all that is brave in white man and red, forgot all enmity in the last sleep that knows no dreams of racial hatred.” I cut this from a newspaper the other day. How well written, frequently, are the modestly unsigned articles in the daily press!

CHAPTER SEVEN
A Scout’s Story of the Defense of Beecher’s Island

By great good fortune I am permitted to insert here a private letter to me from Mr. Sigmund Schlesinger, the Jewish boy referred to in Chapter Six, which, as it contains an original account of the defense of Beecher’s Island from the standpoint of one of the participants, is an unique document in our Western historical records:—C.T.B.

For several days we had been following an Indian trail so broad that it looked like a wagon-road. Those in our command experienced in Indian warfare told us that we must be on the track of an Indian village on the move, with a large herd of horses. Evidently they knew that we were behind them, and seemed to be in a hurry to get away, for we found camp utensils, tent-poles, etc., which had been dropped and no time taken to pick them up. Among other things we saw fresh antelope meat, quarters, etc., and although our rations were nearly, if not all, gone, except some coffee and very little “sow-belly,” we did not dare eat the Indians’ remnants.

The night of Sept. 16th, before the attack next morning, Scout Culver, who was killed next day, pointed out to a few of us some torch-lights upon the hills that were being swung like signals. I knew that something “would be doing” soon, but, like a novice, I was as if on an anxious seat, under a strain of anticipation, expecting something strange and dangerous. The next thing that I now recall was that I was awakened just before daylight by a single cry, “Indians!” so loud and menacing that when I jumped up from the ground I was bewildered and felt as if I wanted to ward off a blow, coming from I knew not where, for it was still quite dark. That cry I will never forget. Soon I perceived a commotion among our horses and mules. The Indians, about a dozen, tried to stampede them. I could see in the dawning light the outlines of a white horse in the distance, and from the noise I realized that they were driving some of our stock before them. Later, in the daylight we could recognize some of our ponies on a neighboring hill in the possession of the Indians.

As soon as we crossed from the north bank of the river to the island, just before the attack, we tied our horses and pack mules to shrubs as best we could. During the day a mule with a partial pack on his back got loose and wandered around the vicinity of my pit. He had several arrows sticking in his body and seemed wounded otherwise, which caused him to rear and pitch to such an extent that Jim Lane, my neighbor, and I, decided to kill him. After shooting him he fell and lay between us, and served us the double purpose of food and barricade.

My horse was securely tethered to the underbrush on the island, and later that day I saw the poor beast rearing and plunging in a death struggle, having been shot and killed like the rest of our horses and mules. He also furnished me with several meals during the siege, even after he began to putrefy. There was little to choose between horse and mule meat under such circumstances—both were abominable.

When day broke that Tuesday, the seventeenth of September, 1868, we saw our pickets riding toward camp as fast as their horses could carry them, excitedly yelling: “Indians! Indians!” As I looked up the valley toward the west I beheld the grandest, wildest sight—such as few mortals are permitted to see and live to tell about. Many hundreds of Indians in full war paraphernalia, riding their splendid war ponies, rushed toward us en masse. Some were galloping in one direction, others cantering in another, their lances topped with many-colored streamers, the fantastic Indian costumes lending an awful charm to the whole. About this time those among us who had any had boiled some coffee and were preparing to cross over to the island.

I will frankly admit that I was awed and scared. I felt as if I wanted to run somewhere, but every avenue of escape was blocked. Look where I might I perceived nothing but danger, which increased my agitation; so I naturally turned to Colonel Forsyth as a protector, as a young chick espying the hawk in the air flutters toward the mother wing. Under such conditions of strain some things engrave themselves vividly upon your mind, while others are entirely forgotten. I remember that distinctly as in my trepidation I instinctively kept close to the colonel. I was reassured by his remarkable self-possession and coolness. While stirring every one to activity round us, he consulted with Lieutenant Beecher and the guide, Sharp Grover, giving directions here, advice there, until most of the command had crossed; then he crossed himself and posted the men, telling them where to take up their different positions. Meantime the Indians were coming closer. I was just behind the colonel when the first shot from the enemy came flying seemingly over our heads. I heard him say, smilingly, “Thank you,” but immediately afterward he ordered every one of us to lie flat upon the ground, while he, still directing, kept on his feet, walking around among us, leading his horse. The shots began coming thicker, and many of us yelled to him to lie down also. How long after this I do not know, but I heard the colonel cry out that he was shot, and I saw him clutch his leg and get down in a sitting position.

I was lying alongside of Lou McLaughlin; some tall weeds obscured my vision, so I asked Lou to crouch lower and I rolled over him to the other side and was there kept busy with my carbine, for the Indians were onto us. They were circling around while others were shooting. Very soon I heard Lou growl and mutter. I looked at him and saw that he was hit, a bullet coming from the direction where I was lying struck his gun-sight and glanced into his breast. He told me what had happened, but I could give him no attention, for there seemed lots of work to do before us. But later, after the repulse of the attack, I looked at Lou and was surprised to see him lying in a wallow. In his pain he had torn up the grass and dug his hands into the sand. In answer to my question whether he was hurt bad, he told me not bad, and advised me to dig into the sand and make a hole, as it would be a protection.

Courtesy of Chas. Scribner’s Sons
THE CRUCIAL MOMENT ON BEECHER’S ISLAND
Drawing by R. F. Zogbaum

I am not sure at this time, but I am now under the impression that I told Colonel Forsyth of this; and from that time on we began to dig with our hands or whatever we could use, and kick with our heels and toes in the sand, and some of us soon had holes dug deep enough to protect the chest, at least.

Time seemed out of our calculations. I heard some one call, “What time is it?” An answer came, “Three o’clock.” I had thought it was about ten A.M. We had nothing to eat or drink all day and, strange to say, I was not hungry, which may have been the reason why I thought it was still early. Word was passed that Lieutenant Beecher and Scouts Wilson and Culver were killed, Colonel Forsyth wounded again, also Doctor Mooers shot in the head and others hurt whose names I do not now remember.

We fought steadily all day. After dark the Indians withdrew; then nature began to assert itself. I got hungry; there was nothing to eat in the camp that I knew of, except some wild plums that I had gathered the day before, which were in my saddle-bags, still on the body of my horse. I got out of my hole, creeping on hands and knees toward where I knew the poor animal lay. As I felt my way in the darkness I touched something cold, and upon examination found that it was Wilson’s dead hand. He lay where he fell; it was a most horrible feeling. The shivers ran up and down my back, but I got to my horse at last, and tugging, I finally secured the bag and my plums. I also found in it a piece of bacon, the size of two fingers, which I reserved for a last emergency, and was still in possession of that rusty piece of fat when relief came.

On my way back to my hole I passed one where Doctor Mooers lay wounded, moaning piteously. I put a plum in his mouth, and I saw it between his teeth next morning. He died on the night of the 19th. All our wounded were very cheerful, and to look at Colonel Forsyth and talk to him as he lay there helpless, no outsider would have suspected that he was crippled. We used to gather round him in his pit and hold conversation, not like men in a desperate situation, but like neighbors talking over a common cause.

Colonel Forsyth was the right man in command of such a heterogeneous company. Like the least among us, he attended to his own horse when in camp, and many times have I seen him gather buffalo chips to supply the mess fuel. While he was our commander in practice he was our friend, and as such we respected him, followed and obeyed him.

On about the fifth day, as the Indians began leaving us, we began to walk about and look around. About fifteen or twenty feet from my pit I noticed a few of our men calling to the rest of us. I ran to the place, and there, against the edge of the island, I saw three dead Indians. Their friends evidently could not reach them to carry them off, which explained to us the persistent fighting in this direction. When I got there the Indians were being stripped of their equipments, scalps, etc. One of them was shot in the head and his hair was clotted with blood. I took hold of one of his braids and applied my knife to the skin above the ear to secure the scalp, but my hand coming in contact with the blood, I dropped the hair in disgust.

Old Jim Lane saw my hesitation, and taking up the braid, said to me: “My boy, does it make you sick?” Then inserting the point of the knife under the skin, he cut around, took up the other braid, and jerked the scalp from the head. I had been about three years in that country and four years in America, and life on the plains under such hardships as I had undergone hardens the sensibility, yet I was not quite ripe for such a cutting affray, even with a dead Indian.

After this we were not molested, but devoted our time to looking around for something to eat besides the rotten horse and mule meat, which we boiled several times in water and powder, not to get it soft, but to boil out the stench as much as possible. We found some cactus fruit, and killed a coyote, of which the brains and a rib were my portion. Aside from this we had nothing but horse and mule during the siege, which soon told on our bowels; but in spite of all this, I do not remember a despondent man in our crowd.

One morning, being the ninth since we were attacked, I was lying outside of my pit, having done some guard duty during the night; I was half dozing and dreaming of home and a good meal. I felt so homesick and so hungry when I heard some one call attention to something moving on the hill.

I was all attention at once. Soon I heard again “I think that’s Doctor Fitzgerald’s greyhound.” Whoever it might be, we would welcome. We would even have been pleased to have the Indians attack us again, in hopes of killing one of their horses for fresh meat; but it was soon evident that help was coming, and when I fully realized this fact, enfeebled as I was, I jumped up and joined in a lunatics’ dance that was in progress all around us. Those on the hill must have seen us, for there was a rush of horsemen down the hill toward us, followed by one or two ambulance wagons.

They were as eager to reach us as we were to greet them, and as I ran uphill I noticed a soldier on a white horse coming full tilt. The momentum carried him past me, but in passing I grabbed his saddle-bag and was taken off my feet, but it would have taken more than one horse to drag me from my hold. I suspected some eatables in there, and as soon as he could stop, without dismounting he assisted me to open that bag. With both hands I dived in, and with each hand I clutched some hardtack, but only one hand could reach my mouth; my other was in the grip of one of our men, who ravenously snatched the “tacks.” We ate, cried, laughed, and ate, all in a breath.

As soon as possible we put our dead in the ground. Those that died at one end of the island were cared for by those in that vicinity, and others in their vicinity, so that one part of the island was not aware of the location of the corpses of the other part; at least I did not know where the bodies lay of those killed on the eastern end of the island. So one time, as I walked around among the pits, I noticed something red and round sticking out of the sand, like a half-buried red berry. I kicked it, but by so doing it was not dislodged; I kicked again, but to no result. I then looked closer and discovered that it was the nose of a dead man. I called others to my assistance, and we fixed matters so that no desecration was possible again.

Our mortally wounded were made as comfortable as possible before they died. I assisted at such ministrations given to Lieutenant Beecher. We removed his boots, coat, etc., and, of course, these things were not replaced on the body after he was dead, but lay around unnoticed. My shoes were quite badly worn, especially after being used for digging in the sand, so when relief came and we were preparing to leave the island, I put on his shoes, which were just about my size, and wore them even after I got back to New York City, leaving my old shoes in their stead on the island.

At one of our “sittings” around Colonel Forsyth in his pit, the incident of killing the coyote was discussed, and plans were suggested for the killing of more of them. Along with others, I also suggested a scheme, but it was ridiculed, and I soon retired to my pit, which was near enough to the colonel’s, so that I could hear what was said there. One of the men remaining was saying uncomplimentary things about me, when the colonel silenced him, telling him that I was but a boy unused to such things and that, under the circumstances, I was doing better than some of the older men. Colonel Forsyth is unconscious of the fact that I am very grateful to him for his kindness to that strange “boy” among those strangers, and that I still hope some day that I may have the opportunity to show my appreciation.

Jack Stillwell and I were the only boys in the company, and naturally gravitated toward each other. We were friends as soon as we met and chums before we knew each other’s names. When the colonel asked for volunteers to go to Fort Wallace for help, Jack was among the first to announce himself. I wanted to go with him, but the colonel gave no heed to my request; even Jack discouraged me, for he knew I was too inexperienced. After Colonel Carpenter came to our relief Jack was not with him, which made me and others feel very uneasy. The day after Colonel Carpenter’s arrival we saw the mounted sentinel that had been posted by Colonel Carpenter on a high eminence in the hills about three miles from the island, signaling that a body of men was approaching, which created a flutter of excitement, but there was a strong sensation of security, mingled with a sense of dependence upon our black rescuers permeating our emaciated party, after being cooped up, so to say, for so long a period in dread and suspense. At least that was my sensation. I remember watching that vedette, horse and rider turning around and around, being the only moving object in that dim distance, indicating to the anxious watchers that either friend or foe was in the vicinity. As he showed no inclination to leave his post, it was soon evident he had no fear of the approaching column, and that friends were coming. Not long after a few horsemen were seen coming around the bend of the river bed, and among them was my friend Jack Stillwell. Nearly all of us ran to meet the party. Soon Jack jumped from his horse, and in his joy to see so many of us alive again, he permitted his tears free flow down his good honest cheeks. I kept up correspondence with him all these years past. Last year he died.[^[38]] He was a big-hearted, jovial fellow, brave to a fault.

[38]. Stillwell studied law, and ultimately became a judge in Texas. He was a friend of Generals Miles and Custer—also of “Wild Bill” Hickok, “Texas Jack” Omohundro, and other famous figures on the frontier; and when he died, a couple of years ago, he was the subject of glowing tributes from high and low alike.—C. T. B.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Carpenter and His “Brunettes.”[^[39]]
The Fight on Beaver Creek

Carpenter had performed a very commendable thing in his march of over one hundred miles in two days for the relief of Forsyth. And it is marvelous that he had been able to find him in that vast expanse of country. He received high praise for it, which he fully deserved; but the battle which, with his black comrades, he fought three weeks later, elicited still more praise. The fight was one of the prettiest and most typical of any in our Indian campaigns; and I am fortunate in being able to give it in General Carpenter’s own words, written especially for this book, the notes appended being my own contribution.—C. T. B.

While on the forced march to relieve the party of scouts with Colonel George A. Forsyth, surrounded by Indians on the Arickaree fork of the Republican River, the troops under my command discovered a large trail of the Indians who had been engaged in that fight on the south fork of the Republican.

The scouts discovered that this trail left the valley of the stream a short distance below and struck across country in the direction of the Beaver Creek. After the relief of Forsyth, on my return to Fort Wallace with the survivors and wounded, a report was made to General Sheridan, then to the east of Fort Hayes, Kansas, of the probable whereabouts of the Indians; and the Fifth Cavalry, which had just arrived from the East by rail, was disembarked between Hayes and Wallace and ordered to move north under Major Royall, and strike the savages, if possible, on the Beaver. A day or two after the Fifth had left, Brevet-Major-General Eugene A. Carr reported for duty to General Sheridan. Carr had been a general officer of volunteers during the Civil War with an excellent record, and now reverted to his rank in the regulars of Major in the Fifth Cavalry.

Sheridan was anxious to have Carr join his regiment because of his experience with Indians and his general reputation, and therefore sent him to Fort Wallace with orders to have the two troops of cavalry there go under my command and escort Carr and overtake the Fifth, if possible, to enable him to join his regiment. The troops consisting of Troops H and I, Tenth Cavalry, were officered by myself and Captain Graham, Lieutenants Banzhaf, Amick, and Orleman, and were soon in readiness for the duty required. We had returned from the relief of Forsyth Oct. 1st, and we started with Carr at ten A.M. Oct. 14th.

I concluded to march north so as to strike the Beaver as soon as possible, and then to follow down that creek with the expectation of finding the Fifth Cavalry or of striking its trail. On the 15th I reached the Beaver at about one P.M., and after proceeding some miles down, went into bivouac. As we expected, we found a very large Indian trail about two weeks old, over which over two thousand head of ponies had been ridden or driven, going in the same direction.

The next day we continued our journey down the stream, finding plenty of water, a fine bottom covered with grass and timber, and still observing the Indian trail, which ran to a point about twenty miles east from the place where we first struck the Beaver. At this locality the signs showed that the Indians had encamped for the night. The ground was covered for acres with old fire-places, pieces of wood, and the manure of ponies; and a little distance off we found a dead Cheyenne, wrapped in his robes, lying upon a scaffolding in a tree, a protection against ravenous wolves. The trail then struck south toward Short Nose Creek, the Indian name for a stream about twenty miles south of the Beaver. We continued our course, however, on the Beaver, until we made about thirty miles, and then stopped for the night.

As there was no pack outfit at Wallace, I was compelled to take wagons to carry our supplies, and had eleven with me. The mules, dragging heavy loads over rough country, were made to trot in order to keep up with the cavalry column. We had now moved down the Beaver about forty-five miles without finding anything about the Fifth, and it began to look as if something had taken the regiment in another direction.

The next morning I sent Lieutenant Amick and ten men well mounted with Sharp Grover, the famous scout, with orders to proceed as quickly as possible across country to the Short Nose to look for signs of the Fifth Cavalry and to keep a sharp lookout for Indians.

Grover, who, it will be remembered, had been with Forsyth, afterward joined my command. He had married a Sioux woman and had lived for years with the Indians before the outbreak of hostilities. He could speak their language and knew their ways and customs, and was perfectly trained in reading signs. It was interesting to see how he could read what the tracks meant, as if they had been books. He could tell how long since the tracks were made, whether they were made by horses or ponies, shod or unshod, how many were ridden, how many were driven, whether it was a war party or a party changing camp. If Indians stopped for the night he could tell how many men or squaws were in the party, to what tribe they belonged, from the shape of their moccasins, and many more details. Like most of his ilk, Grover drank heavily on occasion. When the Indians went on the war-path Grover could not stay longer with the Sioux, as his life was not safe, and he entered the government employ, where he rendered heroic and invaluable services. Later he was killed in a row at Pond City, near Fort Wallace.

Amick and his party soon disappeared over the hills to our right and we kept on down the stream, the general course of which was to the northeast. I began to feel certain that the Fifth Cavalry had never reached the Beaver, and that we would probably be attacked by the Indians if this was the case. Under these circumstances I felt that it would be wise to be cautious and on the lookout against surprise. The road we passed over was very rough and the stream in most places ran through deep-cut banks several feet high, with very few places suitable for crossing.

As night came on a place was selected for a camp in a bend of the creek where the wagons could be placed across, giving room inside to graze the animals without fear of a stampede from howling savages. Amick returned just before night, having scouted some miles beyond the Short Nose without discovering any trace of the Fifth Cavalry. Grover told me that as they passed across the divide between the Beaver and the Short Nose he came across a single Indian pony track. This track was coming from a direction to our rear, and showed that the pony was going at a rapid gallop. Grover inferred from this that it was probably an Indian hunter returning homeward who had most likely crossed our trail behind us, discovered our presence in the country, and was riding as fast as possible to carry the news to the Indian camps somewhere to our front and not far off.

After a council over the situation General Carr came to the conclusion, after having traveled some sixty miles down the Beaver without finding the Fifth, that the regiment had never reached that stream and that therefore he would give it up and start on our return in the morning. About seven A.M. on the next day, Oct. 15th, Captain Graham expressed a wish to make a scout for a short distance to the front, and rode forward with two men. The command was ordered saddled up and everything made in readiness to move. In view of the fact that the south side of the creek was hilly and difficult and offered opportunities for ambuscades, I determined to go back by the north side, which was comparatively open. The afternoon before I had sent Lieutenant Orleman with a detachment to dig down the sides of the creek and prepare a practicable passage for the wagons and troops.

Graham had hardly ridden a thousand yards when twenty-five Indians suddenly dashed over the hill to his rear, with the evident intention of cutting him off. They were almost upon Graham before he discerned them, but he instantly struck spurs into his horse and dashed for the creek, the Indians firing a volley at short range upon the party. One of the bullets passed through Graham’s hat, another through his coat, and a third through his leggings without wounding him. One of the horses was shot through the shoulder and fell. His rider succeeded in getting into the creek and behind the bank along with the other soldiers, and they commenced firing upon the Indians. Graham’s girth burst as his horse sprang away at the first fire, but as his saddle gave way he seized his horse’s mane and dragged himself forward on the animal. He then dashed the horse over the bank of the creek, about ten feet to the bottom. He fell from his horse in this jump, but the horse, fortunately, ran in our direction.[^[40]]

By this time I started out thirty men under Lieutenants Amick and Orleman to cover the retreat of Graham’s men. As they charged toward the hill the savages rushed from the creek to avoid being cut off, and were hotly pursued by our men. Judging that the presence of these Indians indicated that a large party could not be far off, I thought it best to be prudent and sent a trumpeter to overtake Amick and tell him to discontinue the pursuit and fall back slowly to camp. Without further delay I now broke up the camp, crossed the creek with wagons and troops, and, having dismounted the men, deployed them as riflemen to cover the retreat of Amick.

In a few minutes the absent party made its appearance on the hills, with bodies of Indians, numbering at least a hundred, skirmishing on our flank and rear. They slowly fell back toward the creek, and when within range the dismounted men on the banks opened fire on the advancing savages, and under cover of this Amick crossed and joined the command, while the Indians kept at a respectful distance.

The wagons were now placed in double column so as to make everything as compact as possible.[^[41]] H Troop was assigned on the flanks and advance, deployed in open order. Troop I covered the rear in the same manner, with one platoon under Graham as a reserve. These arrangements being completed, we moved steadily up the creek bottom. As soon as this movement commenced, a large body of Indians made their appearance and charged toward us, taking advantage of ravines, trees, and bluffs to fire from the south side of the creek. Some of the balls were well aimed and came close.

I soon saw that if we continued down the creek bottom the enemy would harass us immensely under cover of the timber and banks, and therefore changed our course so as to leave the valley and take the higher ground or divide. The Indians followed, showing about two hundred strong, and acted boldly in their attacks on the rear and flanks. The men and officers behaved very coolly, facing toward the enemy and driving them back without stopping the progress of the column.

Position of Wagons and Soldiers in Beaver Creek Fight
T, Troopers Surrounding Wagons; H, Horses Inside the Inclosure
Drawn by General Carpenter

At one point we passed near a deep ravine, and the enemy, quick to observe cover of any kind, occupied it with quite a number of warriors and opened up a serious fire. The reserve platoon under Graham charged at the place as we were passing and, arriving at the edge of the ravine, poured in a volley at close range on the savages. A number must have been hurt and the Indians certainly lost no time in getting out of their position. Afterward they were more cautious in occupying ground too close to us. The flankers, under Banzhaf and Orleman, also repulsed the Indians on several occasions.

One Indian carried a red flag with some white device upon it, and by his movements the whole force seemed more or less governed. They were all stripped to the waists, and were decorated by various ornaments hanging from their heads and their shields, quivers, and bridles, so as to glisten and shine in the sun at every turn of the ponies. Up to this time five Indians were known to be killed at various points and quite a number wounded.

At one P.M. the enemy seemed to stop the fight and apparently withdrew, and I supposed that I had seen the last of them; but half an hour afterward, hearing an exclamation, I looked back and saw the Indians appearing again on the hills to our rear. On they came, one body after another coming in sight until it was estimated by all present that at least six hundred warriors were in view. Emboldened by their number they rushed forward, directing themselves toward our front, flanks and rear, making things look rather serious. I soon saw that we could not continue the march and meet this force, but that we must select a position and make a stand.

In the first attack in the morning I had offered the command to General Carr, as the senior officer present, but he declined it, stating that he considered himself simply as a passenger to be escorted, and I therefore continued to direct the operations.[^[42]]

I looked around and saw a small knoll or rise a short distance to the front, from which the ground fell in every direction, and this point was immediately selected. The teamsters were directed to take the trot, aim for this place, and on arrival at the knoll immediately to form a circular corral, half a circle on either side, with the mules facing inward, affording a shelter within and something of a fortification. As soon as we increased our pace the Indians evidently thought we were running from them, and sent up a yell which made shivers run down the backs of some of our recruits. We kept on, however, at a fast gait, and the moment we struck the highest ground, the wagons were corralled with six wagons one side, five wagons on the other, and the troops were rushed inside at a gallop and dismounted. The horses were tied together inside the corral with some men to watch them, and the rest were formed outside the corral in open order.[^[43]] This was done in about two minutes and then the advance of the Indians was upon us.

THE CHIEF MEDICINE MAN AT BEAVER CREEK
Drawing by Will Crawford

A fire commenced from our seven-shooter Spencers which sounded like the fire of a line of infantry. The Indians charged up around the wagons, firing rapidly and seriously wounded some of the men, but in a very short time they were driven back in wild disorder, leaving the ground covered with ponies, arms, and some bodies. Three dead warriors lay within fifty feet of the wagons. One man who was killed here was carried off by his comrades.

The chief Medicine Man, on a fine looking horse, rode out in front of our line about two hundred yards off, after the retreat of the Indians, to try to show that his medicine was good and the white man’s bullets could not hurt him. I directed several men near me to aim carefully at him. They fired and the Medicine Man went down, accompanied by a howl from the more distant Indians. After the repulse the men rushed forward from the wagons, seized and hauled in ten bodies of the Indians. The savages, disheartened and surprised at this reception, withdrew out of gunshot and assembled, apparently for council.[^[44]]

The men carried corn sacks and made breastworks near the wagons and we waited, expecting a renewal of the attack, for about an hour, when it became evident that some of the Indians were withdrawing. The day was very warm, we had been engaged about eight hours, and in the hot sun men and animals were suffering very much from thirst. I made up my mind to move for water, and keeping the wagons in double column, the horses inside and the men dismounted on the outside, we marched for the Beaver. A large party of Indians followed up to where their dead comrades lay and set up a mournful howl over their remains. Their loss in this fight, added to what they had suffered the month before in the conflict with Forsyth, must have had a sobering effect.

We now proceeded to the creek without further interference, and selecting a wide bottom encamped for the night, preparing some rifle-pits to cover our outlying pickets and to enable them to receive the enemy if an attack were made in the morning. We heard them around us all night imitating coyotes, but they did not find a weak place and refrained from molesting us. The next morning the Indians were gone and we marched by the shortest route to Fort Wallace, arriving there on the 21st.

On our return journey we passed through Sheridan City, a frontier town located at the then terminus of the Kansas Division of the Union Pacific R. R. It was full of taverns, saloons, gambling houses and dens, and of a rather tough lot of citizens and desperadoes. These people and others crowded into the streets when we passed through, and when they saw the troopers and their horses decorated with the spoils from the Indians whose dead bodies we had captured, they knew that we had been in a successful fight and they gave us a perfect ovation.

The savages suffered a considerable loss, but we escaped with a few men wounded (some of them seriously) and none killed. General Carr found the Fifth Cavalry had returned to the railroad, and through mistake they never reached the Beaver. He took command of the regiment, marched again and pursued the Indians over the Platte River, and followed them on a long campaign.

This was one of the smartest and most successful Indian fights on record. Carpenter’s tactics throughout had been admirable. General Carr was much surprised and pleased at the conduct of these black troopers, and on his return to Fort Wallace telegraphed to General Sheridan that “the officers and troops behaved admirably.” General Sheridan published a general order highly commending the commander, the officers and the men for this brilliant and gallant affair. Carpenter was brevetted colonel in the Regular Army (his fifth brevet), and afterward received a medal of honor for this fight and the relief of Forsyth. Well did he deserve them both.—C. T. B.

[39]. Negro troops were often so styled by their white comrades in the service.—C. T. B.

[40]. Luckily for Graham, just as he fell from his horse Amick’s men charged the Indians, who thereupon retreated. One of the troopers caught the horse and held him until the captain came running up. Carpenter’s prompt action in instantly throwing Amick’s detachment on the savages undoubtedly saved the lives of Graham and his men. As it was, it was a fearfully narrow escape for them.—C. T. B.

[41]. Six wagons on one side, five on the other.—L.H.C.

[42]. General Carr, while he used a rifle efficiently during the whole of the action, did not interfere with Carpenter’s arrangements; with rare self-restraint he refrained even from offering suggestions. Although he showed plenty of nerve and was entirely calm and collected throughout the hot affair, he is reported to have said after the fight that he thought he was in the tightest box in which he was ever caught in his life, and that there was nothing left for them all to do but to sell their lives as dearly as possible. He had never served on the plains with negro troopers before, and had no knowledge as to how they would behave against Indians—nobody had, for that matter.—C. T. B.

[43]. When there are many wagons, the corral is formed with the wagons close together, axles touching, tongues and mules inward; but in this case they had to form an open corral with about twenty feet between the wagons. The horses, to the number of one hundred—the troops being reduced to that number by illness, hard work, and other causes—were forced inside the wagons in columns of four, each set of fours being tied together, with horse-holders detailed to look after them. The duty of the horse-holders was most important. They had always to be on watch to prevent a stampede. If the troops had been deprived of their horses on that open knoll their position would have been hopeless indeed. The dismounted men were formed in front and rear and on both sides of the corral, as Indian attacks must be expected from every direction. The plan made by General Carpenter explains the situation perfectly.—C. T. B.

[44]. Just after the first repulse of the Indians, Graham went to General Carr very improperly (he had no business to communicate with him except through Carpenter, his immediate commanding officer), and suggested that he order the wagons abandoned, the teamsters mounted on the mules, and the whole party to retreat in that fashion as fast as possible. Carr, of course, referred the matter to Carpenter, who promptly refused to sanction any such manœuver. To leave the wagons, which afforded some protection on the hill, would be to enable six or seven hundred Indians to surround the hundred troopers in his command and invite annihilation. Carpenter assured Carr that as he had defeated the Indians once, he was certain that he could do it again. Carr wisely persisted in his determination not to interfere, and Graham had his suggestion decisively negatived by Carpenter. Graham deserved reprobation for his unmilitary action, as well as for his foolish suggestion.—C.T.B.

CHAPTER NINE
A Further Discussion of the Beaver Creek Affair

When General Carpenter’s account of the fight on the Beaver Creek was published serially, General Carr took exception to it in a public letter to the editor of the periodical in which it appeared. I am permitted by the editor to make extracts from this letter, which, with my own comment and General Carpenter’s rejoinder, appear as follows:

I. General Carr’s Account

I do not think that General Sheridan sent orders for my escort to go under command of Colonel Carpenter. I know that, after waiting with General Sheridan at Fort Hayes for several days, he ordered me to go to Fort Wallace, take an escort and go to find Royall, who had not been heard from as expected.

While we were going over the “rough hills” Colonel Carpenter, and perhaps some of the others, came up and remonstrated with me for marching the command so hard; said they could not be responsible for its effect on the horses, and when I insisted, asked me to take command and be responsible. I said, “All right, I will take command; but you must attend to the details. I will not appoint an adjutant and take the office work” (detailing guards, stable duties, etc., etc.).

I had with me an officer of my regiment, Captain Kane, Fifth Cavalry, and now wish I had appointed him adjutant and taken formal command.

Finding that the stream (Beaver Creek) was persistently hugging the south side of the valley, on which we were traveling, creating bluffs and ravines over which it was difficult to move the wagons, I determined to cross to the north side, where the valley consisted of a gentle and smooth slope.

I selected the camp in an “ox bow” bend of the creek, putting the tents and wagons across the entrance, the guard at the bow and the animals inside, selected a place for crossing, and ordered the banks to be cut down to the bed of the creek, so that the wagons and animals could cross.

In the Indian country I always had my commands up and under arms before daylight, which is the most dangerous time; and next morning we were up, had breakfast, the tents struck and the wagons packed, and were standing ’round the camp fire when Amick called out “Indians!”

I had intended to move camp across the creek and get fresh grass. Graham had started on his trip, following a narrow path between the bluff and the river bank. He was riding a fine horse called “Red Eye,” which had a very deep chest and thin barrel. As he told me afterward, his saddle began to slip back, but he waited to get down to fix it till he should reach a more open place ahead at the mouth of a ravine, when bang, bang! came some shots. His horse dodged and jumped down the bank into the creek, slipping the saddle farther back and kicking it clear, while Graham landed on the shoulders of the horse and from there on the bed of the creek. He turned back with his gun toward the bank, which protected him while he fired, till I sent Lieutenant Amick with some skirmishers, who covered his retreat. His two men jumped their horses down into and up out of the creek and fell back, and when we got the men all in I moved the command up to and over the crossing I had prepared and out to the open slope on the north side of the valley. As we had not found Royall but had found the Indians, or, rather, they had found us, it was of no use to go farther down the Beaver, and I determined to move toward home.

The Indians kept coming out from those bluffs, crossing the creek and following us, and I arranged the wagons in two columns, with Carpenter’s company in front and on the flanks, and Graham’s company in rear, where I was also.

Some of the Indians got on our flanks as skirmishers, a few in front and more in rear, while the main body got into two columns, about like the two halves of a regiment in columns of four, marching steadily and gradually, closing on us by increasing their gait. I estimated them at seven hundred warriors; we had about one hundred colored soldiers. Their chiefs were marching between the heads of their columns; they had a flag and a bugle. I sent word to Carpenter to turn more toward the higher ground, away from the timber along the creek, which Indians were using for cover. Pretty soon he began to trot, and I had to send Captain Kane to him with orders to go slower, for fear of a stampede. I was in the rear near Graham’s troop. He was one of the bravest men I ever saw. He would amuse himself with the Indians by concealing men in hollows, taking away their horses till Indians came up for them to shoot at, then charging up with their horses, mounting and bringing them off. Most of the men were cool, but I saw one man loading and firing when the Indians were a mile away. I called to him to stop, but he paid no attention, seemed to be dazed, and I had to go up and lay my hand on him before he obeyed my order. As the Indians got closer, one of the men dismounted to shoot. When he tried to remount, his horse got scared and edged away from him, and I rode up on the off-side, got hold of the rein, and let his horse come against mine. Then he put his foot in the stirrup, made a leap and got his leg over, when we both cantered off—just in time. He lost his cap, and we lost a dog which was playing about between us and the Indians, interested in the shooting till he got near enough to them to be killed. These were our only losses.

As the main body of the Indians got closer and increased their gait to the charge, the leading wagons turned toward each other and stopped. The others turned their mules inside of those in front of them, lapping onto and tying to the wagons, forming a corral in shape of a flat-iron, and the horsemen rode inside, dismounted, tied their horses, and began to fire at the Indians who were thronging around us. One Indian, on a clay-bank pony and wearing a red blanket, with no arms, rode ’round and ’round us within fifty or one hundred yards, and seemed to bear a charmed life. I shot at him several times, and Grover said he also shot at him till he began to think the Indian had strong medicine which protected him—Grover was a squaw man and had imbibed some of their superstitions. He was shooting a Sharp’s carbine, and, taking it down to reload, happened to notice that he had the sight set for five hundred yards and had been shooting over the Indian’s head.

I had a Spencer carbine which had been sent me by the company for trial. With it I shot down an Indian, who fell and lay within thirty yards of the corral. He was not dead, and I afterward talked with him through Grover. He said his name was Little Crow, and mentioned the name of his father, whom Grover said he knew. He was young—about eighteen. I asked him why they attacked us. He said because we came on their creek. He told where their camp was, so that one week from that day, which was Sunday, October 18th, 1868, I found them with my own regiment, the Fifth, had a fight lasting two days and two nights, and drove them out of Kansas.

While the fight was going on our soldiers showed great bravery. While inside the wagon corral they would rush from one side to the other, wherever the Indians appeared, so as to fire at them. Their officers did not seem to keep them in their places, and, after it was over, I reprimanded them for not commanding their men. After the Indians were repulsed we went around and rearranged the wagons, got out sacks, cracker-boxes, etc., fixed breastworks in anticipation of another attack, and then sat down and ate our lunch.

It was two o’clock. Our soldiers wanted to scalp the dead Indians, of whom about ten were lying too near the corral for their friends to carry off. We prevented this till, while we were going around the corral rearranging, the soldiers got the chance to scalp them. Two were lying wounded when two soldiers approached them; one drew his bow and sent an arrow through the thighs of one of the men. The arrow passed through the fleshy part of one thigh and entered the other and stopped against the bone. It had to be cut in two to extract it. Years after, at Fort Leavenworth, a first sergeant showed me an arrow-head with the point marred, and said he was that man.

The other wounded Indian had a pistol, and shot the other soldier in the calf of his leg. These were the only men we had hurt. It was then that there was some talk of abandoning the wagons and going direct for the railroad. With the wagons, we had, of course, to go by routes over which wheeled vehicles could travel. I do not recall whether Captain Graham advocated this, but there would have been no impropriety in his stating his views to me. Any officer can talk to his commander, and I had been giving orders from time to time directly to him and his men. We sat there eating our lunch and talking with each other and the wounded Indian who lay in front of us, when he made a motion with his hand back toward me. I asked Grover what he meant. He said, “He wants you to go away; says his heart is bad.” This pleased me very much. I had been watching the Indians, who had fallen back to some rising ground nearly a mile off. They were moving about, pow-wowing, and, I supposed, preparing for a new attack. They seemed to be diminishing in numbers, but I thought they were trying to get around to some place where they would have a better chance at us. I really did not expect to get out of that fix. If those Indians had had sufficient resolution, being seven to one, they ought to have used us up. When the wounded Indian made this motion, I took it to mean that he knew they were giving up. He could see them as well as we could, and knew better what they were doing. I suppose that those who remained were the friends of the dead, waiting for us to go.

I gave orders to reload the wagons and move out. Some of the Indians followed us for several miles, but did not again attack.

Colonel Carpenter did not offer the command to me at the first attack in the morning, nor did I decline it. I was exercising the command all the time. One of the articles of war provides that “when troops join and do duty together the highest in rank of the line of the army shall command the whole, and give the orders needful for the service,” and I could not have avoided the responsibility.

The foregoing narrative shows that I was not a “passive spectator,” nor did I “refrain from advice or suggestion,” nor from giving orders as required.

I, no doubt, said that I was a guest, and did not interfere unnecessarily; but my long experience on the plains and with Indians rendered it incumbent on me to exercise my judgment.

Eugene A. Carr,

Brevet Major-General and Congressional Medallist.

With reference to this letter from General Carr I beg to point out:

That General Carr in his letter practically admits in two places that he was not in command. First, when he writes of Captain Kane, “I wish I had appointed him adjutant and taken formal command.” Second, when he writes: “I, no doubt, said that I was a guest, and did not interfere unnecessarily.”

I do not see, therefore, that there is really any serious discrepancy between the account of General Carpenter and that of General Carr. I presume, if there is, I am more to blame than any one for the note to which General Carr takes exception. The original wording of that note was, possibly, not happy, and probably conveyed more than I intended. I did not suppose that any one thought that General Carr sat around and twiddled his thumbs while the fighting was going on. I have made changes in the note, which appears in this book in its amended form.

It must not be forgotten that General Carpenter received his medal of honor in part for this fight, and he certainly would not have received it had he not been in command.

Here follows a communication from General Carpenter on the subject. This discussion, I think, settles the matter in a way which I trust will be satisfactory to the friends of both of these distinguished officers.

II. General Carpenter’s Reply

I was very much surprised in reading General Carr’s contention that he was in command of the troops who constituted his escort to enable him to join the Fifth Cavalry, and who were in the action on the Beaver in October, 1868. The account I wrote is from my recollection, and from letters written home at the time, and I repeated what I thought there was no question about, and had no desire to ignore General Carr or any one concerned.

The two troops of the Tenth Cavalry, a portion of the garrison at Fort Wallace, under my command as the senior officer, were ordered to act as escort for General Carr, then Major, Fifth Cavalry.

I am quite positive that General Carr was offered the command by me, knowing him to be senior, and that he declined it. Many officers have been escorted by troops without taking command of the escort although of senior rank. As the troops were to escort this officer, of course he was consulted about the direction of the march, the time for camping, and concerning many other details of greater or less importance, but he never took formal command. If he did not, then, it would be manifestly improper for him to issue orders directly to subordinate officers or men. The officers and men were mentioned in General Orders by General Sheridan in 1868 for their gallantry and bravery in this action, and it is stated that they were escorting General Carr.

Thirty-five years have passed since the affair, and I never heard of any question about who commanded the troops engaged. This length of time naturally accounts for some difference of memory, and no two narratives may be expected altogether to agree. As mentioned before, Carr was consulted frequently during the expedition and his wishes were carried out, as was proper under the circumstances.

Some of the details mentioned by General Carr I do not remember, but I certainly regarded myself as being in command of the troops during the fight and gave directions as I have stated in accordance with my recollection, and selected the ground on which the wagons were corralled and the Indians repulsed.

I do not know of any officers being reprimanded, but when we returned to Fort Wallace we were informed that General Carr had reported to General Sheridan that “the officers and men had behaved admirably,”

I inclose a copy of General Field Orders, No. 4, Headquarters Department of the Missouri, dated October 27, 1868, issued by order of General Sheridan to commend the conduct of the troops engaged in the combat on the Beaver, October 18, 1868:

Headquarters Department of the Missouri.

In the Field, Fort Hays, Kansas, October 27, 1868.

General Field Orders, No. 4.

The attention of the officers and soldiers of this department is called to the engagement with hostile Indians on Beaver Creek, Kansas, October 18, 1868, in which a detachment of cavalry (escorting Brevet Major-Gen’l E. A. Carr, Major, Fifth Cavalry to his Regiment) under the command of Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H. Carpenter, Captain, Tenth Cavalry, consisting of Companies I, Tenth Cavalry, under Capt. George W. Graham and 1st Lieut.-Major J. Amick, and H, Tenth Cavalry, under 1st Lieut. Charles Banzhaf and 2d Lieut. Louis H. Orleman, engaged about five hundred (500) Indians for several hours, inflicting a loss on the savages of ten (10) killed and many wounded, losing three (3) enlisted men wounded.

The major-general commanding desires to tender his thanks for the gallantry and bravery displayed by this small command against so large a body of Indians.

By command of Major-General Sheridan.

J. Schuyler Crosby,

Brevet Lieut.-Col. A. D. C.

A. A. A. General.

It is expressly stated that the detachment of cavalry (escorting Brevet Major-General Eugene A. Carr, Major, Fifth Cavalry, to his regiment) was “under the command of Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H. Carpenter, Captain, Tenth Cavalry.”

The records show, further, that Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H. Carpenter was brevetted colonel for gallant and meritorious conduct in the engagement with Indians on Beaver Creek, Kansas, October 18, 1868. This appointment was made on the recommendation of General Sheridan, and was undoubtedly conferred on this officer as being in command of the troops during the fight. Others behaved gallantly and their conduct deserved recognition, but this was the only brevet given at the time.

Louis H. Carpenter.

CHAPTER TEN
The Battle of the Washita

I. Custer and the Famous Seventh Cavalry

A fighter of fighters and a soldier of soldiers was that beau sabreur of the American Army, George Armstrong Custer, “Old Curly” to his men, “The White Chief with the Yellow Hair,” or, more briefly, “Long Hair” to the Indians. From Bull Run to Appomattox his career was fairly meteoric. Second lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac at twenty-one, fresh from West Point, a brigadier-general at twenty-three, a major-general at twenty-four, and commander of the third cavalry division, which, in the six months preceding the downfall of the Confederacy, had taken one hundred and eleven guns, sixty-five battle-flags, and over ten thousand prisoners of war, without losing a flag or gun, and without a failure to capture whatever it went for—such was his record.[^[45]]

I have heard my father tell of the impression made by the dashing young soldier whose spirited horse ran away on Pennsylvania Avenue at the Grand Review in Washington, in spite of the efforts of his rider—a peerless horseman—to restrain him. Custer’s hat fell off, his long, yellow curls floated back in the wind, making a dashing and romantic picture. He was a man of superb physique and magnificent strength. I saw him when I was a boy, and I have never forgotten him. His devoted wife, in one of the three charming books in which she has told the deathless romance of their married life on the frontier, relates how, on one occasion, riding by her side, with his left arm he lifted her out of the saddle high in the air, held her there for a moment or two, then gently replaced her on her horse. No fatigue was too great for him to surmount, no duty, however arduous, ever caused him to give back.[^[46]]

Reams have been written about his unfortunate campaign upon the Little Big Horn, in which he went down to such awful destruction, but little is known of some of the exploits of his early career on the plains. After the war, more fortunate than most of the younger general officers who were forced to content themselves with captaincies or less, General Custer was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the new Seventh Regular Cavalry, a regiment which was born with him, lived with him, and a large part of which died with him.

The officers of the regiment were a set of unusual men. Custer himself was allowed considerable voice in the selection of them, and such a body of officers had been rarely assembled in one command. Most of the troopers were not at first of the high grade to which they afterward attained. The best men, in the ranks at least, at the close of the Civil War, had had enough of fighting. They wanted to get back to civil life once more. Not frequently it was only the inferior soldiers who could be induced to re-enlist from the volunteer into the regular regiments which were being organized or reorganized.

There were in the ranks, however, a leaven of veterans who were soldiers from love as well as from habit. With these as a nucleus, Custer and his officers, by a judicious weeding out and a rigorous course of discipline, soon gathered a body of troopers than which there were none finer in the service of the United States, nor, in fact, in any other service. Owing to the fact that the colonel, a distinguished general officer in the war, was on detached service commanding a department, the regiment was practically continuously under the command of Custer until his death in 1876.

The duty that devolved upon it was the protection of the settlers in Kansas. The job was no sinecure. In the last half of the year 1868 statistics, which do not pretend to be comprehensive, for they are only facts reported officially to the headquarters of the Department of the Missouri, show one hundred and fifty-seven people killed, fifty-seven wounded, including forty-one scalped, fourteen women outraged and murdered, one man, four women and twenty-four children taken into captivity, one thousand six hundred and twenty-seven horses, mules and cattle stolen, twenty-four ranches or settlements destroyed, eleven stage coaches attacked, and four wagon trains annihilated. This with a total loss to the Indians of eleven killed and one wounded. Truly there was a reign of blood upon that frontier. Every man murdered was also frightfully and disgustingly mutilated. This record takes no account of soldiers who were killed.

In one instance ten troopers under Lieutenant Kidder, of the Second Cavalry, with a message for Custer’s command, then in the field, were overtaken and slaughtered to a man after a desperate defense. When Custer came upon the scene of battle the bodies were so mutilated that it was impossible to tell one from the other. The only distinguishing mark upon any one of them was a shirt neckband made of a material of a peculiar marking, which was yet a common article of wearing apparel at that time. It was by this shirt collar that the body of Lieutenant Kidder was subsequently identified by his mother and taken East for burial.

As usual, there was strife between the Indian agents and the army. There always has been, there always will be. The agents invariably declared that there was peace in the land and sought to embarrass the army in its efforts to protect the frontier. Popular indignation, however, at last forced the government to act, and the campaign was long and arduous during the latter part of the summer of 1868.

The success of the soldiers was not pronounced at first. The extent of territory was great, the force available small, the Indians exceedingly mobile, and the troopers had as yet scarcely learned the rules of the game, so that it was a matter of extreme difficulty to get at any considerable body of Indians and inflict a crushing blow. As we have seen, General Forsyth’s command barely escaped annihilation in the great battle of the Arickaree. Matters dragged on, however, with nothing decisive happening until the summer and fall had slipped away and winter was at hand. The Indians rarely did any fighting in the winter. It was difficult and dangerous for horsemen to move on the exposed prairies in the winter season, and hitherto fighting had been abandoned with the advent of the cold. The Indians, during the winter, naturally tended southward, seeking a less severe climate if it might be had, and from November to April had been considered a closed season.

II. The March in the Blizzard

General Sheridan, however, who had command of the department, determined to inaugurate a winter campaign in the hope that the Indians, who would naturally congregate in large villages in secluded spots sheltered by trees along the river banks, might be rounded up and defeated decisively. The force at his disposal for these projected operations consisted of eleven troops of the Seventh Cavalry, four companies of infantry, and the Nineteenth Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, a regiment of settlers and old soldiers which had been organized for the campaign.

The expedition was under command of Sheridan himself. The rendezvous was at Camp Supply, in the Indian Territory, about one hundred miles south of Fort Dodge, Kansas. No Indians—in any considerable body, that is—had been seen by any of the scouts sent out, and no outrages were reported. It was evident that the hostiles were lying snugly concealed somewhere for the winter season. Sheridan determined to detach Custer and his regiment from the command and send them scouting farther southward, while with the rest of the force, so soon as it should be in condition to march, he himself would explore the country in other directions.

Custer received his orders on the 22d of November, late at night. Reveillé was sounded at four o’clock on the twenty-third. The thermometer was below zero. There was a foot of snow upon the ground, and it was still coming down furiously when Custer reported to Sheridan that he was ready to move.

“What do you think of this?” asked Sheridan, alluding to the weather.

“It’s all right,” answered Custer, cheerfully; “we can move. The Indians can’t.”

There was a hasty breakfast, coffee and hardtack, each trooper standing by the head of his horse, and the column moved off. The undaunted band of the regiment, surely made up of the most heroic and hardy musicians that ever tooted horn or thumped sheepskin, in gallant style played them out and into the terrible blizzard then raging, with the old marching tune “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” which was more fancy than truth, for there were no “girls” with that expedition, save one hard-featured old campaigner, red-headed at that, who went along as the commanding officer’s cook at her own earnest request.

No one can realize the force of a blizzard on the plains who has not, as I have, experienced it. The guides almost immediately declared themselves unable to lead the regiment. Every cavalry officer in the field carries a pocket compass. Custer knew where he wanted to go. With his own compass to show the way he led the regiment forward. The men stumbled on through the awful snow and hurricane until two o’clock, when they were stopped on the bank of Wolf Creek, fifteen miles from the starting point. First caring for the exhausted horses, they made camp, and as the wagons came up fires were soon burning, meals were prepared, and some of the effects of the deadly cold were dissipated.

The next morning, November 24th, they marched down Wolf Creek. The snow had stopped falling, but the temperature stood at seven degrees below zero. The 25th they continued the march. Many another commander would have been stopped by the fearful weather; but Custer was known as a man who would press on as long as the mules could draw the wagons, and when they could not he would abandon the wagons and live off the mules. He kept on. On the twenty-sixth, Thanksgiving Day, arriving at the north bank of the Canadian River, he despatched Major Elliott, the second in command of the regiment, with three troops on a scouting expedition up the river, which he proposed to cross with the balance of his men. There was no Thanksgiving dinner awaiting them, and the remembrance of the holiday spent under happier circumstances but aggravated their present condition.

The river was frozen, but not sufficiently so to bear the regiment. They had to break through the ice and find a ford in the icy water, and it was after eleven o’clock in the morning before the whole command succeeded in passing to the south side. Scarcely had they done so when they noticed a horseman galloping at full speed toward them on the other side. As soon as he came near they recognized him as Scout Corbin, one of Elliott’s guides. He brought the startling news that Elliott had come upon the trail of an Indian war party, at least one hundred and fifty strong, and not twenty-four hours old, which led to the south side of the river. The scout was given a fresh horse and ordered to return to Elliott, who was directed to follow the trail cautiously until eight o’clock at night, at which time he was to halt and wait for Custer, who would leave the wagon train and follow him immediately.

Calling the officers to him, Custer briefly gave his orders for the advance. The wagon train was to be left under the care of an officer and eighty men. Each trooper was to take one day’s rations of coffee and hardtack and one hundred rounds of ammunition upon his person, together with a little forage for his horse, and the regiment was to push on at the highest possible speed to join Elliott.

When it came to designate an officer to remain with the train, the detail fell upon Captain Louis McLane Hamilton, whose turn it was to act as officer of the day in camp. This young man bore two historic names. McLane was the second in command of Light Horse Harry Lee’s famous cavalry in the Revolution, and he was the grandson of the great Alexander Hamilton. He demurred bitterly to being left in the rear in command of the train under such circumstances. There was no help for it, however, until Custer finally informed him that if he could get any one to take his detail he could go.

It was discovered upon inquiry that one of the officers of the regiment had become almost helpless from snow blindness, the glare of the ice and snow being something terrible, especially upon an open prairie such as they were then traversing. This officer was entirely unfit for active campaigning, but such was his zeal to go forward that he concealed his ailment until Hamilton’s scrutiny brought it forth. To him, therefore, was committed the charge of the wagon train, much against his wish, and Hamilton was allowed to go at the head of his troop.

III. The Trail in the Snow

It had grown somewhat warmer during the day. The top crust of the snow became soft, and the horses sank through it to their knees. There was no road or trail, of course, but the command advanced straight across the open prairie toward the point where Corbin had indicated that Elliott had picked up the trail. The several troops were successively placed in the advance for the fatiguing and arduous labor of breaking up the road. There was every desire to spare the horses, but they were nevertheless urged to the last limit to overtake Elliott. Under such circumstances it was problematical whether they would find him alive; for the Indians, who were believed to be in great force, might discover him, ambush him, attack him, and wipe him out as Fetterman had been annihilated, or as Forsyth had been overwhelmed.

During the afternoon Custer and his command struck Elliott’s trail, but it was not until nine o’clock at night that they overtook him. They found him encamped on the banks of a little stream and thoroughly concealed in the timber. With relief the regiment halted, and taking advantage of the deep ravine through which the creek ran, they managed to build a few fires, which, being well screened, were invisible a short distance away. Over the fires the men made coffee, which, with the hardtack, constituted their only meal since morning—a Thanksgiving dinner indeed.

Elliott had followed the trail, which was still well defined, until eight o’clock, and then had halted in accordance with the orders of Custer, and had waited for his commander. A hasty council was held and some were for taking up the advance at once. But it was pointed out that the moon would rise in one hour and by waiting they would have the benefit of the moonlight in following the Indian trail. Besides, the short rest would do the command good. Saddles were taken off, the horses rubbed down and sparingly fed from the scanty supply of forage. At ten the march was once more resumed in this order:

First of all, riding some distance ahead of the main body, were two Osage Indian scouts. One of these was Little Beaver, who was chief of a small band of Indian auxiliaries which had volunteered for the campaign. Next to them came other Indians, several famous frontiersmen, California Joe and Scout Corbin, and a hideous half Negro, half Indian interpreter whose name was Romero, but whom the soldiers facetiously dubbed Romeo, because he was so ugly; then General Custer and his staff, and then, some distance in rear, the successive troops of the regiment in a column of fours. About three miles from their camping place Little Beaver came back to Custer in considerable agitation and declared that he smelled fire. Nobody else smelled anything, but at his insistence the command was halted, and he and one of his men went forward with Custer and one or two of the scouts until they had gone a mile from the halting place.

Sure enough, after surmounting a little hill, they saw ahead of them and some distance away the embers of a fire. The advance party halted. Little Beaver and the other Indians snaked their course over the ground, taking advantage of every cover to learn what they could. With beating hearts the general and the others watched them. Would they stumble upon the foemen then and there? They waited, concealed beneath the hillock, until Little Beaver returned to tell them that the fire had evidently been kindled by the boys guarding the herds of ponies during the day. At any rate it had almost gone out, no one was there, and the way was safe for the present, although the main camp was probably not far distant.

Orders were sent back to the regiment to advance but to keep its present distance behind Custer and the scouts. The command proceeded with the utmost caution, with an excitement in their veins at the stealthy approach with its possible consequences which made them almost insensible to the frightful cold. About half after twelve o’clock on the morning of the twenty-seventh, Custer saw the leading Indian suddenly sink down behind a hill and wave his hand quickly backward. The whole party dismounted, and the commanding officer with one of his scouts crawled to the hill where the Indian lay. Whispering a word or two, Little Beaver pointed straight in front of him.

Half a mile away a huge black blotch was tremulously moving on the snow in the moonlight. Experienced eyes recognized a herd of ponies. Where the ponies were there were the Indians also. Custer watched the scene for a moment, and upon the still air—the wind had died and the night though bitter cold was intensely quiet—he heard the sound of a bell, evidently tied to the neck of the leader of the herd. Dogs barked, and as they waited they marked the thin, shrill cry of a little child. It was an Indian camp beyond peradventure. Beyond it, among the bare and leafless trees, gleamed in the moonlight the ice-bound shores of a half-frozen river—the Washita.

The general, as tender-hearted a man as ever lived, and as kindly for all his fights, tells us how strangely that infant’s cry heard on that bitter winter night moved him, appealed to him. It filled his mind with natural regret that war had to be waged and an attack delivered upon a camp in which there were women and children; but the stern necessities of the case permitted no other course.

Copyright by D. F. Barry

SOME OFFICERS OF THE SEVENTH CAVALRY IN THE WASHITA EXPEDITION

The band of Indians under his gaze was that of Black Kettle,[^[48]] Head Chief of the Cheyennes since the death of Roman Nose, one of the most ferocious and brutal of the Plains Indians. The blood of scores was upon his hands and upon the hands of his followers as well. Torture, infamy, treachery, shame beyond estimation, had stained that band. Even then in the camp there were helpless captives, poor women whose fate cannot be described or dwelt upon.

When Custer had satisfied himself at last that he had found the camp for which he had been searching—which appeared to be a very large one from the number of lodges which they thought they could make out in the distance—leaving the scouts to observe the Indians, he tramped back through the snow to the command, and by messengers summoned the officers about him. Taking off their sabers for the moment, so that their clanking would not betray them, the officers crept to the crest of the hill and made themselves as familiar with the situation as they could by such inspection.

There Custer gave them their final orders. The regiment was divided into four squadrons; Major Elliott, with three troops, G, H, and M, was ordered to circle cautiously to the left and get in the rear of the Indian camp. Captain Thompson, with troops B and F, was directed to make a long detour to the right and join Elliott. Captain Myers, with troops E and I, was commanded to move a shorter distance to the right and take position on the left of Thompson, while Custer himself, with the four remaining troops—Captain Hamilton commanding one squadron, comprising troops A and C, Captain West, another, of troops D and K, with the Osages and scouts and forty sharp-shooters under Adjutant Cook—was to approach the village from the point where they then stood.

Not a sound was to be made, not a shot fired, not a signal given. The attack would be delivered at dawn. When they heard the bugler sounding the charge in the still air of the morning they were to rush in immediately. In order not to impede their movements the men were directed to remove their overcoats and leave them in care of the guard in the rear before the attack was delivered. Then, after hearty handshakes and whispered salutations, the officers assembled their several squadrons and silently started out upon the long detours necessary to enable them to reach their designated positions.

The Indian village was located in the valley of a small river in the Indian Territory, an affluent of the Canadian called the Washita. It was in a deep depression, below the surrounding country, and was well sheltered by trees on the banks of the stream, here easily fordable. By the time all preparations had been made in Custer’s own detachment it still wanted some four hours to dawn. The troops with Custer had nothing to do but wait where they were, and a weary, freezing wait it was. So insistent was the general that there should be no noise that he refused to allow the men even to beat their breasts to keep up circulation, or to stamp their feet to ward off the numbing cold. Conversation was forbidden. They were dealing with a warrior who was the most watchful of foemen, with men who could detect an enemy, as the Osage had the fire a mile away, seemingly by instinct. They must take every precaution. The men dismounted and stood uncomplainingly by the side of their horses. Some of them wrapped themselves in their overcoats, and attaching their bridle reins to their wrists, lay down on the ground and actually went to sleep.

About an hour before dawn Custer despatched the last squadron under Captain Myers, who had but a short distance to go, and then, as the first pale grayness of the morning began to steal over the eastern hills and mingle with the moonlight, he gave orders to call the troops to attention. The first sergeants went through the ranks and by a touch of the hand woke the sleeping men. Stiff and numb with the cold, they staggered to their feet, took off their overcoats, left them under the care of a small guard, and mounted their horses. Their sabers had been left behind and they were armed with revolvers and Spencer carbines. The officers quickly formed up their troops and with whispered words placed themselves at the head.

The troops were deployed in line, Hamilton’s squadron to the right, West’s to the left. Cook’s sharp-shooters were about forty yards in advance of the left, dismounted, their horses being left with the guard. Some distance in front of all the rest rode Custer. Following him was his bugler. Next to the bugler was the indomitable regimental band. The orders were, in Hamilton’s last words, “Now men, keep cool; fire low, and not too rapidly.”

The Osages had been somewhat doubtful as to the issue of the attack. They had made medicine, war-painted themselves and arrayed themselves for battle, but with a great deal of trepidation. They expected the white soldiers would be beaten, and they reasoned that in that case their allies would endeavor to purchase their own salvation by surrendering the Osages to the vengeance of their enemies. They determined to take such a position as would enable them to be governed by circumstances in their movements—so they could either fight or fly. They knew the reverence with which the soldiers regarded their flag. Never having been in action with the white man, they concluded that the flag would be kept in a place of safety and if they stood religiously close to the banner they would be in a good position to attack or retreat as circumstances required. Consequently, they rallied on the flag. For once the red man’s reasoning led him into trouble, for, as it happened, and as it was to be expected, the flag was in the thick of the fight, and, to give them credit, after they saw their mistake and saw no means of rectifying it, the Osages fought as bravely and as efficiently as the rest.

The command went silently down the hill, making for the center of the valley and the trees where lay the Indian camp. The excitement of the situation was intense. Nobody knew just what he was about to encounter. No one could tell whether the other troops had succeeded in getting within supporting distance or not. But Custer knew his officers, and he, rightly in this instance—alas, that it might not have been so in other cases!—depended upon them. Nearer and nearer the line approached the village. Clearer and clearer came the light from the pale sky. Little, hazy clouds of smoke floated above the tepees under the trees, but aside from that there was yet no evidence of life among them.

However cautiously it was conducted the advance of such a body of men over the snow made a great deal of noise. They had come so near the camp that they could not hope to remain undiscovered another moment. At the instant Custer was about to give the signal a rifle shot was heard on the other side of the camp. At first it was thought to be an accidental discharge from one of the other attacking parties. It was afterward learned that shot was fired by Black Kettle himself, who had heard the noise of the advancing troops, for every squadron had reached its appointed place, and practically at the same time they commenced their advance upon the devoted town. So soon as the crack of the rifle broke upon the still air the bugle sounded the charge.

With the first notes Custer turned to the band. Each trumpeter had his trumpet to his lips, each drummer his drum-sticks in the air.

“Play!” he shouted, and for the first time in action the stirring notes of the tune now peculiar to the Seventh Cavalry as its battle music—“Garry Owen”—broke on the air. Three answering bugle calls rang out from the different squadrons on all sides of the village. The cavalry charged, the dismounted soldiers advanced on the run. They all cheered.

IV. The Attack in the Morning

The village was strung along the banks of the creek and the troopers fell upon it like a storm. The Indians, completely surprised, nevertheless did not lose a moment. They poured out of the lodges, and seeking the shelter of the trees or standing knee-deep in the icy water of the river, with the banks acting as rifle-pits, returned the fire of the white men. A few of them succeeded in breaking away, but most of them had to fight where they were, and right well they fought.

Brave Captain Hamilton, who had sought the detail with such zeal, was shot from his horse and instantly killed. Captain Barnitz received a wound through the breast under his heart. Here and there others fell.

Strict orders had been given to spare the women and children. Most of the squaws and children remained hidden in the tepees. Others took part in the defense. The various troops scattered throughout the village and the fighting was hand-to-hand of a most vigorous character. Captain Benteen, galloping forward, was approached by an Indian boy about fourteen years of age on horseback. The boy was armed with a revolver. As the captain drew near he called out to the lad that his life would be safe if he would throw away his weapon. Fearing he could not understand him he made peace signs to him. For reply the boy leveled his weapon and shot at the captain. The bullet missed him. The Indian fired a second time and the bullet cut through the sleeve of Benteen’s coat. The captain was still making signs of amity and friendship when the boy fired a third time and hit his horse. As he raised the pistol to fire a fourth time the officer was forced to shoot him dead.

One squaw seized a little white boy, a captive, and broke for the river. She got into hiding in some underbrush where she might have remained unmolested, but such was her malignity that she busied herself by taking pot-shots at the galloping troops with her revolver. They captured her when her revolver was empty and then discovered that she had been fighting them in spite of a broken leg.

The Indians rallied in certain places favorable for defense. In their desperation seventeen braves threw themselves into a little depression in the ground and refused to surrender, fighting until all were killed. In a ravine running from the river thirty-eight made a heroic defense until they were all shot. In all, one hundred and three were killed, including Black Kettle, the chief.

The furious fighting had lasted one hour. The village was now in possession of the troops. A number of officers and men had been wounded and a temporary hospital was established in the middle of the village. Details were sent through the lodges to rout out the squaws and children, and a roll-call was ordered.

Custer was dismayed to find that Major Elliott and fourteen men, including Sergeant-Major Kennedy and three corporals, were missing. Where they had gone to no one at first could imagine. Finally a trooper stated that a number of Indians had escaped in the gap between Elliott and Thompson, and that he had seen Elliott with a few troopers break away in pursuit of them. An order was given for a troop to search for them, but before it could get away Indians were perceived in a heavy force on the bluffs directly in front of the command. Custer had succeeded in killing practically the whole of Black Kettle’s band, and as the Indians who had escaped had been forced to run for their lives, naked as they came from the lodges, he could not understand the appearance, just out of range of his men, of this portentous and constantly increasing force arrayed in full war panoply.

Inquiry among the captives disclosed the fact that the valley had been chosen as the winter headquarters for the principal bands of the Kiowas, Arapahoes, Cheyennes, “Dog Soldiers,”[^[49]] Comanches, and even a wandering band of Apaches. There were at least two thousand warriors in this assemblage. At that moment the men who had been guarding the overcoats and the lead horses came running in saying that they had been driven off by a heavy force of Indians. The situation was indeed critical.

Something had to be done at once. Custer dismounted his men, threw them out in a half circle about the camp, and prepared for battle. The Indians did not delay in delivering it. Led by Little Raven, an Arapahoe, and Satanta,[^[50]] a famous Kiowa, and Black Kettle’s successor, Little Rock, they at once attacked. A fierce battle was on and Custer’s ammunition was running low. The troops were now fighting for their lives. They had not expected anything of this kind. Fortunately, at this critical juncture a four-mule wagon came dashing through the Indian line. The Indians, being occupied in fighting, did not observe it until it was right upon them. Driving the wagon was Major Bell, the quartermaster, from the train. With him was a small escort. He had loaded the wagon with ammunition and galloped toward the sound of the fighting. With the fresh supplies, therefore, the troops at last made a bold charge which drove the Indians headlong down the valley, during which Little Rock, striving to rally his braves, was killed.

Custer now set fire to the lodges, totally destroying them and their contents. What to do with the ponies of the herd which had been captured in spite of the efforts of the squaws to run off with them, was a problem. It was impossible, under the circumstances, to drive them back to the camp. To turn them loose would have allowed them to fall into the hands of other Indians for use in future warfare. They had to be shot. It was a most unpleasant and repulsive duty for the soldiers, but there was no alternative. The whole herd was slaughtered. It took an hour and a half to kill them, and those engaged in the work said they had never done anything so harrowing and distressing.

By this time it was late in the afternoon. The Indians from the other villages, finding they were pursued but a short distance, had reassembled and once more prepared for attack. It was necessary for Custer to retreat at once. He put every available man on horseback, threw out skirmishing parties, the colors were brought up, the indefatigable band started playing, and the party advanced gaily up the valley toward the Indians. As he hoped and planned, they immediately reasoned that he would not advance with such confidence against such an overwhelming force, unless he was supported by heavy reinforcements to his command. After a short resistance they broke and fled.

It was night by this time, and Custer lost no time in getting out of the valley. The weather was still frightfully cold, and his men were without their overcoats, for they had, of course, not recovered them, and were almost perishing. They got back in safety, however, to Camp Supply, having accomplished the object of their expedition in dealing a decisive blow to the Indians. More than that, they had shown the Indians, who trusted for immunity to the season, that winter and summer were alike to the American soldier.

The Indian loss was one hundred and three killed in the village, including Black Kettle; an unknown number, believed to be large, killed and wounded during the all-day fighting, including Little Rock; the capture of fifty-three squaws and children; eight hundred and seventy-five ponies, eleven hundred and twenty-three buffalo robes and skins; the destruction of over five hundred pounds of powder and one thousand pounds of lead; four thousand arrows, seven hundred pounds of tobacco, besides rifles, pistols, saddle-bows, lariats, immense quantities of dried beef, and other winter provisions; in short, the complete destruction of the village and the annihilation of the band.

The losses of the regiment in the engagements were one officer and fourteen men missing (Elliott and his party), one officer and five men killed, three officers and eleven men wounded. General Sheridan called the affair the most complete and satisfactory battle ever waged against the Indians to that time.

Custer had marched through that blizzard and over the snow-clad plains to victory. His stealthy approach, the skill with which he had surrounded the village, the strength with which the attack had been delivered, and the battle which he had fought with the unexpected Indian force, the ruse by which he had extricated himself, and, last but not least, Bell’s gallant dash with the ammunition wagon, were all given the highest praise. And well they merited it.

One or two incidents of the battle are worthy of especial mention. When the troops obtained possession of the village, they found the dead body of a white woman. The fact that she still had some vestige of civilized clothing upon her, quite new, proved that she had been but recently captured. She had been shot dead by the Indians at the moment of attack to prevent her rescue; and there was also the body of a little white child, who had been killed by those who had him in charge, lest he should be returned to his family again.

The squaws, of course, were in great terror. They thought they would be instantly put to death when they were routed from their tepees. Black Kettle’s sister, Mah-wis-sa, who seemed to be the leading woman of the village, made a long oration to Custer, telling him that she was a good Indian, and that she had tried to restrain Black Kettle in his nefarious career—which was all a lie, of course. She wound up by bringing the comeliest of the young Indian maidens to Custer, and, after solemnly placing the hand of the girl in that of the General, mumbled some kind of a gibberish over the two. The General observed Romeo standing near with a broad grin upon his face, and asked him what Mah-wis-sa was doing. He was told that she was marrying him to the beauty of the tribe to propitiate him. That marriage did not stand.

V. The Fate of Elliott and his Men

The fate of Elliott’s detachment remained a mystery. His comrades hoped that he had escaped, but as the days passed and he did not return to the regiment, and as nothing was heard from him, they abandoned hope in despair. This was not, by any means, the end of the winter campaigning; and some time after, Custer and his men, this time heavily reinforced, again marched up the valley of the Washita. A short distance from the place where Black Kettle’s band had been annihilated they found the remains of Elliott and his men. The evidence of the field and what was afterward learned from Indian captives told the sad story.

Pursuing the fleeing Indians, Elliott and his party suddenly ran into the midst of a horde of braves coming down the valley to help Black Kettle and the men who had been engaged with Custer. To fly was impossible. They dismounted from their horses, formed themselves in a semicircle a few feet in diameter, stood back to back, as it were, and fought until they died. There were evidences of a terrible conflict all around them. Right dearly had they sold their lives.

The last survivor of that gallant little band had been Sergeant-Major Kennedy, the finest soldier in the regiment. He was not wounded, it appeared, but had expended all his ammunition for both rifle and revolver. Being an officer, he wore a sword. Seeing him, as they supposed, helpless, the Indians resolved to take him alive for the purpose of torturing him. There was not a soldier who knew of the habits of the Indians who would not chose death to captivity any time. The brave Kennedy stood alone in the midst of the bodies of his comrades, fronting death, sword in hand. I like to think of the courage of that heroic man in the midst of that savage, ravening assemblage.

With wily treachery the Indians made peace signs, and walked toward him with hands outstretched, saying: “How, How!” Kennedy, who knew the true value of such proceedings, waited until the chief of the band approached him nearly, then thrust his sword up to the hilt into the Indian’s breast. When they found Kennedy’s body he had been pierced by no less than twenty bullets. The other troopers had received one or two bullet wounds each. They were all stripped, scalped, and mutilated.[^[51]]

There was a great outcry when this battle became known, and Custer was accused of slaughtering helpless, inoffensive, gentle Indians! Unmerited obloquy was heaped upon him, but those who lived near enough to feel the effects of the Red Scourge realized that he had done for the settlers the best thing that could be done. People who knew, and his superior officers, not only sustained but commended him.

Custer again, in command of a much larger force, surprised a more populous village later in this same winter. It was completely in his power. He could have wiped it from the face of the earth, although it contained a force of Indians nearly equal to his own; but he stayed his hand, and said he would spare the savages if they would deliver to him two wretched women, one a young bride, the other a young girl, whom they held in captivity and for whose deliverance the campaign had been undertaken. By masterly skill Custer captured Satanta the Infamous, and held him until the captives were given up. With the expedition was the brother of one of the captives. Custer tells, in his simple, terse manner, with what feelings that whole army watched the poor women brought into camp, and how the boy, the last of his family, stood trembling by the general’s side until he recognized, in one of the wrecks of humanity which the Indians handed over, the sister whom he was seeking.[^[52]] The red-headed cook, referred to above, was with the army again, and proved herself, in her rude way, an angel of mercy and tenderness to these, her wretched sisters.

[45]. This statement has been called in question. The facts are taken from Custer’s farewell order to his division, April 19, 1865, as published in Captain Frederick Whittaker’s “Complete Life of General George A. Custer,” Sheldon & Co., New York, 1876. There is no possible doubt as to the correctness of the statement.

[46]. It is interesting, in view of his great services to his country, to learn that the first American ancestor of the Custer family was a Hessian officer who was captured at Saratoga in 1777.

[47]. Killed in the Battle

[48]. Mo-ke-ta-va-ta.—Letter from Mr. W. H. Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution.

[49]. Dog Soldiers were bands of especially ruthless Indians who could not brook even tribal restraint. They included members of different tribes and were unusually formidable. Possibly they got their name from a perversion of Cheyennes, i.e. Chiens-dogs. Another account describes them as a sort of mercenary police at the service of a chief of a tribe, with which he enforced his commands upon the recalcitrant and generally kept order. In any case they were men of exceptional courage and bravery.

[50]. A corruption of Set-t’á-iñt-e, “White Bear.”—Letter from Mr. W. H. Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution.

[51]. “Our Wild Indians,” Colonel Richard I. Dodge, U.S.A.

[52]. “... and at the last the brief reference to that episode when he (Custer) let glory of battle go, to save two white women!

“Has any one told you that the long line of soldiers and officers drawn up to witness the return of the two captives wept like women, and were not ashamed when the poor creatures came into the lines? Will you not write that story up some day, Dr. Brady? I will give you some addresses of officers who were eye-witnesses. They cannot seem to put such a picture before the public, but they do talk well.”—Private letter to me from the wife of an officer present on the occasion noted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Carr and Tall Bull at Summit Springs

I. A Brilliant Little Fight

General Eugene A. Carr, in command of the Fifth Cavalry, did some brilliant skirmishing and fighting in 1868–9 western Kansas and Colorado. His most notable exploit was the surprise of Tall Bull’s camp. Next to Black Kettle, Tall Bull was probably the most vicious and diabolical of the Indian raiders in these two states.

Carr, with five troops of the Fifth Cavalry and with W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) as chief guide, learning where Tall Bull’s camp was, marched one hundred and fifty miles in four days in pursuit of him. Halting when he believed he had reached the vicinity of the camp, he sent Buffalo Bill with some of his Pawnee Indian auxiliaries to find out exactly where the Indians were located.

Cody, having discovered the location of the village, returned to General Carr and advised him to take a wider detour, keeping his forces concealed among the hills, so that he could approach the Indians from the north, a direction from which they would not be expecting attack, and whence they might be the more easily surprised. The advice was followed, the command made its encircling march without detection, and formed up in line of troops, each troop two abreast, in the ravines about twelve hundred yards from the village.

They were between the Indians and the Platte River. The camp was located at Summit Springs, Colorado. Every preparation having been made, Carr ordered the bugler to sound the charge. The man was so excited that he was unable to produce a note. Twice Carr gave the command. Finally, Quartermaster Hayes snatched the bugle from the agitated musician and sounded the charge himself, and the whole regiment rushed out into the open.

The Indians made for their ponies and advanced to meet the charge. The rush of the soldiers was too threatening, however. After a hasty fire they broke and fled on their horses, the whole party, soldiers and Indian scouts, following after at full speed through the village. The attack was a complete success. Fifty-two Indians were killed, two hundred and seventy-four horses and one hundred and forty-five mules were captured. The soldiers had one man wounded, with no other casualties.

In the camp were found the bodies of two unfortunate white women, who had been captured. Swift as had been the dash of the soldiers, the Indians had taken time to brain one of the women with a war-club, while the second was shot in the breast and left for dead. She was given every possible attention by the soldiers, who took her back to Fort Sedgwick, and her life was eventually spared. Her sufferings and treatment had been beyond description. Fifteen hundred dollars in money—in gold, silver, and greenbacks—strange to say, had been found in the camp. This sum the soldiers, by permission of the general, donated to the poor woman, as an expression of their sympathy for her.

According to some accounts, Tall Bull, who was chief of the camp, and one of the head chiefs of the Sioux, was killed in this attack. Buffalo Bill tells another story.[^[53]] The day after the fight the various companies of the Fifth Cavalry—which had remained in the camp all the ensuing day and night, at the insistence of the plucky commander, in spite of the pleas of some of the officers, who, fearing an attack in force, suggested retiring immediately—separated in order the more effectively to pursue the flying Indians. Several days after the surprise the detachment for which Cody was guide was attacked by several hundred Indians. The soldiers fought them off, killing a number. The chief of this party was believed by Cody to be Tall Bull.

Buffalo Bill crept through a ravine for several hundred feet, unobserved by the Indians, until he reached an opening whence he had the savages in range. Watching his opportunity as the Indians were careering wildly over the prairie, he drew a bead on the chief and shot him dead. Whether that was Tall Bull or not, one fact is clear—that he was killed either then or before, for he was certainly dead thereafter.

When the troops were following the Indian trails on the march to Summit Springs, at every place where the Indians had camped they found marks of white women’s shoes. It was this knowledge that gave additional determination and fire to their magnificent attack.

General Carr deservedly gained great reputation for his dash and daring.

Here I include a letter describing this battle from the standpoint of a soldier, which is a most interesting contribution to the story of the affair:

II. Account of the Battle of Summit Springs

Written by J. E. Welch to his comrade, Colonel Henry O. Clark, of

Vermont.[^[54]]

The next spring, 1869, I heard that General Eugene A. Carr, commanding a detachment of the Fifth U. S. Cavalry, was organizing an expedition to go after a large band of Indians (Sioux and Cheyennes) who had been raiding and murdering through Colorado, New Mexico, and Kansas. Some other fellows and myself went to Fort McPherson and offered our services as volunteers to serve without pay. The general could not accept our services, but he said we could go along and act with the scouts—so along we went.

The expedition consisted of about four hundred cavalry, one hundred and fifty Pawnee scouts, under Colonel Frank North, and about twenty civilians. Buffalo Bill was the guide. He struck out for the Republican River, and the first night after we got there the hostiles tried to stampede our horses; they came near accomplishing their object, too, but they only succeeded in wounding a teamster and killing a mule. Next day we found the trail of their main body and followed it, but soon found that we could not gain an inch on them; we kept on, however, until we came to a place where the trail divided. The trail to the right was very plain, while the one to the left was scattered and so dim it was evident to the most inexperienced man in the command that the trail they intended us to follow was the one to the right. So General Carr detached two troops of cavalry and some Indians, under Major Royall, caused them to make as big a show as possible and take the decoy trail, while the main body was kept back in a low place for a day in order that any hostile scouts who might be watching us would think the whole command had gone on the decoy trail. Next day we started on the dim trail, and before night we became satisfied that we were on the trail of the main body of the hostiles. Major Royall followed the decoy trail until it scattered, then turning the head of his column to the left he intercepted and rejoined the command. We now found that we were gaining on the game we were after. They evidently thought they had fooled us, and were taking their time.

On the tenth of July we marched sixty-five miles, passing three of their camps. On the eleventh we were on the march before daylight. The trail was hot, the Indians making for the Platte. Every one knew that if they succeeded in crossing the river the game was up. By noon we had marched thirty-five miles, at which time Buffalo Bill, who had been far in advance of the command all day, was seen approaching as fast as his tired horse could come. As soon as he reached the column he called for a fresh horse, and while transferring his saddle told General Carr that he had encountered two bucks who were hunting and that the Indian camp was about twelve miles ahead.

GROUP OF DISTINGUISHED GENERAL OFFICERS

The general, knowing the bucks who had been run off by Cody would make every effort to reach their camp ahead of us in order to give the alarm, gave the command “Trot.” Both horses and men seemed to brighten up, and we put real estate behind us at a rapid rate. When within a mile of the hostile camp a halt was called to let the Pawnees unsaddle, as they flatly refused to go into action with saddles on their horses. They began daubing their faces with paint and throwing off their clothing. They were made to retain enough of the latter to enable us to distinguish them from the hostiles. After this short delay we moved forward at a sharp trot, and in a few moments we were looking down at “Tall Bull’s” camp in a small valley below us. In a moment the camp was alive with Indians running in every direction.

General Carr, taking in the situation at a glance, gave utterance to a few words of command, winding up his remarks with the order, given loud and clear and sharp:

“Charge!”

Every horse leaped forward at the word, and in a twinkling we were among them and the fight was on. It did not last long. There was rapid firing for about five minutes, when all was over except an occasional shot as some fellow would find an Indian who had failed to secure a horse and escape.

The result of the fight was about as following: no white men killed, four or five horses killed, about one hundred and eighty-eight dead Indians, forty of whom were squaws and children;[^[55]] one hundred and five lodges captured, many rifles, five tons of dried buffalo meat baled for winter use, a very ample supply of ammunition, consisting of powder, lead, etc., and a greater number and variety of brass kettles than I ever saw before.

Of their live stock we captured five hundred and sixty head of ponies and mules.

To pursue those who had fled was out of the question, our horses being too badly done up. As we charged the camp, we saw a white woman run from among the Indians, one of whom fired at her as she ran. We shouted to her to lie down, which she did, our horses leaping over her without a hoof touching her. She was wounded in her side, but not fatally. Almost at the same moment we saw an Indian seize another white woman by the hair and brain her with a tomahawk. Some of us rode straight for that Indian, and there was not a bone left in his dead carcass that was not broken by a bullet. I dismounted in the midst of the hubbub to see if I could help the woman, but the poor creature was dead. (She had the appearance of being far gone in pregnancy.) I mounted my horse again with a very good stomach for a fight.

After firing a few shots, I happened to see a Red mounted on a large paint pony making off by himself, and driving four fine mules ahead of him. I gave chase and gained on him rapidly, which he soon perceived, dropping his mules and doing the best he could to get away. But it was no use. “Sam,” my horse, was Kentucky bred, and walked right up on him. When I was within seventy-five or one hundred yards of him he wheeled his horse and fired, the bullet passing through the calf of my leg and into my horse. The Indian threw his gun away and rode at me like a man, discharging arrows as he came. The third arrow split my left ear right up to my head. It was then my turn, and I shot him through the head. This Indian’s name was “Pretty Bear.” He was chief of a band of Cheyennes. The Pawnees knew him and were anxious to secure his scalp, which I was glad to give them as I soon became disgusted with the ghastly trophy. “Pretty Bear” had on his person the badge of a Royal Arch Mason, with West Springfield, Ill., engraved on it. I sent the badge to the postmaster at Springfield with a statement as to how it came into my possession. “Pretty Bear” had five or six scalps on the trail of his shield, one of which was that of a woman. The hair was brown, very long, and silken.

“Tall Bull,” the Sioux chief, was killed by Lieutenant Mason, who rode up to him and shot him through the heart with a derringer. After I had taken the scalp of “Pretty Bear” I found that Sam was shot through the bowels. I unsaddled him and turned him loose to die, but he followed me like a dog and would put his head against me and push, groaning like a person. I was forced to shoot him to end his misery. I had to try two or three times before I could do it. At first to save my life I could not do it. He kept looking at me with his great brown eyes. When I did fire he never knew what hurt him. He was a splendid horse, and could do his mile in 1.57.

My wounds being slight, I rustled around and soon managed to catch a small mule, which I mounted bareback, intending to scout around a little. I did not carry out my intention, however. The brevet horse ran into the middle of the Indian camp, threw me into a big black mud-hole, my boot was full of blood, my ear had bled all over one side of me, so that when I crawled out of that mud-hole I was just too sweet for anything. By this time the fight was over. A friend of mine, Bill Steele, went with me to the spring that ran into the mud-hole, where he washed me as well as he could, bandaged my leg, sewed my ear together with an awl and some linen thread. He made a good job of it, and I was all right except that my leg was a little sore and stiff.

After the fight we found we had one hundred and seventeen prisoners, four squaws, and fifteen children. They were turned over to the Pawnees. The Pawnees did not fight well. They skulked and killed the women and children. I have never seen Indians face the music like white men. We camped where we were that night. Men were coming into camp all night. In fact, they did not reach the scene of action until about ten o’clock next day. They were fellows who had been left along the trail by reason of their horses giving out.

Our first duty next day was to bury the poor woman they had so foully murdered the day before. Not having a coffin, we wrapped her in a buffalo robe. General Carr read the funeral service and the cavalry sounded the funeral dirge, and as the soft, mournful notes died away many a cheek was wet that had long been a stranger to tears. The other woman was found to be all right with the exception of a wound in the side. She was a German, unable to speak English. Both of the women had been beaten and outraged in every conceivable manner. Their condition was pitiful beyond any power of mine to portray.

The Indian camp and everything pertaining thereto was destroyed, after which we took up our line of march for Fort Sedgwick, where we arrived in due time without any mishap.

I think it just as impossible to make a civilized man of the Indian as it would be to make a shepherd dog of a wolf, or a manly man of a dude. They do not in my opinion possess a single trait that elevates a man above a brute. They are treacherous, cowardly, and ungrateful, Cooper to the contrary notwithstanding. I knew a Greek in Arizona who came to the country with camels for the government. After the camels died he married an Apache squaw, learned the language, and was employed by the United States government as an interpreter. This man told me that in the Apache dialect there was no word, or combination of words, whereby they could convey the idea that we do by using the word Gratitude. What do you think of that?

Well, old man, I have been writing half the night, and have only got as far as the 11th of July ’69. I am discouraged, and right here I quit you like a steer in the road. How long am I to wait for that picture? I am curious to see how much of a change old dad Time has wrought in you. He has played h—l with me.

As ever,

J. E. Welch.

P. S. The photo has come. I could have known you anywhere. You have changed a little—for the better, I think.

J. E. W.

[53]. I have written several times to General Carr, asking information as to this and other points, but have not received any.—C. T. B.

[54]. This letter, which is dated Edith, Coke County, Texas; June 16, 1891, was furnished me for publication by Dr. T. E. Oertel. I am informed that the writer has since died.—C. T. B.

[55]. These figures, which are evidently from memory, are certainly in error.—C. T. B.

Part II
The War With the Sioux

CHAPTER ONE
With Crook’s Advance

I. The Cause of the Fighting

Late in 1876 the government determined that thereafter all Indians in the Northwest must live on the reservations. For a long time the Interior Department, to which the management of Indian affairs was committed, had been trying in vain by peaceable means to induce them to do this. The Indians were at last definitely informed that if they did not come into the reservation by the first of January, 1876, and stay there, the task of compelling them to do so would be turned over to the War Department. They did not come in; on the contrary, many of those on the reservations left them for the field; and thus the war began.

The principal adviser and most influential head man among the Sioux Nation and its allied tribe, the Cheyennes, was Sitting Bull,[^[56]] an Unkpapa chief and a great medicine man. He does not seem to have been much of a fighter. The Indians said he had a big head but a little heart, and they esteemed him something of a coward; in spite of this, his influence over the chiefs and the Indians was paramount, and remained so until his death.

Perhaps he lacked the physical courage which is necessary in fighting, but he must have had abundant moral courage, for he was the most implacable enemy and the most dangerous—because of his ability, which was so great as to overcome the Indians’ contempt for his lack of personal courage—that the United States had ever had among the Indians. He was a strategist, a tactician—everything but a fighter. However, his lack of fighting qualities was not serious, for he gathered around him a dauntless array of war chiefs, the first among them being Crazy Horse, an Oglala, a skilful and indomitable, as well as a brave and ferocious, leader.

The Sioux country was encircled by forts and agencies. The Missouri River inclosed it on the east and north. On the south were the military posts along the line of the Union Pacific Railroad. To the west were the mountains. Sitting Bull and his followers took position in the valleys of the Big Horn near the sources of the Powder River, right at the center of the encircling forts and agencies. It was a situation whence they could move directly upon the enemy in any direction as necessity required.

For years unscrupulous and mercenary traders had supplied the savages with high-grade firearms in spite of government protests. The Indians were better armed than the soldiers, and possessed ammunition in plenty. Their numbers in the field have been estimated at from twelve hundred to six thousand warriors, with their wives and children. Those who have studied the war from the Indian point of view have put the number at the lower figure; nearly every one else at from three thousand up. Whatever the facts, there were enough of them to give the United States Army the busiest time that it had enjoyed since the Civil War.

Three expeditions were planned for the winter, which were to be launched upon the Indians simultaneously. One, under General Gibbon, was to come eastward from western Montana; another, under General Crook, was to advance northward from southern Nebraska; and the third, under Custer, was to strike westward from Fort Lincoln. It was believed that any one of the three, each of which comprised more than a thousand men, would be strong enough to defeat the Indians, the only problem being to catch them or corner them.

The well-known disinclination of Indians to fight pitched battles is a factor which enters largely into every campaign. Somehow or other, the Indians in this campaign did not seem to be so disinclined that way. One cannot but admire the skill with which they manœuvered and the courage with which they fought. Putting aside all questions of their cruelty and brutality—and what else could be expected from them?—they were patriots fighting for the possession of their native land. Bravely they fought, and well. They were fully apprised of the movements of the troops, and resolved to attack them in severalty and beat them in detail. We shall see how completely they did so, and with what brilliant success they battled, until they were run down, worn out, scattered, killed, or captured.

II. Reynolds’ Abortive Attempt

The weather was something frightful. Indeed, all through the ensuing spring it was unprecedentedly inclement. Neither Custer’s expedition nor Gibbon’s got away in winter. Crook did advance, and first came in touch with the enemy with results not altogether satisfactory. General Joseph J. Reynolds, with ten troops from the Second and Third Cavalry, surprised and took possession of Crazy Horse’s village, on the Powder River, on the morning of March 17, 1876. The troops had partially destroyed the village while under a severe fire from the Indians who had rallied on bluffs and hills round about it, when Reynolds abandoned the position and retreated. He was, of course, pursued by the Indians, grown bolder than before, if possible, as they saw the reluctant soldiers giving up their hard-won prize.

So precipitate was Reynolds’ withdrawal, in fact, that the bodies of several troopers who had been shot in the action were abandoned to the malignity of the savages, and there was a persistent whisper, which will not down, to the effect that one wounded man was also left behind.

As to this, an army officer of high rank personally stated to me that Reynolds was in such a state of excitement, as the afternoon wore away and Crook did not join him in the village, that he finally peremptorily ordered the troops to mount and go away, in spite of the fact that the work of destruction was not complete. This was bad enough, but my informant solemnly asserted that Reynolds, in spite of plea and even remonstrance, compelled him to leave behind a wounded trooper, who must necessarily have been tortured by the Indians so soon as they reoccupied the village. Captain Bourke has gone on record in his “On the Border with Crook,” expressing his belief in the truth of this charge, which forever stains the name of the commander of the expedition. The whole affair was a disgrace to the army, and many of the officers of the command, capable and brave men, felt it keenly. They chafed for a chance to show their qualities, which they had later on.

The cold was intense, the temperature dropping to thirty degrees below zero. The soldiers suffered greatly in the retreat. The Indians, who seemed impervious to cold, pursued them and succeeded in recapturing their pony herd of some seven hundred head, which Reynolds was endeavoring to bring away with him. Crook, bringing up the infantry and wagons, was furious when he met the retreating cavalry and heard its story.

There were a number of courts-martial subsequently, but little came of them, and the matter was finally allowed to drop upon the retirement or resignation of some of the officers chiefly concerned. It was a disgraceful affair, and all the honors rested with Crazy Horse. The Indians were greatly encouraged. The loss of the troops was four men killed and six wounded, and sixty-six men badly frozen or otherwise incapacitated by the cold.

III. The March to the Tongue River

After the ignominious outcome of Reynolds’ attack upon the village of Crazy Horse, the various expeditions noted spent the greater part of the spring in preparing for the grand advance of the converging columns which were to inclose the recalcitrant Indians in a cordon of soldiers, force them back on the reservations, and thus, it was sincerely hoped, end the war. It will be necessary to follow the movements of the several columns separately. As that of Crook first came in contact with the Indians, its history will be first discussed.

The reorganized command for the campaign, which assembled at Fort Fetterman, Wyoming, included fifteen troops of cavalry—about nine hundred men—ten of the Third, under command of Colonel Evans, and five of the Second, under Major Noyes, the whole being under the command of Colonel William B. Royall, of the Third.[^[57]] There were also three companies of the Ninth Infantry and two of the Fourth, a total of three hundred men, under the command of Colonel Chambers.

There was an abundance of transportation, a long wagon train, and an invaluable pack train. The troops were generously provided with everything necessary for the hard work before them. It was the largest, and it was believed to be the most efficient, force which had ever been sent against the Indians in the West.

Crook, an officer of large experience, especially in Indian fighting, assumed personal command of the expedition on the 28th of May, 1876. On the 29th the march began. The objects of the campaign were the villages of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull, which were believed to be somewhere on the Rosebud River. The topography of that country is well known now, but then it was more or less of a terra incognita—rather more than less, by the way. Certainly, this was true after the Tongue River was reached. The advance was made at first up the Bozeman trail, past Fort Reno, and over the battle-fields around the ruins of abandoned and destroyed Fort Phil Kearney, which were objects of much interest to the soldiers.

On the 9th of June the army encamped on the south side of the Tongue River, near the point where that stream intersects the Montana boundary line. Crazy Horse[^[58]] had been fully advised by disaffected Indians at the agencies and military posts, as well as by his own daring scouts, of all these preparations that were being made to overwhelm him. He had sent to Crook a specific warning not to cross the Tongue River, and declared his intent to attack him immediately he reached that stream. To prove that his threat was no idle boast, he mustered his warriors, and at half after six o’clock on the evening of the 9th, from the high bluffs on the other side, opened fire upon the camp.

Through a fortunate mistake the Indians directed their fire to the tents of the camp, imagining that they would be full of men. They happened to be empty. The Sioux soon got the range, and the camp was swept with bullets. They ripped open mess chests, shattered the sides of the wagons, destroyed the baggage, killed a few horses, but did little damage to the men.[^[59]]

The Third Cavalry was divided into three battalions, one of four, and two of three troops each. Captain Mills commanded the first battalion, Captain Henry the second, Captain Van Vliet the third. Crook acted promptly. He sent forward three companies of his infantry, deploying them as skirmishers, to line the river bank and open fire on the Indians in plain view on the bluff on the other side. At the same time he ordered Captain Mills to take his battalion across the river and charge the enemy. The Sioux were already unsettled by the accurate fire of the infantry with their long-range rifles, and as Mills’ battalion deployed, dashed through the water and at the steep bluffs on the other side, they broke and fled, having suffered little or no loss, and not having inflicted much more.

IV. The Flying Column

The skirmish was simply a grim earnest of the determined purpose of the Indian chief. No pursuit was attempted at that time. Negotiations had been entered into between the Crows, who were the hereditary enemies of the Sioux, and the Shoshones, with a view to securing a body of Indian auxiliaries to the troops, whose services would be invaluable for scouting. Persuaded thereto by Frank Gruard,[^[60]] a celebrated scout, something less than two hundred Crows, with eighty odd Shoshones, joined the army on the 15th of June.

To pursue Indians while incumbered with infantry and a wagon train was well nigh a hopeless task. Crook determined to park the wagons and baggage, leave them under the command of Major Furey, the quartermaster, strip his command to the lightest marching order, and make a dash for the Rosebud River and the Indian country. One hundred infantrymen, protesting most vehemently against their orders, to their credit, be it said, were detailed to remain with the train. Two hundred others, who professed to have some skill in riding, were mounted on the mules of the wagon train to accompany the cavalry.

The morning of the 15th was spent in accustoming the infantrymen to the mules and the mules to the infantrymen. The cavalrymen and the Indian allies enjoyed the circus which ensued when the mules were bridled and saddled for the first time, and mounted by men who had never before straddled anything more formidable than a fence rail. It took the whole morning before the infantrymen and the mules learned to get along with each other, even in a half-hearted way.

At five A.M., on the 16th, the force, numbering a little less than eleven hundred men, with two hundred and fifty Indian auxiliaries, crossed the Tongue River and marched to the Rosebud.[^[61]] They bivouacked that night on the banks of the Rosebud, on a level depression surrounded by low bluffs on all sides, forming a sort of natural amphitheater, on the top of which the pickets were stationed. Each man carried four days’ rations of hardtack, coffee, and bacon in his saddle-bags and one hundred rounds of ammunition upon his person. The pack train was limited to two mules carrying the medical supplies. There being little to do at the wagon camp on Goose Creek, a number of mule packers, led by a veteran, Tom Moore, accompanied the expedition to help the foot soldiers to manage their mules, and incidentally to take part in the fighting. There were no tents, of course, and but one blanket (a single blanket at that) for each man. This blanket barely kept off the heavy dew, and the night was a thoroughly uncomfortable one.

At three A.M. on the 17th of June reveillé was sounded. After breakfast and the care of the horses and mules, six o’clock found the troops on the march down the Rosebud. At eight o’clock they halted and unsaddled their animals to give them a nibble of grass and a little rest, preparatory to a farther advance later on, while the Crows and Shoshones were sent on ahead to scout. The place in which they had stopped was an amphitheater, like their camp ground of the night before, a rolling bit of boggy prairie, inclosed on all sides by bluffs, every point being within rifle shot of the center. Through this amphitheater ran the Rosebud River, here a mere creek, its general direction being from west to east. Toward the east side of the amphitheater the creek was diverted to the left, the northeastward, and plunged into a gloomy and forbidding cañon, called the Dead Cañon of the Rosebud. The course of the river was marked by a rank undergrowth of grass, small trees, etc.

Mills’ battalion of the Third Cavalry halted on the south bank of the creek. In rear of Mills was Noyes’ battalion of the Second Cavalry. Across the creek were Henry’s and Van Vliet’s battalions of the Third Cavalry, the mounted infantrymen, and the small pack train with the packers. Crook desired to keep his movements secret, but it had been impossible to restrain the impetuosity of the Indian auxiliaries the day before. They had come across a herd of buffalo and had made great slaughter of the helpless animals, killing one hundred and fifty of them, for which they had no use at all. It is certain that so able a general as Crazy Horse had scouts watching Crook all the time, and would have discovered his advance in any event; but with all the noise made by the Indians in the buffalo hunt, there was no possibility of a surprise. As a matter of fact, it was Crazy Horse who began the game. Crook was ready for him.

V. The Battle of the Rosebud

About half after eight o’clock in the morning, the resting soldiers were called to attention by the sound of shots from the bluffs in front of them, over which their allies had disappeared. It was at first supposed that these friendly Indians had run across another herd of buffalo, but a few moments told the practised troopers that the firing was the beginning of a battle rather than that of a hunt. At the same time the Indian auxiliaries came galloping back to the main body at full speed, yelling:

“Sioux, Sioux! Heap Sioux!”

Without waiting for orders, the troopers saddled their horses and fell in. They got ready none too soon, for right on the heels of the fleeing Crows and Shoshones came the Sioux. In front of them to the right, the left, the low bluffs inclosing the plain, were ringed with Indians in full war-gear. As one observer described it to me, they looked like swarms of blackbirds, there were so many of them and in such rapid motion. They kept coming and coming into view, and as they dashed up to the brink of the hills upon their war ponies they opened a long-range fire upon the soldiers, which from the distance did little damage. There were at least a thousand of them in plain sight. How many others there might be, no one could tell. It was a safe guess that those in sight constituted but a small part of the force.

It is said that there were at least six thousand warriors that day under the command of Crazy Horse, but that most of them were not engaged. Crazy Horse had planned an ambush for General Crook, and he had hoped to defeat him by luring the soldiers into it, or by separating the army into small detachments and overwhelming them in detail. His plans were well devised, and came very near being successful. That they did not succeed is probably due more to the acts of the Indians themselves than because of the wariness of the soldiers.

Courtesy of The Century Co.
THE DIFFICULT TASK OF THE HORSE-HOLDERS IN ACTION
Drawing by Frederic Remington

Crook acted at once. Sending his staff officers to rally the Crows and Shoshones, he directed them to circle to the right and left, and make ready to fall on the flanks of the Indians. Mills, who had behaved so gallantly at the Tongue River, was ordered to charge the Indians straight up the valley to the bluff to the northward, the front. Two troops of Van Vliet’s squadron were rushed off to the southward, the rear, to seize a commanding position to prevent the Indians from circling around in that direction and getting in Crook’s rear. The infantry and part of the Second Cavalry were dismounted, and thrown forward as skirmishers around the foot of the bluffs. Royall took Henry’s battalion, with Van Vliet’s remaining troop, one of Mills’ troops which he detached while the battalion was on the gallop, and another of Noyes’ troops, and charged the Indians on the left.

Mills’ charge was most gallantly delivered. The soldiers struggled through the bog, raced across the bottom land for about eight hundred yards, and scrambled up the bluffs in twenty minutes, finding themselves, when they reached the top, within fifty paces of the Sioux. There was no time to use carbines. Firing revolvers, the battalion rushed at the Indians. The savages fired ineffectively, gave way, and fled instantly to higher ground six hundred yards further on, where they opened fire. In their excitement they shot badly. Mills dismounted his battalion, deployed them as skirmishers, rushed the second ridge and cleared it, the Indians sullenly retiring before him, and again opened fire on the troops, to which the cavalrymen made effective reply. The Sioux galloped rapidly to and fro, yelling and firing from their horses, kicking up clouds of dust, but doing little harm.

Royall, Henry, and Van Vliet had a similar success on the left, where the ground was much more open and unfavorable for defense, although the Indians were massed more heavily in that quarter than before Mills.

Meanwhile the Crows and Shoshones had fallen upon the flanks of the Sioux, but not very effectively. Every one in the field except a small reserve was now hotly engaged. The pressure on Mills became stronger, but he drove the Indians from him by another gallant attack. Thereafter he was reinforced by Noyes’ battalion. The front of his line was finally partially cleared by this last dash. The Indians who had been attacking him thereupon left him, and joined the others before Royall and Henry.

Crook now withdrew Mills’ command from the battlefield, and Mills was ordered to take his three troops down the Dead Cañon of the Rosebud and attack the villages which it was believed the Indians were defending. Mills’ movements were supported by the five troops of the Second Cavalry under Noyes. Crook promised to follow up the movement, and support it with the remaining cavalry and infantry. We will follow this movement later.

Mills’ place in the line was occupied by Tom Moore and his packers and some other auxiliaries from the camp, and a smart fire was kept up in that direction. On the left the firing was fast and furious. The Indians from the front cleared by Mills joined their associates on the left, and again and again attacked Royall, Henry, and Van Vliet, who had joined the other two, with the most determined courage. Charge and counter charge were made over that portion of the field. Now the troops gave way before the Indian advance, now the soldiers were rallied and hurled back the Indians, now the Indians retreated before some desperate countercharge. So went the varying fortunes of the hour. The number of savages increased with every passing moment. To the eyes of the astonished soldiers they seemed to spring from the ground. If one fell in the line, a dozen were ready to take his place.

In one of the charges Captain Henry was shot through the face and frightfully wounded. The troopers had dismounted, but the officers remained mounted. Henry reeled in his saddle as the bullet pierced both his cheek bones and tore out the whole front of his face below the eyes. Although, as an eye-witness has it, he was spitting blood by the handful, he continued on the battle line. The situation of Royall’s wing of Crook’s army was precarious. Henry’s battalion held the extreme left flank. It was his duty to remain there. Vroom’s troop L, of the Third Cavalry, had become separated from the main body during the battle, and was caught ahead of the line and surrounded by Indians, in imminent danger of annihilation. Crook had ordered Royall to bring his men back to their horses, in order to mount them and prepare for a general charge. The Indians took this movement for a retreat, and came dashing after the retrograding troopers. Only the cool courage of Royall and Henry, and the magnificent way in which they handled their forces when they went forward to the rescue, prevented the annihilation of Vroom’s troops.

It was in the midst of this operation that Henry received his fearful wound and stayed on the line.[^[62]] Presently he fell from his horse. As he did so, the soldiers, dismayed by his fall, began to give back before the Sioux. The impetuous Indians charged over the place where Henry lay. Fortunately, he was not struck by the hoofs of the galloping horses. His men rallied and rushed to his rescue. Old Chief Washakie and his Shoshones at this period of the fighting displayed splendid courage. The fight actually raged over the body of Captain Henry until the Indians were driven off, and Henry was rescued from what would otherwise have been certain death. After this fierce struggle, part breaking through the line and part turning the flank, the Indians galloped down the valley between the river and the troops, and finally disappeared on the other side of the Dead Cañon, their retreat accelerated by the movement of Mills toward the village. The fighting had lasted a little more than two hours.

VI. Mills’ Advance down the Cañon

Meanwhile Mills and his men, in a column of twos, trotted down the gloomy depths of the Dead Cañon, the rocky walls of which, towering on either side, would have afforded abundant cover for Indian riflemen. Before entering the cañon, they had cleared the mouth of it of a body of Sioux by a smart charge, and they were thereafter unmolested. They advanced rapidly but with caution, although what they could have done if attacked it is hard to see, and how caution would have saved them it is difficult to tell. They had their orders to go through the cañon and attack the village. There was nothing to do but obey. Sending them forward was a mistake which might have resulted in a terrible disaster, although nobody believed that then. The soldiers had not yet realized what fighters these Indians were. The Custer disaster was still to come, and no one imagined that so large a body as that commanded by Mills and Noyes could be defeated. If Crook had followed with his whole force, the troops under his command would have been annihilated; it is probable that not one of them would have come out of that cañon.

When Crook began to prepare to follow Mills with the rest of his force, he discovered that he had a much larger number of wounded than he had thought possible, and the doctors protested against their being left with a feeble guard while Crook with the best of the force went up the cañon. The protest was justified by the situation. Besides, the attack on Royall and Henry had not yet ceased. Crook reflected, concluded that he could not leave the field, and that Mills’ force was too weak for the work assigned it. The general thereupon despatched Captain Nickerson, of his staff, attended by a single orderly, at the imminent peril of their lives, with orders to ride after Mills and tell him to leave the cañon, defile to the left, and rejoin him at once. Crook hoped that Mills, on his return to the field, might succeed in getting in the rear of any Indians who might be lurking in the hills before Royall’s shattered line.

So rapid had been Mills’ movements, that Nickerson, although going at the full speed of his horse, did not overtake him until he had penetrated some seven miles down the cañon. Fortunately for all concerned, the command had halted where a cross cañon made an opening toward the west, and on that side the cañon was so broken and so sloping that it could be scaled by the troopers. Firing was heard to the front, and the Indians were detected massing to attack Mills’ detachment. A halt had been ordered for the purpose of making final preparations for the attack.

“Mills,” said Nickerson, as he came galloping up, “Royall has been badly handled—there are many wounded. Henry is severely hurt, and Vroom’s troop is all cut up. The General orders that you and Noyes defile by your left flank out of this cañon and return to the field at once. He cannot move out to support you and the rest on account of the wounded.”

Never was order more unwelcome. The officers at the head of the column urged Mills to go on. The Indian village was in sight. Crook could not have known how near they were, or he would not have recalled them. Mills, however, was a thorough soldier. In his mind orders were to be obeyed, and he silenced the objectors and advisers, and did as he was directed, although with great disappointment and reluctance. Never was obedience better justified. General Mills admits now that, had he disobeyed Crook, his command would have been annihilated.

The cañon was the mouth of Crazy Horse’s trap. A short distance farther on, it ended in a great dam covered with broken logs, making a dangerous abattis. Here the main body of the Indians had been massed. Here they expected, seeing the confident advance of the eight troops of cavalry up the cañon, to fall upon them and kill them all, which they might easily have done. Nickerson got there just in time.

Mills instantly turned to the left and led his troops up the broken wall of the cañon to the high ground on the farther side; fortunately, he had been overtaken at about the very point where the ascent was practicable for troops. Presently the detachment rejoined the main body, their progress being unmolested.

There were ten soldiers killed and twenty-seven seriously wounded, besides a great number of slightly wounded. Most of the casualties were in Royall’s command, Vroom’s troop having lost heavily while it was in such peril.

Crook camped for the night on the battle-field. The dead were buried, the wounded looked after temporarily, and the next morning the soldiers withdrew. They went back to their camp at Goose Creek and stayed there. The battle was in one sense a victory for the white soldiers, in that they drove the Indians from the field, forcing them back at least five miles. In another, and a larger and more definite sense, it was a decided victory for Crazy Horse. He had fought Crook to a standstill. He had forced him back to his base of supplies. He had stopped the farther progress of that expedition. He had protected his villages and had withdrawn his army in good order.

If Mills’ command had not been recalled, it is certain that it would have been annihilated. As it was, the Indians had done remarkably well. Crazy Horse, free from further apprehension of pursuit by Crook for the present, had leisure to turn his attention to the other two expeditions, which there is no doubt he was well aware had been launched against him.

While technically it was perhaps a drawn battle, as a feat of arms the battle of the Rosebud must go down to the credit of the Indians. It was more like a pitched battle than any that had been fought west of the Missouri heretofore. The individual officers and soldiers of the army did splendidly; so did the Indians. Mills had displayed commendable dash and daring in all his charges. Royall, Henry and Van Vliet, and Chambers with the infantry, had fought skilfully and bravely against an overwhelming force. Crook’s dispositions were good on the field, and were well carried out by his subordinates. The same may be said of Crazy Horse, his subchiefs, and their warriors.

Crook had nearly exhausted his ammunition in the hard fighting, the larger part of his supplies had been expended, and he had a number of very seriously wounded on his hands. There was not one chance in a thousand that he could catch the Indians now. There was nothing left for him to do but go back to the main camp, send his wounded back to Fort Fetterman for treatment, order up more supplies and more troops, and await a favorable opportunity to attack again.

To anticipate events, it may be noted that, owing to the disaster to Terry’s column, Crook did not advance until August.

[56]. Tatá ⁿka I yotá ⁿka, according to a letter from Mr. W. H. Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution.

[57]. General King, in his fascinating book, “Campaigning with Crook,” has preserved a characteristic anecdote of Royall, which I venture to quote as illustrating the way they have in the army, and as throwing some light on the temperament of the peppery old fighter:

“A story is going the rounds about Royall that does us all good, even in that dismal weather. A day or two before, so it was told, Royall ordered one of his battalion commanders to ‘put that battalion in camp on the other side of the river, facing east.’ A prominent and well-known characteristic of the subordinate officer referred to was a tendency to split hairs, discuss orders, and, in fine, to make trouble where there was a ghost of a chance of so doing unpunished. Presently the colonel saw that his instructions were not being carried out, and, not being in a mood for indirect action, he put spurs to his horse, dashed through the stream, and reined up alongside the victim with:

“’Didn’t I order you, sir, to put your battalion in camp along the river, facing east?’

“’Yes, sir; but this ain’t a river. It’s only a creek.’

“’Creek be d—d, sir! It’s a river—a river from this time forth, by order, sir. Now do as I tell you!’

“There was no further delay.”

[58]. “Crazy Horse was the personification of savage ferocity; though comparatively a young man, he was of a most restless and adventurous disposition, and had arrived at great renown among the warriors, even before he was twenty-six years of age. In fact, he had become the war chief of the southern Sioux and the recognized leader of the hostile Oglalas.”—“Personal Recollections of General Nelson A. Miles, U. S. A.”

[59]. One bullet smashed the pipe of a small camp stove in Captain Mills’ tent. When the Eastern papers learned the interesting fact that Mills’ stovepipe had been smashed, that gallant officer was severely censured, and much ridicule was heaped upon him, under the impression that he wore a “stovepipe” hat in action. By the way, when Captain Broke, of the British frigate Shannon, boarded the American frigate Chesapeake, Captain Lawrence, in the War of 1812, he wore just such a hat!

[60]. “Frank Gruard, a native of the Sandwich Islands, was for some years a mail rider in northern Montana, and was there captured by the forces of ‘Crazy Horse’; his dark skin and general appearance gave his captors the impression that Frank was a native Indian, whom they had recaptured from the whites; consequently, they did not kill him, but kept him a prisoner until he could recover what they believed to be his native tongue—the Sioux. Frank remained several years in the household of the great chief ‘Crazy Horse,’ whom he knew very well, as well as his medicine man, the since renowned ‘Sitting Bull.’ Gruard was one of the most remarkable woodsmen I have ever met; no Indian could surpass him in his intimate acquaintance with all that pertained to the topography, animal life, and other particulars of the great region between the head of the Piney, the first affluent of the Powder on the west, up to and beyond the Yellowstone on the north; no question could be asked him that he could not answer at once and correctly. His bravery and fidelity were never questioned; he never flinched under fire, and never growled at privation.”—“On the Border with Crook,” Captain John G. Bourke.

[61]. So called from the quantity of wild roses which grew along its banks in season.

[62]. For a sketch of General Henry and an account of his experiences in this battle and elsewhere, see the last chapter of this book.

CHAPTER TWO
Ex-Trooper Towne on the Rosebud Fight

I am afraid that any attempt on my part to comply with your request will be a very feeble attempt to describe to you the Battle of the Rosebud, which took place on June 17th, 1876. There are many men living who participated in that battle who can describe more fully and more comprehensively than I the details of that day. However, I will do my best.

On the 16th day of June, 1876, General Crook with his command was camped on the Tongue River awaiting the arrival of three hundred Crow and Shoshone Indians to be used as scouts, under Frank Gruard, a noted scout of the Indian country, it being Crook’s intention thoroughly to scout the whole country from the Powder and Tongue Rivers north to the Yellowstone, and to co-operate with the other columns in the field under Custer, Terry, and Gibbon.

At about five P.M. on the afternoon of June 16th the three hundred scouts came into our camp, and shortly afterward General Crook gave orders to the command to prepare for a night march. Extra ammunition and extra rations were issued, and at about eight P.M. we broke camp and mounted into the saddle to commence our march into the Indian country, which was overrun by the Oglalas, Brulés, Unkpapas, and Miniconjous, the four most powerful tribes of Sioux Indians on the plains, for it is to be remembered that the whole Sioux Nation had left their reservations and was then on the war-path.

General Crook had, on the morning of the 16th, sent out scouts to find and report any Indian signs that might be found. Numerous signs were found which indicated that a large party of Indians had recently passed that way going in a northerly direction, with the evident intention of joining those from the Brulé agency on the Yellowstone. It was General Crook’s purpose to cut them off. Thus the forced march of the night of the 16th.[^[63]]

After a long and tiresome journey of all night, about seven A.M. of the 17th Indians were seen on the hills to our front and left who were evidently watching our movements. It was reported to General Crook by the scouts that we had gotten into a country that was completely alive with hostile Indians and that we were near an immense Indian camp.

General Crook at about 7.30 A.M. went into camp with the intention of making another night march and, if possible, overtake their camp the next day. As we had been in the saddle all night, men and horses needed a few hours rest.

After going into camp we unsaddled and put our horses to graze, but first hobbling them to prevent any stampede that might be attempted. While we were putting our horses to graze the whole range of hills in our front became literally alive with Indians, and at the same time the Crow and Shoshone Indians with us commenced their warlike preparations by daubing themselves with war paint and riding their ponies in a circle one behind the other, and at the same time singing their war songs.

After riding in this manner a short while, the circle broke and the whole group of Indian scouts charged up the hill toward their enemies. It is a well known fact that the Sioux and Crow Indians were enemies toward each other at that time. I have seen the Crow Indians shoot buffalo and let them lie where they fell, not even undertaking to remove the hide, because, they would say, “Sioux Buffalo no good,” which indicated that as the Sioux Indians were their enemies, so were the buffalo found in the Sioux country their enemies also. Everything in the Sioux country was an enemy to the Crow Indian.

While our Indians were making their charge upon the Sioux, General Crook gave orders to saddle up, for well he knew that a battle was on hand. After we had saddled and formed in line, my troop, F, Third Cavalry,[^[64]] was placed on the left flank of the command, and it with two other troops were detailed as skirmishers and were ordered to make a flank movement to our left and gain the hills, where we dismounted, leaving each fourth trooper to hold the horses. We then formed the skirmish line on foot, which was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Royall.

At this time I witnessed a most daring act by a bugler by the name of Snow, who was carrying a despatch from General Crook to Colonel Royall. General Crook was stationed on one of the hills to our right, near the center of the line,[^[65]] where he could view all that was taking place. Wishing to send an order to Colonel Royall, he directed his orderly, Bugler Snow, to carry it with all haste. The most direct route was down a steep hill and across a level plain and then up another hill, where Colonel Royall was. All chances of reaching there alive were against him.

When I saw him he was coming as fast as his horse could carry him, while two Indians were after him with the intention of capturing him. Seeing that they could not capture him, they finished the game by shooting at him, and proved their good marksmanship as poor Snow fell from his horse, shot through both arms, but he delivered his orders all right.

After remaining on the skirmish line for perhaps two hours, we were ordered to fall back and remount our horses to take a new position (our horses were held in check in a ravine), as it was impossible to hold our present position against such overwhelming odds. I must say that I never saw so great a body of Indians in one place as I saw at that time, and I have seen a great many Indians in my time. It seemed that if one Indian was shot five were there to take his place. If we had remained in our first position we would all have been killed, and I consider that we retreated in the right time.

I had not gone more than one third of the distance from our position to where the horses were when I overtook three other soldiers of my own troop carrying a sergeant by the name of Marshall, who had been shot through the face. I knew that time was precious and none to lose. I could not give them the cold shoulder by passing them without giving a helping hand. Glancing back, I saw the hostiles coming over the hill. I said to the others, “Quick, here they come!”

At that instant my comrades, to save themselves, dropped the wounded sergeant and hastened to their horses. The sergeant, seeing that I was the only one left, said:

“Save yourself if you can, because I am dying. Don’t stay with me.” I replied:

“Dave, old boy, I am going to stay right here with you and will not desert you.”

Grasping him with all my strength, I carried my comrade until it was useless to carry him any farther, for he was dead. I then laid him down and left him and hurried to get away.

I don’t think that I had gone more than ten yards when I was surrounded by about twenty or more of the most murderous looking Indians I ever saw. You can talk of seeing devils; here they were in full form, painted in the most terrifying manner, some with their war bonnets adorned with horns of steers and buffalo. It was enough to strike terror to anyone’s heart.

I knew that my time had come, I knew that I would be taken prisoner. I fought, but it was fighting against terrible odds. There I was down in that ravine, alone and in the midst of a lot of murderous savages.

Taking my carbine from me and throwing a lariat over my head and tightening it about my feet, I was helpless. This was all done in an instant, while I struggled and fought in vain, until I was struck on the head with something which rendered me unconscious and caused me to fall. As I went down a bullet struck me in the body.

I think that when the bullet struck me I regained my consciousness, because I realized I was being dragged at a lively pace over the ground by a pony at the other end of the lariat. It was, I think, the intention of the Indians either to drag me to death at the heels of the pony or after getting me away to torture me in some other manner.

They captured one other comrade of mine by the name of Bennett, of L Troop, Third Cavalry, and completely cut him in pieces. His remains were buried in a grain sack.

After I was dragged in this manner for some distance, my captors were charged by one of the troops of cavalry, and to save themselves from capture abandoned me and made their escape. Thus was I enabled to regain my liberty.

I was immediately sent to the field hospital, and three days later I, with eighteen other wounded men, was sent to the post hospital at Fort Fetterman. You ask in your letter did I get a medal of honor for trying to get my sergeant away. I am very sorry to say that I did not, although I do think that even at this late day had I some one who would speak a good word in my behalf I think that my case would be taken up and that I might get one.[^[66]]

I receive a very small pension for the wound received in this Indian battle, and that is all my recompense.

Hoping that this narrative of my experience in the Battle of the Rosebud may be of interest, I have the honor to remain,

Yours sincerely,

Phineas Towne.

St. Louis, Mo.

[63]. Trooper Towne is in error here; there was no night march, according to Captain Bourke. See his “On the Border with Crook.” See also “War Path and Bivouac,” by Finerty.—C. T. B.

[64]. This troop was commanded by Lieutenant Reynolds, and was in Henry’s battalion.—C. T. B.

[65]. Crook was right in the fighting; his horse was shot under him.—C. T. B.

[66]. The official records show that Marshall was killed and Towne wounded in the battle. If this account falls under the eye of any one in authority, I trust an investigation may be made, and that the medal may be awarded, if it has been earned.—C. T. B.

CHAPTER THREE
The Grievance of Rain-in-the-Face

I. The Yellowstone Expedition of 1873

Having thus disposed of the most formidable column, Crook’s, in so summary and so effective a manner, the Indians under their able leadership turned their attention to Custer and Gibbon.

Before the Little Big Horn campaign is discussed, however, in order the better to understand the most terribly dramatic episode in the most disastrous of our Indian battles, it will be necessary to go back a little and take up the thread of the discourse later.

The country watered by the Yellowstone and its affluents, traversed by the Black Hills and other ranges of mountains, and protected by the almost impassable Bad Lands in Dakota, had been up to 1873 practically a terra incognita. However, the Northern Pacific Railroad was even then surveying a route across it. Gold had been discovered, and miners and settlers were crowding in. The Indians, since the treaty of 1868, which had resulted in the abandonment of Fort Phil Kearney and the other posts, had been ugly in mood and troublesome in action. They welcomed neither railroad nor men.

An expedition of some seventeen hundred men under General Stanley was sent into the country in 1873. Custer and the Seventh Cavalry formed a large part of the command. There were no guides. The country, especially in the Bad Lands, was a terrible one to cross, and Custer volunteered to take two troops of cavalry and ride some miles ahead of the main body every day to mark a road. Custer possessed a faculty for this sort of work which was simply marvelous. He was a born pathfinder, better even than Frémont.

On the 4th of August he left camp at five o’clock in the morning with the troops of Moylan and Tom Custer, eighty-six men, five officers, and a favorite Arikara scout, called Bloody Knife. At ten A.M., reaching the crest of some bluffs along the river bank, they saw spread before them a beautiful village, through which the river gently meandered between the tree-clad banks. They advanced two miles up the valley, and made camp under the trees for a noonday rest. They had come at a smart pace and were far ahead of the main column, which was out of sight in the rear. The passage through the valley was easy, and there was no necessity for them to press on. The weather was hot. After picketing the horses, partaking of their noonday meal and posting sentries, officers and men threw themselves on the grass and fell asleep.

At one o’clock the sentry on the edge of the timber gave the alarm. A small party of Indians was approaching, in the hope of stampeding the horses. All Indian attacks begin that way. After the horses are stampeded the soldiers have to fight where they are, and, as the Indians are mounted, the dismounted troopers are at a disadvantage. Custer was on his feet in an instant, shouting:

“Run to your horses, men!”

The troopers were no less alert. Before the Indians could stampede the horses, each man had reached his animal and led him back into the timber. A few shots drove off the little party of savages, the horses were saddled, and the men moved out. As they did so, six mounted Indians appeared on the crest of a little hill. Custer led the way toward them. They retreated slowly, keeping just out of range. In this manner they drew the soldiers some two miles up the valley.

Finally, in the hope of getting near to them, Custer took twenty men, with his brother and Lieutenant Varnum in command, and rode out some two hundred yards ahead of the remainder under Captain Moylan, who were directed to keep that distance in rear of the advance. Custer, accompanied only by an orderly, rode about the same distance ahead of the advance, making peace signs to the six Indians whom they had pursued. As he approached nearer to them, their pace slackened and they suddenly stopped.

To the left of the soldiers was a thick wood. It occurred to Custer that Indians might be concealed therein, and he sent his orderly back to the advance to caution them to be on their guard. Scarcely had the orderly reached the advance when the Indians they had been pursuing turned and came at full gallop toward Custer, now alone in the valley. At the same instant, with a terrific war whoop, three or four hundred splendidly mounted Sioux burst out from the trees on the left.

Custer was riding a magnificent thoroughbred. In a second he was racing for his life toward the advance-guard. The Indians had two objects in view. They wanted to intercept Custer and also cut off the advance party from Moylan’s men, who were coming up at a gallop. Only the speed of Custer’s horse saved his life. As he galloped toward them, he shouted to Tom Custer to dismount his men. He was not heard in the confusion, but young Custer knew exactly what to do. While five men held the horses, the other fifteen threw themselves on the ground. On came the Indians after Custer. As soon as they were within easy range, the dismounted men blazed away right in their faces. The troopers were armed with breech-loaders, and the first volley was succeeded by a second. Several of the savages were hit and many of their horses. They reeled, swerved, and Custer rejoined his men. A few moments after, Moylan came up with the main body.

Custer now dismounted most of his men, and keeping a bold front to the Indians, retreated in the timber, fighting hard all the way. Reaching the river, they made good their defense. The Indians tried all their devices to get them out. They set fire to the grass, but it was green and did not burn readily. All their efforts to dislodge the troopers failed, and late in the afternoon a heavy squadron came up on the gallop from the main body under Stanley and put them to flight. It was a sharp affair, and the Indians suffered severely.

The only losses to the expedition on that day were two civilians: Doctor Honzinger, a fat old German, who was the veterinarian of the regiment, and Mr. Baliran, the sutler. They were both quiet, inoffensive, peaceable men, very much liked, especially the doctor. They were amateur naturalists, and frequently wandered away from the main body on botanizing excursions. They had done so that morning, following Custer’s advance, and the Indians had fallen upon them and murdered them. It was the discovery of the remains of these two men which had caused General Stanley to despatch the cavalry to the relief of the advance.

Bitter was the anger of the officers and men over this murder of unarmed non-combatants, and deep and abiding was their thirst for vengeance on the Indians who perpetrated it.

II. The Capture of Rain-in-the-Face

The next year, 1874, the Seventh Cavalry being stationed at Fort Abraham Lincoln, near Bismarck, on the upper Missouri, word was brought to Custer by a scout that a famous Sioux, called by the picturesque name of Rain-in-the-Face, was at Standing Rock Agency, some twenty miles away, boasting that he had killed Doctor Honzinger and Mr. Baliran. Rain-in-the-Face was already a renowned warrior, of more than ordinary courage. That he should have left the hostiles under Sitting Bull to come to the agency was a thing implying peculiar bravery; and that he should there openly boast of the murder was even more extraordinary. Custer immediately determined upon his capture, although to effect it would be a matter of difficulty and danger.

The agency was filled with Indians waiting for the issue of rations; and, though they were on a peaceable errand, they were always unruly, insubordinate, and on the alert. Captain Yates and Captain Tom Custer, with one hundred troopers, were detailed to make the arrest. The arrival of one hundred men at the agency instantly excited the suspicion of the Indians. To divert it from the real object, Captain Yates ostentatiously detached a lieutenant with fifty men to ride to some villages ten miles away in quest of certain Indians who had some time before raided a settlement and run off some stock, killing the herders. With the remainder he purposed to wait for the return of the detachment. Meanwhile it was learned from a scout that Rain-in-the-Face was in the sutler’s store.

Tom Custer, with five picked men, was ordered to enter the store and make the arrest. The store was full of Indians. The weather was very cold, and the Indians kept their blankets well around their faces. It was impossible to tell one from another. Tom Custer had received a good description of Rain-in-the-Face, however, but it availed him nothing under the circumstances. He and his men, therefore, mingled freely with the Indians from time to time, making small purchases of the sutler to divert suspicion as they lounged about the store. They deceived the savages entirely, in spite of their watchful scrutiny and suspicion. At last one Indian dropped his blanket and stepped to the counter, either to speak to the trader or to make a purchase.

It was Rain-in-the-Face. Custer recognized him immediately. Stepping behind him, he threw his arms about him and seized him in an iron grasp. The Indian, who had observed the movement too late, attempted to fire his Winchester; but Custer was too quick for him. The five troopers sprang to the side of their captain, disarmed Rain-in-the-Face, and presented their guns to the astonished and infuriated Indians. The room was filled with seething excitement in a moment. The Indians surged toward the troopers, and perhaps would have made short work of them, had not Captain Yates at this juncture entered the room with a detail of his men.

THE CAPTURE OF RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
Drawing by E. W. Demian

Rain-in-the-Face, a magnificent specimen of Indian manhood, had ceased to struggle the moment he was convinced that it was unavailing. He was led outside, securely bound and mounted on a horse. The troopers were assembled, and in spite of threats and menaces by the Indians, who did not venture to attack, they started back to Fort Lincoln with their prisoner.

Messengers were sped in every direction to the different bands of Indians to mass a force to release Rain-in-the-Face, who was a man of such importance, being the brother of Iron Horse, one of the principal chiefs of the Unkpapas, that no price was counted too great to secure his liberty; indeed, before starting, they had offered Yates two warriors in exchange for him. The rapidity with which the troops moved was such that the prisoner was safely imprisoned at Fort Lincoln before anything could be done.

Rain-in-the-Face stubbornly refused to say anything for a day or two, but finally made full confession that he had shot Mr. Baliran and wounded Doctor Honzinger, who had fallen from his horse, whereupon he had crushed his head with stones. He was put in the guard-house preparatory to being tried for murder, and kept there in spite of the efforts to release him that were made by many prominent Indians. In the same guard-house were some civilians who had been caught stealing grain. One bitterly cold night, during a raging blizzard, the civilians, with some outside assistance, succeeded in making their escape. Rain-in-the-Face took advantage of the opportunity and left also. He joined the hostiles under Sitting Bull, and sent back word that he intended to have his revenge on the Custers for the treatment he had received.

CHAPTER FOUR
The Little Big Horn Campaign

I. Custer Loses His Command

To return to the spring of 1876. When the column which Custer was to have commanded moved out, Custer led his own regiment, while Major-General Alfred H. Terry was in personal command of the column. I give the reason in the words of General George A. Forsyth in a recent letter to me:

“For some reason Custer, one of the most splendid soldiers that ever lived, hated General Belknap, the Secretary of War. He was a good hater, too. When General Belknap was imprisoned and undergoing trial Custer wrote that he knew of certain things regarding the appointment of post-traders on the upper Missouri River, which things the prosecution thought were what they needed to insure conviction. As a matter of fact, Custer did not know anything. He had heard disappointed men who had failed to get said post-traderships curse Belknap and say that they knew Belknap had sold the traderships to the appointees. It was not so. Belknap had given these appointments to certain able Iowa politicians for their friends, in order to secure their influence in the next campaign for United States Senator from Iowa, as he had determined to try for a senatorship from his state, viz., Iowa.

“It was entirely within his own right to make these appointments and there was really nothing wrong in doing so. Of course the disappointed applicants were furious, and especially certain men who had served with Belknap during the Civil War and who thought they had a claim on him. They could not tell lies fast enough about Belknap and especially to Custer, who was thoroughly honest and believed what they said. This was what Custer thought he knew.

“Custer was summoned to Washington of course. When he was questioned by the House Committee of prosecution it was apparent that he did not know anything. His evidence was all hearsay and not worth a tinker’s dam. The President—General Grant—was indignant at Custer’s statements regarding Belknap, which turned out to be all hearsay.... The President directed General Sherman not to permit Custer to take the field against Sitting Bull—undoubtedly to punish him.

“You will recall that Belknap was—in a sort of Scotch verdict way, ‘Not proven, my lord’—acquitted. It was only upon the strong, insistent and urgent request of General Sheridan to General Sherman—the then Commanding General of the Army—that the President finally said that if General Sheridan regarded Custer’s services of great importance in the campaign, Sherman might authorize Sheridan to permit him to join his regiment and serve under General Terry, who was appointed to command the expedition. Sherman wired Sheridan what the President said, and Sheridan at once applied for Custer as in his opinion ‘necessary.’[^[67]]

“I was in Europe at the time of the Custer disaster, and on my return to General Sheridan’s headquarters I saw all the correspondence in the case.”

Therefore, instead of commanding the column, Custer was placed under Terry, who was to command Gibbon’s column as well, when the junction had been made between the two. On the 17th of May the command left Fort Lincoln. The seriousness of the situation was felt as never before in an Indian campaign. It was realized that no child’s play was before the troops, and it was with unusual gravity that the regiment marched away. Mrs. Custer tells how General Terry ordered the force to parade through Fort Lincoln to reassure the women and children left behind by the sight of its formidable appearance.

The best part of the expedition was the Seventh Cavalry, six hundred strong, with Custer at its head. The band played “Garry Owen,” the famous battle tune of the Washita, as they marched away. They halted on the prairie afterward, and an opportunity was given to the officers and men to say good-by to the dear ones to be left behind; then, to the music of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” they started on that campaign from which half of them never came back.

They reached the Powder River without mishap, and were there joined by General Gibbon, who reported his command encamped along the Yellowstone, near the mouth of the Big Horn. Major Reno, of the Seventh Cavalry, with six troops had been sent on a scouting expedition to the southward, and had discovered a big Indian trail leading westward toward the Big Horn country. On the 17th of June Reno’s men had been within forty miles of the place where Crook was fighting his fierce battle, although, of course, they knew nothing of it at this time. On the 22d Custer was ordered to take his regiment with fifteen days’ rations and march down the Rosebud, thoroughly examining the country en route until he struck the Indian trail reported by Reno.

II. Did Custer Obey His Orders?

And now we come to the most important question of this remarkable campaign. On the one hand, General Terry has been severely censured for its dire failure; the death of Custer and the escape of the Indians have been laid at his door. On the other hand, it has been urged that Custer disobeyed his orders, broke up Terry’s plan of campaign, and by his insubordination brought about a terrible disaster and let slip the opportunity for administering a crushing defeat to the Indians, which probably would have ended the war and prevented a deplorable loss of life, to say nothing of prestige and treasure. Both officers had, and still have, their partizans, and the matter has been thoroughly threshed out.

As between Custer and Terry, I profess absolute impartiality, although, if I have any natural bias, it is toward Custer, whose previous career, as I have investigated it, appeals to me more than Terry’s, distinguished as were the latter’s services. I have studied the situation carefully, examining all the evidence published by both sides, and very reluctantly, in spite of my liking for poor Custer, I am compelled to admit that he did disobey his orders; that his action did break up a most promising plan, which, it is highly probable, would have resulted in a decisive battle with the Indians and the termination of the war; and that he, and he alone, must be held responsible for the subsequent disaster.

General Terry’s order to Custer, which follows, is entirely clear and explicit:

Camp at Mouth of Rosebud River, M. T.,

June 22d, 1876.

Lieutenant-Colonel Custer, 7th Cavalry. Colonel:

The Brigadier-General Commanding directs that, as soon as your regiment can be made ready for the march, you will proceed up the Rosebud in pursuit of the Indians whose trail was discovered by Major Reno a few days since. It is, of course, impossible to give you any definite instructions in regard to this movement, and were it not impossible to do so, the Department Commander places too much confidence in your zeal, energy, and ability to wish to impose upon you precise orders which might hamper your action when nearly in contact with the enemy. He will, however, indicate to you his own views of what your action should be, and he desires that you should conform to them, unless you should see sufficient reasons for departing from them. He thinks that you should proceed up the Rosebud until you ascertain definitely the direction in which the trail above spoken of leads. Should it be found (as it appears almost certain that it will be found) to turn toward the Little Horn,[^[68]] he thinks that you should still proceed southward, perhaps as far as the head-waters of the Tongue, and then turn toward the Little Horn, feeling constantly, however, to your left, so as to preclude the possibility of the escape of the Indians to the south or southeast by passing around your left flank. The column of Colonel Gibbon is now in motion for the mouth of the Big Horn. As soon as it reaches that point it will cross the Yellowstone and move up at least as far as the forks of the Big and Little Horns. Of course its future movements must be controlled by circumstances, as they arise, but it is hoped that the Indians, if upon the Little Horn, may be so nearly inclosed by the two columns that their escape will be impossible.

Courtesy of The Century Co.
GEN. GEORGE ARMSTRONG CUSTER
Killed with half his regiment at the Little Big Horn

The Department Commander desires that on your way up the Rosebud you should thoroughly examine the upper part of Tullock’s Creek, and that you should endeavor to send a scout through to Colonel Gibbon’s column, with information of the result of your examination. The lower part of this Creek will be examined by a detachment from Colonel Gibbon’s command. The supply steamer will be pushed up the Big Horn as far as the forks if the river is found to be navigable for that distance, and the Department Commander, who will accompany the command of Colonel Gibbon, desires you to report to him there not later than the expiration of the time for which your troops are rationed, unless in the meantime you receive further orders.

Very respectfully your obedient servant,

E. W. Smith,

Captain 18th Infantry,

Acting Assistant Adjutant General.

Custer was directed to march southward until he struck the trail Reno had discovered. If, as Terry supposed, it led across the Rosebud, he was not to follow it westward to the Little Big Horn, or until he met the Indians, but he was to turn to the southward until he struck the head-waters of the Tongue River. If he found no Indians there, he was to swing northward down the valley of the Little Big Horn, toward the spot where Terry supposed the Indians to be, and where, in reality, they were. Meanwhile Gibbon was to come up the Little Big Horn from the north toward the same spot. In the general plan of the campaign, Crook and his force were supposed to prevent the Indians from moving south—which they did, by the way. Custer was to keep them from going east, and, as he advanced, was “to feel to his left” to preclude all possibility of their slipping between him and Crook, while Gibbon was to keep them from going off to the north. The Indians would have no direction open to them for flight except westward, and in that case the troops hoped to overtake them in a difficult country, inclosed by mountains and rivers.

Terry, although he was not an experienced Indian fighter, had divined the position of the Indians with remarkable accuracy, and he fully expected to find them on the Little Big Horn. If Custer had followed Terry’s orders, he would have reached the Indians on the day that Gibbon’s men, as we shall see, rescued Reno. After the disaster Terry magnanimously strove at first to conceal from the public the fact that Custer had disobeyed his orders. Custer had paid the penalty for his disobedience with his life, and Terry was willing to bear the odium of the defeat and failure. His self-sacrifice was noble and characteristic; but a mistake, caused by the carelessness of General Sherman, coupled with the enterprise of a brilliant newspaper reporter, who posed as a regularly accredited government messenger, defeated Terry’s intent, and instead of the first report, which made no allusion to the disobedience of orders, being made public,[^[69]] a second report, which told the whole story, and which was intended for the authorities alone, was given to the press and immediately spread broadcast. The first report soon turned up, and Terry thereafter was made the victim of unmerited obloquy by Custer’s partizans, who said that the absence of any mention in the original report of any disobedience on the part of Custer, and the alleged failure to allude to the plan of campaign which Custer had frustrated, was evidence that no importance was attached to the plan by Terry or any one until after the failure and consequent popular indignation. Terry’s answer to this was a noble silence, to save Custer’s reputation. The living assumed the responsibility to protect the fame of the dead—honor to him!

General Gibbon also has gone on record in a letter to Terry regarding the situation:

“So great was my fear that Custer’s zeal would carry him forward too rapidly, that the last thing I said to him when bidding him good-by after his regiment had filed past you when starting on his march was, ‘Now, Custer, don’t be greedy, but wait for us.’ He replied gaily as, with a wave of his hand, he dashed off to follow his regiment, ‘No, I will not.’ Poor fellow! Knowing what we do now, and what an effect a fresh Indian trail seemed to have had upon him, perhaps we were expecting too much to anticipate a forbearance on his part which would have rendered coöperation of the two columns practicable.[^[70]]

“Except so far as to draw profit from past experience, it is perhaps useless to speculate as to what would have been the result had your plan, as originally agreed upon, been carried out. But I cannot help reflecting that in that case my column, supposing the Indian camp to have remained where it was when Custer struck it, would have been the first to reach it; that with our infantry and Gatling guns we should have been able to take care of ourselves, even though numbering only about two-thirds of Custer’s force; and that with six hundred cavalry in the neighborhood, led as only Custer could lead it, the result to the Indians would have been very different from what it was.”

With regard to Gibbon’s generous suggestion that Custer was suddenly carried away by the opportunity presented, the testimony of the late General Ludlow is interesting. According to him, Custer stated on the 8th of May, in St. Paul, Minnesota, that he intended, at the first chance he got in the campaign, to “cut loose from (and make his operations independent of) General Terry during the summer;” that he had “got away from Stanley and would be able to swung clear of Terry.”[^[71]]

It is difficult, nay, it is impossible, therefore, to acquit Custer of a deliberate purpose to campaign on his own account so soon as he could get away from General Terry. The sentence of Terry’s orders commencing: “It is, of course, impossible to give you any definite instructions,” etc., and expressing confidence in his zeal and energy, and Terry’s unwillingness to hamper him with precise directions, when nearly in contact with the enemy, did not warrant Custer in disobeying his orders. It was only to govern his conduct when he should be in contact with the enemy, in which case, of course, he would have to be the sole judge of what was best to be done. His conduct in that case will be considered later. In any event it has no bearing on the question of disobedience, for the crux is here: had Custer obeyed orders, he would not have come in contact with the enemy when and where he did. The conditions would have differed greatly.

Every student of military matters knows that the words used, “He desires that you should conform to them (his own views) unless,” etc., convey a direct, positive command.[^[72]]

The abstract question of disobedience of orders is one that has often been discussed. It is impossible to maintain the position that an officer should never, under any circumstances, disobey his orders. Circumstances sometimes compel him to do so. But when an officer commanding troops which are supposed to act in coöperation with other troops receives orders to carry out a certain specified detail of a stated general plan, and in the exercise of his own discretion concludes to disobey his orders and do something other than what he was directed to do, he takes upon himself the onus of success or failure, not merely of his own immediate manœuver, but of the whole general plan. If the plan miscarries through his disobedience, whatever may have been his motives, woe be unto him! If by his disobedience he brings about the end at which the original plan aimed, the defeat of the enemy, that is another proposition. The event has then justified his disobedience.

Every soldier understands that reasons for disobedience must be so clear, so convincing, and so unexpected, that he is warranted in taking so prodigious a risk. Disregarding for the moment, for the sake of argument, General Ludlow’s testimony as to preconceived and deliberate intent on Custer’s part to disobey, supposing Custer’s disobedience to have been caused by some exigency or crisis, we may ask ourselves what were the reasons that caused him entirely to disregard Terry’s plan and so to manœuver as to bring himself directly in touch with the Indians in the shortest possible time, without attempting either to examine Tullock’s Creek[^[73]] or to incline to the southward—“feel with his left”? These reasons—if any there were—can never be known, owing to Custer’s death. It can only be said that no satisfactory reasons appear which justify Custer’s action.

The best that can be urged in defense of Custer is contained in the following paragraph taken from Colonel Godfrey’s Century article.[^[74]]

“Had Custer continued his march southward—that is, left the Indian trail—the Indians would have known of our movements on the 25th and a battle would have been fought very near the same field on which Crook had been attacked and forced back only a week before; the Indians would never have remained in camp and allowed a concentration of the several columns to attack them. If they escaped without punishment or battle, Custer would undoubtedly have been blamed.”

It may be pointed out with due reverence to Colonel Godfrey—whom I consider one of the ablest officers in the United States Army, by the way—that it is hard to see how Custer could have been blamed for obeying his orders, and that it is by no means certain that the Indians would have discovered Custer’s column. Indeed, his previous success in concealing his movements and surprising the Indians (witness the Washita campaign) leads me to believe that he could have carried out his orders without observation. If Gibbon had struck the Indians first and had held them in play Custer could have annihilated them. General Fry’s comments in the Century (appended to Colonel Godfrey’s article) on Custer’s action are entirely wrong.

As to what would have happened if Custer had been successful, it is more or less idle to speculate. Certainly, if he had overwhelmingly defeated the Indians, I do not think he would have been court-martialed; but if he had been in Reno’s place and had been besieged with heavy loss, then I feel certain that Terry would have been in duty bound to prefer charges against him. All this is beside the main question, however, and it is now time to return to the history of the expedition.

Terry offered Custer four troops of the Second Cavalry and two Gatling guns, which were refused. Custer said that any force that was too big for the Seventh Cavalry alone to deal with would be too big for the Seventh Cavalry plus the four troops, and urged that the guns would hamper and harass his movements. Terry, who elected to go with Gibbon’s infantry column, agreed with him.

Neither Terry nor Custer nor any one expected to meet more than one thousand warriors. They had no knowledge whatever of the large numbers of the so-called peaceable Indians, for whom rations had been regularly issued, who had broken away from the agencies and joined the hostiles. They did not know of Crook’s defeat, and the great effect it had in inducing wavering bucks to give their allegiance to the brave men on the war-path. It will, perhaps, be fair to estimate the number of Indian warriors in the field at a mean between the white and Indian accounts, which range from twelve hundred on the one hand to three thousand on the other. To be on the safe side, I shall call it at least two thousand.[^[75]] Whatever their number, there were enough of them.

In their way they were two thousand of the fiercest and most desperate fighters on the face of the globe. While they were undisciplined, untrained, and not entirely amenable to one will, as were the soldiers, they were, nevertheless, a fearfully formidable force. Their common hatred of the white man gave them sufficient coherence to form a rude but effective organization. They were led by experienced chiefs and were used to fighting. From 1868, after the close of the treaty by which the frontier posts were abandoned and the country restored to the Sioux and the Cheyennes, to 1876, no less than two hundred distinct fights, like that described in the account of the Yellowstone expedition, had occurred between the soldiers and the Indians. They were now to be tried in a real battle, and, as we shall see, they were not found wanting; for, in the end, all the honors of the campaign rested with them.

III. Custer’s Expedition

The Seventh Cavalry left the camp at the mouth of the Powder River at twelve o’clock noon, on the 22d of June, 1876. Generals Terry, Gibbon, and Custer reviewed it as it marched away. With the column were fifty Arikara (“Rees”) Indian auxiliaries, a few Crows, and a number of white scouts and newspaper correspondents. At four o’clock, after they had progressed twelve miles, the march was halted, and that evening the officers were summoned to Custer’s headquarters, and marching instructions were given them. No bugle-calls were to be sounded. The march was to be made with the greatest possible rapidity; every officer was to look carefully to his men and horses. Squadron and battalion formations were abandoned; each troop commander was to report to Custer in person.

Custer was usually very uncommunicative. Ordinarily, he kept his plans to himself until the time to strike arrived. On this occasion, however, he announced his purpose, which was to follow the trail until they found the Indians, and then “go for them.” He was not “carried away” by anything, and this declaration is further evidence of his deliberate purpose. His manner, at all times blunt and peremptory, not to say brusque, was now entirely changed. He was usually full of cheerfulness and confidence. There appeared to be a marked absence of both qualities in this instance. Officers have recorded that he seemed worried and depressed. It may be that he was feeling the displeasure of Grant, which his imprudent conduct had brought about. Perhaps the serious character of the risk he was taking by his independent move weighed upon him. If he succeeded, he would regain all he had lost in the censure. If he failed—well, he would not anticipate that. It was enough to give a man serious thoughts. His letters to his wife seem as cheerful and confident as ever, but, perhaps, he may have affected that for her sake. At any rate, the testimony as to his mental condition is unequivocal.

However he may have felt, he acted with his usual energy. Starting at five on the morning of the 23d, the regiment went into camp at five in the afternoon, having covered thirty-three miles over an execrable marching country—the “Bad Lands.” On the 24th they marched twenty-eight miles over an even worse territory. Indian signs were abundant. Hundreds of Indians evidently had passed. As no one could tell how near they were to the hostiles, after supper on the 24th fires were put out and the men were allowed to sleep until half after eleven, while the officers and scouts examined the trail. It was reported to Custer that it led straight across the divide separating the Rosebud and the Little Big Horn. At half after eleven the men were routed out and marched ten miles toward the crest of the Little Big Horn Mountains, which they reached at two o’clock in the morning of Sunday, the 25th. A further halt was made, and at eight o’clock the advance was taken up once more.

Courtesy of the Century Co.
MAP OF CUSTER’S DEFEAT ON THE LITTLE BIG HORN
Movements of Battalions plotted from data furnished by Col. Edward S. Godfrey

They marched ten miles farther, and concealed themselves in a large ravine near the divide and about sixteen miles from the little Big Horn, about half after ten in the morning. Smoke was seen trembling in the air by the scouts in the crow’s nest on the top of the divide, and there were other evidences of Indians down the valley of the Little Big Horn. It is believed that Custer intended to remain in hiding during the day, and deliver his attack on the next morning. Unfortunately, however, his trail had been crossed by the Indians. A box of hard bread had fallen from one of the pack-mules during the night march. When its loss was discovered, a squad of men had been sent back for it. They found an Indian trying to open it. He made his escape, and would undoubtedly alarm the villages they were approaching.

And now we come to another problem. As the result of his disobedience he was now practically in contact with the enemy, although he should not have been. Being in contact, however, what was he to do? There were no orders to govern him now. He was thrown on his own resources—just what he wanted, and what he had schemed and planned for. How was he to deal with his self-created opportunity?

Believing, as he and every one else did, that the Indian force did not greatly outnumber his own, an attack was entirely feasible. Should he deliver that attack, or should he wait to be attacked? The advantage is usually with the attacking party in Indian warfare. Should he seize or yield that? Suppose he decided not to attack the Indians, and they moved away and escaped? Would he not be censured for allowing them to get away, since he had got in touch with them?

Suppose—remote contingency—he were not entirely successful in his attack on the Indians? Gibbon must be somewhere in the vicinity. A day or two would probably bring him to the rescue. Could he not fight a waiting battle, if necessary, until the other column arrived on the field? Was it not absolutely incumbent upon him to embrace the opportunity presented to him? He had what he believed to be the finest regiment of cavalry in the service. He had tried it, tested it, on many fields; he knew, or thought he knew, the temper of his officers and men. He decided to attack. Indeed, there was nothing else for him to do. Fight he must. In the opinion of distinguished military critics who have expressed themselves upon the point, from General Sheridan down, he was justified in his decision. In that opinion I concur. And there is no evidence that he ever contemplated doing anything else. He had arranged matters to bring about the opportunity, and he had no hesitation in embracing it. Evidently, he had absolutely no premonition of defeat or disaster.

A little before noon he communicated his intention to his officers and men. He divided his regiment into three battalions. To Major Marcus A. Reno,[^[76]] an officer with no experience in Indian fighting, he gave Troops A, G, and M; to Captain Benteen, a veteran and successful Indian fighter, Troops D, H, and K; Captain McDougall, with Troop B, was ordered to bring up the mule train and take it in charge; Custer himself took the five remaining troops, C, E, F, I, and L.

They left the ravine, and about noon crossed the divide which separated them from Little Big Horn Valley. Benteen was ordered to swing over to the left and search the country thoroughly in that direction, driving any hostiles he might come across into the village and preventing any escape of the Indians to the southward and westward. Reno was to follow a small creek, sometimes called Reno’s Creek, to its junction with the Little Big Horn and strike the head of the village, supposed to be there. Custer’s movements would be determined subsequently, although for the present he followed Reno. McDougall came last, following their trail with the slow-moving train, which dropped rapidly to the rear as the others proceeded at a smart pace. Benteen at once moved off to the westward, while Reno, followed by Custer, started down toward the valley of the Little Big Horn.

This river is a rapid mountain stream of clear, cold water, with a pebbly bottom, from twenty to forty yards wide. The depth of the water varies from two to five feet. While it is very tortuous, the general direction of the stream is northward to the Big Horn, which flows into the Yellowstone. The valley, from half a mile to a mile in width, is bordered by the bare bluffs. Along the river in places are thick clumps of trees. The Indian camp, the end of which they could see as they crossed the divide, was strung along the valley for several miles.

Reno’s advance down the creek took him near to the east bank of river. Custer had followed him, slightly on his right flank. When Reno discovered the head of the village in the valley, he crossed the creek to Custer and reported what he had seen. Custer directed him to cross the river, move down the valley, and attack in force, informing him that he would be “supported” by Custer’s battalion. Reno accordingly put his battalion to a fast trot in columns of four, crossed the Little Big Horn River beyond the mouth of the creek, and proceeded onward for perhaps half a mile. Then he threw his troops in line, reaching from the river to the bluffs on the left, with the Arikara scouts on the left flank, and galloped down the valley for a mile farther.[^[77]]

Reno stated subsequently that he believed that Custer intended to keep behind him all the time; and he fully expected, should he come in contact with Indians, that Custer would be on hand to join in the attack. Custer, however, had not continued down the creek or crossed the river with Reno, but had swung off to the high bluffs on the right bank of the creek, east of the river. Reno mistook the purport of Custer’s statement. In order to support an attack, it is not necessary to get behind it. A flank attack or a demonstration in force, from some other direction, frequently may be the best method of supporting an attack. Custer’s plan was entirely simple. Reno was to attack the end of the village. Benteen was to sweep around and fall on the left of it, Custer on the right. The tactics in the main were those which had been used so successfully in the Battle of the Washita (q.v.), and were much in vogue among our Indian fighters during the Indian wars.

Dividing forces in the face of an enemy to make several simultaneous attacks is dangerous, because it is almost impossible to secure a proper coöperation between the attacking units. A skilful general will concentrate his force upon the separately approaching and more or less isolated units and beat them in detail. Washington’s tactics at Germantown were similar to those of Custer; and his force, which would have swept the British from the field if his plans had been carried out, was beaten in detail for lack of coördination in the separate attacks. Some of Napoleon’s most brilliant battles were fought when he occupied interior lines and by successive attacks broke up converging columns.

Still, the Indians were not believed to be veteran tacticians, although everybody underestimated their qualities. They were extremely liable to panic. A sudden attack or a surprise almost always disorganized them and threw them into confusion. Under the peculiar circumstances, I think there is little question that Custer’s tactics were entirely sound and well considered, although this conclusion is often disputed. Where Custer made a mistake appears to be in his failure to take greater precautions that the attacks should be delivered simultaneously. He had a much longer distance to go than Reno and over a much worse country before he could attack, and he was not at all sure as to where Benteen was or when he could join. Nevertheless, the chances of success were many, the chances of failure few, and I have no doubt that Custer would have been successful had there not been a woeful lack of conduct on the part of his principal subordinate.

[67]. It was General Terry’s urgent representations which were the main-springs of Sheridan’s action.—C. T. B.

[68]. At the time this was written, it was not generally understood that the full Indian appellation of this stream was Little Big Horn.—C. T. B.

[69]. It was delayed in transmission, owing to the cutting of the telegraph wires by the Indians.

[70]. Italics mine.—C. T. B.

[71]. Journal of the Military Service Institution in the United States, Vol. XVIII., No. LXXIX.: “The Campaign Against the Sioux in 1876,” by Major-General Robert P. Hughes, U. S. A.

[72]. In Terry’s report to the Secretary of War, under date of November 21, 1876, he gives his own understanding of his orders, which is fully warranted, in the following paragraph:

“At a conference which took place on the 21st between Colonel Gibbon, Lieutenant-Colonel Custer, and myself, I communicated to them the plan of operations which I had decided to adopt. It was that Colonel Gibbon’s column should cross the Yellowstone near the mouth of the Little Big Horn, and thence up that stream, with the expectation that it would arrive at that point by the 26th; that Lieutenant-Colonel Custer with the whole of the Seventh Cavalry should proceed up the Rosebud until he should ascertain the direction in which the trail discovered by Major Reno led; that if it led to the Little Big Horn it should not be followed, but that Lieutenant-Colonel Custer should keep still further to the south before turning toward that river, in order to intercept the Indians should they attempt to pass around to his left, and in order, by a longer march, to give time for Colonel Gibbon’s column to come up.”

[73]. I have not discussed the Tullock’s Creek matter. It is not material, except that the failure to examine it and to send a scout to Gibbon—some of Gibbon’s men had been detailed with Custer for the purpose—with a report, was simply a further disobedience, and is, perhaps, a confirmation of Custer’s deliberate purpose.

[74]. Century Magazine, Vol. XLIII., No. 3: “Custer’s Last Battle,” by Colonel E. S. Godfrey, U. S. A.

[75]. Personally, I believe there were many more.

[76]. As the conduct of Major Reno was so decisive in the subsequent fighting, and since, upon his conduct as a pivot, the fortunes of the day turned, it is well to say something of his record, which I have compiled from official sources.

He was graduated from West Point in 1857, and was immediately appointed to the First Dragoons, and had risen to a captaincy in the First Cavalry at the outbreak of the Civil War. His career during the war was one of distinction. He was brevetted major, March 17, 1863, for gallant and meritorious services at Kelly’s Ford, and lieutenant-colonel for gallant and meritorious services at the Battle of Cedar Creek, October 19, 1864. On January 1, 1865, he was appointed colonel of the Twelfth Pennsylvania Volunteer Cavalry, and was brevetted brigadier-general of Volunteers at the close of the war. Here is a brave and honorable record. Would that it might never have been tarnished!

He joined the Seventh Cavalry December 19, 1869, as major. He had had no Indian service prior to that time, and his services up to the present campaign comprised a three months’ scouting expedition in Colorado in the summer of 1870. In 1879, upon his own application, a court of inquiry was convened for the purpose of investigating his conduct at the Battle of the Little Big Horn. It was the opinion of the court that no further proceedings were necessary in the case. One sentence of the record is significant: “The conduct of the officers throughout was excellent, and while subordinates in some instances did more for the safety of the command by brilliant displays of courage than did Major Reno, there was nothing in his conduct which requires animadversion from this court.”

His relations with General Custer had not been friendly; so inimical were they, in fact, that Custer was begged, before starting on the fatal campaign, not to intrust the command of any supporting movement to Reno. Custer refused to allow any such personal considerations to prevent Reno receiving the command to which his rank entitled him.

In 1880 Major Reno was found guilty, by a general court-martial, of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. While in an intoxicated condition he had engaged in a brawl in a public billiard saloon, in which he assaulted another officer, destroyed property, and otherwise conducted himself disgracefully. The court sentenced him to be dismissed from the military service of the United States. The sentence was approved by President Hayes, and Major Reno ceased to be an officer of the Army in April, 1880.

It is painful to call attention to these facts, especially as Major Reno has since died; but the name and fame of a greater than he have been assailed for his misconduct, and in defense of Custer it is absolutely necessary that Reno’s character and services should be thoroughly understood. For a further discussion of Major Reno’s conduct, see Appendix B.

[77]. Sure proof that the horses were not, as is sometimes urged, utterly worn out by the hard marching.

CHAPTER FIVE
The Last of Custer

I. Reno’s Failure at the Little Big Horn

It will be necessary, in order clearly to comprehend the complicated little battle, to treat each of the three operations separately, and then see how they were related to one another.

As Reno’s men trotted down the valley, they saw, some distance ahead of them and to the right across the river on a line of high bluffs, Custer attended by his staff. The general waved his hat at them encouragingly, and disappeared over the brow of the hill. That glimpse of Custer, standing on that hill with outstretched arm gallantly waving his troopers on to battle, was the last any one of his comrades in the valley had of him in life; and it is certain that Reno must have realized then that Custer was not following him, and that he was expected to attack in his front alone.

However, Reno, having drawn near to the village, deployed his skirmishers, and slowly advanced down the valley. In a few moments they were hotly engaged with a constantly growing force of Indians.

Now, one thing about the battle that followed is the utter unreliability of the Indian reports of their movements. It is alleged that fear of punishment made them and keeps them reticent and uncommunicative. Different Indians tell different stories. Most of these stories disagree in their essential details, and it is impossible to reconcile them. It may be that the faculties of the Indians are not sufficiently alert to enable them to recall the general plan of the battle, or at least to relate it, although they knew well enough how to fight it at the time. Their accounts are haphazard to the last degree. Some say that they knew nothing of the advent of the troops until Reno’s men deployed in the valley. At any rate, they had sufficient time, on account of his dilatory and hesitating advance, to assemble in heavy force. Reno had less than one hundred and fifty men with him. Even if Dr. Eastman’s estimate,[^[78]] that the Indians numbered but twelve hundred warriors, be true, they still outnumbered Reno, although, owing to the fact that the villages were strung along the river for several miles, only a portion of them were at first engaged with the troops. Flushed with their previous victory over Crook a short time before, these Indians now fell upon Reno like a storm.

SOME OF CUSTER’S OFFICERS

Reno’s line extended clear across the valley, which was quite narrow where the battle was joined, the right flank protected by the river, the left by the bluffs. Recovering from their alleged panic, possibly because of the feeble advance of the soldiers, the Indians rallied, and with wonderful generalship massed their attack on the left flank, which was most unfortunately held by the Arikara scouts. No Arikara that ever lived was a match for the Sioux or the Cheyennes. The Rees, as these Indian auxiliaries were called, broke and fled incontinently. They never stopped until they reached the supply camp on the Powder River, miles away. At the same time the horses of two troopers in the command ran away with them, and plunged straight into the Indian lines with their riders. Their fate was plain.

As the Ree scouts broke, the Indians turned Reno’s left flank. The troopers gave way at once. There was no reserve which could be thrown upon the Indians until the line was restored. The whole force was slammed back, like a door, into the timber on the bank of the river.

Here Reno made a serious mistake. After rallying his men, he ordered them to dismount. Cavalry may be dismounted for defense, but sound judgment and military usage demand that for an attack, especially upon an Indian village of that kind, they should charge upon horseback. As one veteran cavalryman has written me, “I never could understand why Reno did not charge desperately on the Indians in front of him. His dismounting his men was against all sound military judgment. ‘Audacity, always audacity,’ is the motto for a cavalryman.”[^[80]] Had Reno been governed by this principle and charged, as he should have done, the result would have been different.[^[81]]

The position was instantly surrounded by yelling Indians galloping madly to and fro, firing upon the troops. So far, Reno had lost but one wounded and the two who had galloped into the Indian line. His second position was admirable for defense. Sheltered by the trees, with his flanks and rear protected by the river, he could have held the place indefinitely. However, he had not been detailed to defend or hold any position, but to make a swift, dashing attack. Yet, after a few moments of the feeblest kind of advance, he found himself thrown on the defensive. Such a result would break up the most promising plan. It certainly broke up Custer’s. In spite of the defection of the Rees, a vigorous countercharge down the valley would have extricated Reno and might have saved Custer.

It is a painful thing to accuse an army officer of misconduct; yet I have taken the opinion of a number of army officers on the subject, and every one of them considers Reno culpable in a high degree. One at least has not hesitated to make known his opinion in the most public way. I am loath to believe that Major Reno was a coward, but he certainly lost his head; and when he lost his head, he lost Custer. His indecision was pitiful. Although he had suffered practically no loss and had no reason to be unduly alarmed, he was in a state of painful uncertainty as to what he should do next. The soldier, like the woman, who hesitates in an emergency which demands instant decision, is lost.

How long the troops stayed under the trees by the river bank cannot be determined accurately. Some have testified that it was a few moments, others an hour. Personally I think it was a few moments, which fear and apprehension lengthened to an impossible period. There had as yet been no panic, and under a different officer there would have been none; but it is on record that Reno at last gave an order for the men to mount and retreat to the bluffs. Before he could be obeyed, he countermanded this order. Then the order was repeated, but in such a way that nobody save those immediately around him heard it, because of the din of the battle then raging in a sort of aimless way all along the line, and no attempt was made to obey it. It was then repeated for the third time. Finally, as those farther away saw those nearest the flurried commander mounting and evidently preparing to leave, the orders were gradually communicated throughout the battalion, and nearly the whole mass got ready to leave. Eventually they broke out of the timber in a disorderly column of fours, striving to return to the ford which they had crossed when they had entered the valley.

Reno calls this a charge, and he led it. He was so excited that, after firing his pistols at the Indians who came valiantly after the fleeing soldiers, he threw them away.[^[82]] The pressure of the Indians upon the right of the men inclined them to the left, away from the ford. In fact, they were swept into a confused mass and driven toward the river. All semblance of organization was lost in the mad rush for safety. The troops had degenerated into a mob.

The Indians pressed closely upon them, firing into the huddle almost without resistance. Evidently in their excitement the Indians fired high, or the troops would have been annihilated. The Indians supposed, of course, that they now had the troops corralled between them and the river, and that all they needed to do was to drive them into it. Chief Gall, who with Crazy Horse and Crow King was principally responsible for the Indian manœuvers, seeing the retreat of Reno to the river, summoned a large body of warriors, left the field and crossed the river farther down, intending to sweep down upon the other side and attack Reno’s men as they struggled up the steep bank in case any of them succeeded in crossing. This was, as it turned out, a fortunate move for the Indians.

Meanwhile, Reno’s men providentially found a pony trail which indicated a ford of the river. On the other side the trail led into a funnel-shaped amphitheater, surrounded by high, slippery bluffs. Into this cul-de-sac the whole fleeing body plunged, the Indians pressing the rear hard. The men jumped their horses from the bank into the water, and finding that the trail stopped at the bluff on the other side, actually urged them up the steep slopes of the hill.

There is no denying that they were panic-stricken. Although some of the veterans opened fire upon the savages, the bulk of the troopers did nothing but run. Dr. DeWolf was one of the coolest among those present. He stopped his horse deliberately, and fired at the Indians until he was shot dead. Lieutenant MacIntosh, striving to rally his men, was shot just as they left the timber. Lieutenant Hodgson, reaching the river bank, had his horse shot. In his agony the animal stumbled into the river and fell dead. The same bullet which killed the horse broke Hodgson’s leg. He cried for help, and Sergeant Criswell rode over to where he lay. Hodgson took hold of the sergeant’s stirrup, and under a heavy fire was dragged out on the bank, which he had scarcely reached before a second bullet struck him in the head, killing him instantly. Criswell was swept on by his men, but so soon as he could he rode back under a furious fire and brought off the body, as well as all the ammunition in the saddle-bags on several dead horses. He received a medal of honor for his courage.

If Gall had completed his projected movements, Reno’s men would have been annihilated then and there. As it was, they reached the top of the bluffs without further molestation. They had lost three officers and twenty-nine men and scouts killed; seven men were badly wounded, and one officer, Lieutenant DeRudio, and fifteen men were missing.[^[83]] These had been left behind in the confusion of Reno’s “charge.”

It was now somewhere between half after one and two o’clock in the afternoon, and during the fighting Reno was joined by Benteen’s battalion. The Indians kept up a desultory fire on the position, but they seemed to have diminished in numbers. Reno occupied the next hour in reorganizing his force, getting the men into their accustomed troops, and taking account of casualties.

II. With Benteen’s Battalion

In accordance with his orders, Benteen had moved off to the westward. He speedily became involved in almost impassable country, full of deep ravines, in which progress was slow and difficult. Water was very scarce in the country over which the regiment had marched until it reached the valley of the Big Horn. What water they had found that morning was so alkaline that the horses and mules, although they had been nearly a day without water, would not drink it. The horses were naturally tired, having marched over fifty miles since the morning of the day before, and the terrible up-and-down hill work exhausted them still more, although they were by no means played out. No Indians were seen by Benteen, and the condition of the country was such that it was evident there were none before him.

He turned to the right, therefore, and struck into the valley of the Big Horn, just ahead of McDougall and the pack train, intending to cross the river and attack the village or join Reno, as the case might be. He had just watered his horses at a little brook following out a morass, when a sergeant from Custer’s battalion passed by on a gallop, with a message for the supply train to come at once. As the trooper raced along the line he shouted exultantly, “We’ve got ’em, boys!” Benteen’s men took this to mean that Custer had captured the village. A few moments after, Trumpeter Martini galloped up with a message from Custer to Benteen, signed by Cook, the adjutant, which read as follows:

“Benteen. Come on. Big village. Be quick. Bring packs.

“P. S. Bring packs.”

The need for the spare ammunition with the pack-train was apparently so urgent that in his hurry Cook repeated the last two words. At the same time the sound of distant firing was heard in the valley. Making ready for instant action, Benteen led his troopers forward at a gallop down the valley. Tired though the animals were, they responded nobly to the demands of their riders, and the whole party swept across the hills in the direction whence the trumpeter had come until they overlooked the valley. Every one supposed that Custer had entered the valley and was driving the Indians before him. That he expected to have a big fight on his hands was indicated by the reiteration of his request that the pack-train should be rushed forward, evidently to bring the reserve ammunition.

The valley was filled with dust and smoke; the day was frightfully hot and dry. Bodies of men could be distinguished galloping up and down. Benteen would, perhaps, have crossed the river and charged down the valley had his attention not been called to a body of men in blue on the bluff on the same side of the river to the right. They were, assuredly, hotly engaged, but there were also evidences of fierce fighting far down the valley. What was happening? What should he do? At this junction one of the Crow scouts—these Indians had not fled with the cowardly Rees, but remained with the command, fighting bravely—came up driving a small bunch of captured ponies, and he indicated that the principal battle was on the bluff. Benteen accordingly galloped around the bend of the river, and joined the demoralized Reno without opposition.

It is interesting to speculate what might have happened if Benteen had crossed the river and had charged down the valley. In that case, if Reno had recrossed the river and again attacked, the day might still have been won, but in all probability Reno would not have recrossed and Benteen would have been annihilated. At any rate, Benteen did the only thing possible when Reno’s whereabouts and need were made known to him by the scout.

Reno had lost his hat in his famous “charge,” and had his head tied up in a handkerchief. He was much excited, and apparently had no idea as to what he should do next. The officers of his battalion made no bones about admitting to the newcomers that they had been badly beaten and were in a critical condition. None of them could tell anything about Custer.

III. The Battle on the Bluffs

Benteen’s men were ordered to divide their ammunition with Reno’s. A line of skirmishers was thrown out around the bluffs, and an effort to get water from the river was made, the supply in the canteens having been long ago exhausted. The Indian fire prevented this. There was, of course, not a drop of water on the bluffs, and the wounded suffered greatly, to say nothing of the thirsty men. The officers collected in groups on the edge of the bluffs overlooking the field, and discussed the question. They were not molested by the Indians at this time.

The general impression was that Custer had made the mistake of his life in not taking the whole regiment in together. Possibly Reno’s men took that view because they had been so badly mauled themselves. The valley had been filled with Indians, but, about three o’clock or a little after, most of them galloped down the river and were soon out of sight. The river banks were still lined with Indians under cover, who kept up a smart fire on Reno’s men if they attempted to descend the bluffs and approach the water; but the main force had evidently withdrawn.

Firing was heard far away to the northward. It was heavy and continuous. There could be but one explanation of it. Custer’s detachment had at last met the Indians and was engaged. This should surely have been a stimulus to Reno. Custer was fighting; Reno was not menaced—what should he do? Later in the afternoon two heavy volleys in rapid succession were remarked. This was so unusual under the circumstances that it was finally felt to be a signal from Custer. He must surely be in grave peril, then, and calling for help. How, in the name of all that was soldierly, could such an appeal be neglected? Many and anxious were the questions the officers and men put among themselves as to why Reno did not do something. It was felt by everybody that Custer was in grave jeopardy, and that Reno should move at once. He had about three hundred men under his command, one-half of whom had not been engaged.

Captain Weir, of D Troop, on the right of Reno’s command, having cleared away the Indians in front of him, at last boldly took matters in his own hands. After pleading again and again for permission,[^[84]] he started alone without it toward the sound of the firing to see what he could. Lieutenant Edgerly, his second, supposed that he had received orders to advance, and he accordingly put the troop in motion. Weir was on the bluff, Edgerly lower down in a small ravine. The Indians moved to attack Edgerly, when Weir signaled him to lead his men up the bluff, which he did without loss. The troop, unsupported and in defiance of Reno’s orders, advanced to the point where Custer had been last seen to wave his hat, and there stopped. The men could overlook the ridges and valleys beyond them for a great distance.

A mile and a half or two miles away they could see, through the defiles in the ridges, great clouds of mounted Indians. Reports of rifles indicated that the battle, whatever it was, was still being waged. It was impossible for Weir and Edgerly to do anything with their single troop. Although they were not seriously attacked in their bold advance, Reno at first made no movement to support them.