CHAPTER XXIX.

OUR LIFE’S LAST CHAPTER.

Our women’s hearts fell when the fiat went forth that there was to be a

summer campaign, with probably actual fighting with Indians.

Sitting Bull refused to make a treaty with the Government, and would

not come in to live on a reservation. Besides his constant attacks

on the white settlers, driving back even the most adventurous, he

was incessantly invading and stealing from the land assigned to the

peaceable Crows. They appealed for help to the Government that had

promised to shield them.

The preparations for the expedition were completed before my husband

returned from the East, whither he had been ordered. The troops had

been sent out of barracks into a camp that was established a short

distance down the valley. As soon as the general returned we left home

and went into camp.

The morning for the start came only too soon. My husband was to take

Sister Margaret and me out for the first day’s march, so I rode

beside him out of camp. The column that followed seemed unending. The

grass was not then suitable for grazing, and as the route of travel

was through a barren country, immense quantities of forage had to be

transported. The wagons themselves seemed to stretch out interminably.

There were pack-mules, the ponies already laden, and cavalry,

artillery, and infantry followed, the cavalry being in advance of all.

The number of men, citizens, employés, Indian scouts, and soldiers was

about twelve hundred. There were nearly seventeen hundred animals in

all.

As we rode at the head of the column, we were the first to enter the

confines of the garrison. About the Indian quarters, which we were

obliged to pass, stood the squaws, the old men, and the children

singing, or rather moaning, a minor tune that has been uttered on the

going out of Indian warriors since time immemorial. Some of the squaws

crouched on the ground, too burdened with their trouble to hold up

their heads; others restrained the restless children who, discerning

their fathers, sought to follow them.

The Indian scouts themselves beat their drums and kept up their

peculiar monotonous tune, which is weird and melancholy beyond

description. Their war-song is misnamed when called music. It is more

of a lament or a dirge than an inspiration to activity. This intoning

they kept up for miles along the road. After we had passed the Indian

quarters we came near Laundress Row, and there my heart entirely failed

me. The wives and children of the soldiers lined the road. Mothers,

with streaming eyes, held their little ones out at arm’s-length for one

last look at the departing father. The toddlers among the children,

unnoticed by their elders, had made a mimic column of their own. With

their handkerchiefs tied to sticks in lieu of flags, and beating old

tin pans for drums, they strode lustily back and forth in imitation of

the advancing soldiers. They were fortunately too young to realize why

the mothers wailed out their farewells.

Unfettered by conventional restrictions, and indifferent to the opinion

of others, the grief of these women was audible, and was accompanied by

desponding gestures, dictated by their bursting hearts and expressions

of their abandoned grief.

It was a relief to escape from them and enter the garrison, and

yet, when our band struck up “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” the most

despairing hour seemed to have come. All the sad-faced wives of the

officers who had forced themselves to their doors to try and wave a

courageous farewell, and smile bravely to keep the ones they loved from

knowing the anguish of their breaking hearts, gave up the struggle at

the sound of the music. The first notes made them disappear to fight

out alone their trouble, and seek to place their hands in that of their

Heavenly Father, who, at such supreme hours, was their never-failing

solace.

From the hour of breaking camp, before the sun was up, a mist had

enveloped everything. Soon the bright sun began to penetrate this veil

and dispel the haze, and a scene of wonder and beauty appeared. The

cavalry and infantry in the order named, the scouts, pack-mules, and

artillery, and behind all the long line of white-covered wagons, made

a column altogether some two miles in length. As the sun broke through

the mist a mirage appeared, which took up about half of the line of

cavalry, and thenceforth for a little distance it marched, equally

plain to the sight on the earth and in the sky.

The future of the heroic band, whose days were even then numbered,

seemed to be revealed, and already there seemed a premonition in the

supernatural translation as their forms were reflected from the opaque

mist of the early dawn.

The sun, mounting higher and higher as we advanced, took every little

bit of burnished steel on the arms and equipments along the line

of horsemen, and turned them into glittering flashes of radiating

light. The yellow, indicative of cavalry, outlined the accoutrements,

the trappings of the saddle, and sometimes a narrow thread of that

effective tint followed the outlines even up to the head-stall of the

bridle. At every bend of the road, as the column wound its way round

and round the low hills, my husband glanced back to admire his men, and

could not refrain from constantly calling my attention to their grand

appearance.

The soldiers, inured to many years of hardship, were the perfection of

physical manhood. Their brawny limbs and lithe, well-poised bodies gave

proof of the training their out-door life had given. Their resolute

faces, brave and confident, inspired one with a feeling that they were

going out aware of the momentous hours awaiting them, but inwardly

assured of their capability to meet them.

The general could scarcely restrain his recurring joy at being again

with his regiment, from which he had feared he might be separated by

being detained on other duty. His buoyant spirits at the prospect of

the activity and field-life that he so loved made him like a boy. He

had made every plan to have me join him later on, when they should have

reached the Yellowstone.

The steamers with supplies would be obliged to leave our post and

follow the Missouri up to the mouth of the Yellowstone, and from thence

on to the point on that river where the regiment was to make its first

halt to renew the rations and forage. He was sanguine that but a few

weeks would elapse before we would be reunited, and used this argument

to animate me with courage to meet our separation.

As usual we rode a little in advance and selected camp, and watched the

approach of the regiment with real pride. They were so accustomed to

the march the line hardly diverged from the trail. There was a unity

of movement about them that made the column at a distance seem like a

broad dark ribbon stretched smoothly over the plains.

We made our camp the first night on a small river a few miles beyond

the post. There the paymaster made his disbursements, in order that the

debts of the soldiers might be liquidated with the sutler.

In the morning the farewell was said, and the paymaster took sister and

me back to the post.

With my husband’s departure my last happy days in garrison were ended,

as a premonition of disaster that I had never known before weighed

me down. I could not shake off the baleful influence of depressing

thoughts. This presentiment and suspense, such as I had never known,

made me selfish, and I shut into my heart the most uncontrollable

anxiety, and could lighten no one else’s burden. The occupations of

other summers could not even give temporary interest.

We heard constantly at the Fort of the disaffection of the young

Indians of the reservation, and of their joining the hostiles. We

knew, for we had seen for ourselves, how admirably they were equipped.

We even saw on a steamer touching at our landing its freight of

Springfield rifles piled up on the decks _en route_ for the Indians

up the river. There was unquestionable proof that they came into the

trading-posts far above us and bought them, while our own brave 7th

Cavalry troopers were sent out with only the short-range carbines that

grew foul after the second firing.

While we waited in untold suspense for some hopeful news, the garrison

was suddenly thrown into a state of excitement by important despatches

that were sent from Division Head-quarters in the East. We women knew

that eventful news had come, and could hardly restrain our curiosity,

for it was of vital import to us. Indian scouts were fitted out at the

Fort with the greatest despatch, and given instructions to make the

utmost speed they could in reaching the expedition on the Yellowstone.

After their departure, when there was no longer any need for secrecy,

we were told that the expedition which had started from the Department

of the Platte, and encountered the hostile Indians on the head-waters

of the Rosebud, had been compelled to retreat.

All those victorious Indians had gone to join Sitting Bull, and it

was to warn our regiment that this news was sent to our post, which

was the extreme telegraphic communication in the North-west, and the

orders given to transmit the information, that precautions might be

taken against encountering so large a number of the enemy. The news of

the failure of the campaign in the other department was a death-knell

to our hopes. We felt that we had nothing to expect but that our

troops would be overwhelmed with numbers, for it seemed to us an

impossibility, as it really proved to be, that our Indian scouts should

cross that vast extent of country in time to make the warning of use.

The first steamer that returned from the Yellowstone brought letters

from my husband, with the permission, for which I had longed

unutterably, to join him by the next boat. The Indians had fired into

the steamer when it had passed under the high bluffs in the gorges of

the river. I counted the hours until the second steamer was ready.

They were obliged, after loading, to cover the pilot-house and other

vulnerable portions of the upper deck with sheet-iron to repel attacks.

Then sand-bags were placed around the guards as protection, and other

precautions taken for the safety of those on board. All these delays

and preparations made me inexpressibly impatient, and it seemed as if

the time would never come for the steamer to depart.

Meanwhile our own post was constantly surrounded by hostiles, and the

outer pickets were continually subjected to attacks. It was no unusual

sound to hear the long-roll calling out the infantry before dawn to

defend the garrison. We saw the faces of the officers blanch, brave as

they were, when the savages grew so bold as to make a daytime sortie

upon our outer guards.

A picture of one day of our life in those disconsolate times is fixed

indelibly in my memory.

On Sunday afternoon, the 25th of June, our little group of saddened

women, borne down with one common weight of anxiety, sought solace

in gathering together in our house. We tried to find some slight

surcease from trouble in the old hymns: some of them dated back to our

childhood’s days, when our mothers rocked us to sleep to their soothing

strains. I remember the grief with which one fair young wife threw

herself on the carpet and pillowed her head in the lap of a tender

friend. Another sat dejected at the piano, and struck soft chords

that melted into the notes of the voices. All were absorbed in the

same thoughts, and their eyes were filled with far-away visions and

longings. Indescribable yearning for the absent, and untold terror for

their safety, engrossed each heart. The words of the hymn,

“E’en though a cross it be,

Nearer, my God, to Thee,”

came forth with almost a sob from every throat.

At that very hour the fears that our tortured minds had portrayed in

imagination were realities, and the souls of those we thought upon were

ascending to meet their Maker.

On the 5th of July--for it took that time for the news to come--the

sun rose on a beautiful world, but with its earliest beams came the

first knell of disaster. A steamer came down the river bearing the

wounded from the battle of the Little Big Horn, of Sunday, June 25th.

This battle wrecked the lives of twenty-six women at Fort Lincoln, and

orphaned children of officers and soldiers joined their cry to that of

their bereaved mothers. From that time the life went out of the hearts

of the “women who weep,” and God asked them to walk on alone and in the

shadow.

* * * * *

Mrs. Custer very naturally ends her work with the coming of the news

that put so many women’s lives in shadow. She has attempted no account

of the Little Big Horn expedition, and none seems necessary here; but

it is deemed best to add the following very brief outline by way of

explanation to any reader whose memory may need refreshing:

The expedition during the summer of 1876, which ended so fatally

with the battle of the Little Big Horn, was under General Terry,

the ranking officer. General Custer commanded under him the 7th

Cavalry. As it marched, the force struck a fresh Indian trail,

and scouts were sent to follow it up and ascertain the number of

warriors in the band. This can be done with great accuracy. The

number of Indians can be estimated by following the trail far

enough to get its average width and the size of the circle grazed

over at night by the ponies on which the warriors ride. In this

case the scouts followed the trail far enough to ascertain that

twelve hundred Indians were in the band, but did not learn the

location of the village where they were encamped. Upon their return

General Terry and General Custer consulted together. It was well

known to them that the vigilance of the Indian keeps outposts and

signal-fires on every hill-top, thus making it an impossibility to

approach one of their villages unobserved. Neither could it be kept

from their quick eyes what the strength of the approaching force

was. To await an attack or to advance with superior numbers was to

give the Indians a chance to escape, and their wariness was known

to all. Accordingly it was determined that General Custer should

take such force as he thought the Indians, seeing him approach,

would stand against awaiting its attack. He was convinced that the

7th Cavalry was as large a body as could be taken with safety, and

was a match for twelve hundred Indians. He knew his men, and knew

what he was doing. It was suggested that he should take a piece of

artillery, but the scouts had described the bad lands over which

they must march, and General Custer knew that artillery would

hamper his movements besides increasing the apparent size of the

command. He started with only his regiment, and the rest of the

expedition halted to await the result. The officers and men went

out feeling certain that a fight awaited them. If there had been

but twelve hundred warriors, as there was every reason to suppose,

the affair would have ended well; but Indian reinforcements,

covering a trail half a mile wide (as was learned after the

battle), had come from the North, and in an opposite direction to

that in which the Indians were going. Instead, therefore, of a

thousand, the gallant 7th Cavalry encountered about five thousand

Indians, who were emboldened by success in their battle in another

department, and made even more venturesome by their increase of

numbers.

General Custer called a halt as he approached the village, and

summoning his officers, explained to them his plan of attack, which

was the same that had proved so successful in the battle of the

Washita, in the previous history of the regiment. He offered the

lead to that officer who should first report his company ready for

battle. In a few seconds one of the highest in rank received this

desired honor. Dividing the command into three detachments, General

Custer led the body of his regiment in that final charge, in which

afterwards the line of battle of a portion could be traced by the

dead men and horses as they fell at the post of duty, and from

which no man escaped.

APPENDIX.

THE YELLOWSTONE EXPEDITION OF 1873.

_Extracts from Letters written by General Custer to his Wife during the

Expedition to the Yellowstone in 1873._

[Many of the letters from which the following extracts are taken

are very long, but so much of them is of a personal nature that I

have sought here to give only those portions that convey an idea of

the camp-life and daily experiences of a campaign on the frontier.

I regret that I have not the letters giving an account of the

Indian fights. I have substituted a copy of General Custer’s

official report to complete the story of the summer of

1873.--E. B. C.]

Camp on Heart River, D. T., June 26, 1873.

When I may have an opportunity to send this, or when it may reach you,

I cannot tell; but I will have it ready, and when the first courier

leaves he shall carry these tidings to you.

This is our sixth day out from Fort Rice. We reached this river

yesterday about noon, and are remaining in camp to-day as it is

somewhere in this locality that we expect to find the railroad

engineers, and Lieut. D---- and four companies of infantry that left

Fort Rice before you did.

Our march has been perfectly delightful thus far. We have encountered

no Indians, although yesterday we saw the fresh tracks of about fifteen

ponies, showing that they are in our vicinity.

I never saw such fine hunting as we have constantly had since we left

Fort Rice. I have done some of the best shooting I ever did, and as

you are always so interested I want to tell you about it. I take

twenty-five picked men with me, and generally have several officers

in the party besides. It is not necessary to go out of sight of the

column, as the game is so abundant we can even eclipse your story

about antelope running into the men’s arms! They actually ran through

our wagon-train, and one was run over by a wagon and caught! Tom[B]

immediately remarked, “Well, by George, we can beat Libbie’s story now!”

[B] The general’s brother.

The first day out the dogs caught an antelope and I shot one, since

when I have brought in from two to four daily. Day before yesterday the

members of our mess killed eight antelope. But I must tell you of some

of my recent shots with my new Springfield rifle.

Three days ago F---- and I with a party were out in sight of the

column, when an antelope started up fully two hundred yards distant,

and ran rapidly parallel to us. I fired five times at it while running,

at this distance. It then stopped, and I got about twenty-five paces

nearer when I fired off-hand, aiming directly at the head. It fell, and

I measured the distance, which proved to be one hundred and seventy

yards, and the antelope was found to be shot through the head. Of the

five shots which I had fired at it while running at a distance of two

hundred yards, four had struck the antelope, one breaking its thigh and

two going through its body.

Yesterday a fine large buck came bounding over the hill across our

path. He was so far that no one seemed to think it worth while to aim

at him, but I thought I would try. Jumping off my thorough-bred, Vic,

in an instant I had my rifle at my shoulder and levelled at the buck,

which was running at full speed. I pressed the trigger, and waiting an

instant to give the bullet time to reach its mark, the buck was seen to

fall lifeless in the grass. To be accurate in the distance I requested

F---- to measure it. He did so, and found it to be two hundred and

eighty yards. Galloping to where the antelope had fallen, I found him

shot directly through the centre of the neck, about one foot from

the head, the neck being broken by the shot. I put him entire on the

orderly trumpeter’s horse and sent him to the wagons to be carried to

camp, where I butchered him. He was the fattest antelope I ever saw.

I sent H---- and M----’s messes each a quarter. I have not only

been fortunate enough to keep our own mess supplied with game every

meal since we left Fort Rice, but have had quantities to send to the

infantry officers, to the band, and to many of our own officers.

Poor Fred and Tom! They have accompanied me frequently--Fred always

along--and yet neither of them has been able thus far to kill a single

antelope. I tease them a great deal, for they use the Winchester rifle.

It is remarkably accurate up to one hundred yards, and not so beyond

that distance.

You know when Tom takes a notion to get anything of mine how very

persistent he is. Well, his latest dodge is to obtain possession of my

Springfield rifle, which I allow my orderly, Tuttle, to carry. Night

before last he carried it off to his tent without saying anything about

it; but Tuttle slipped down while Tom was at breakfast and recaptured

the rifle!

I wish you could have seen one of our hunting-parties coming into camp

a few days ago, after a hunt of not more than four hours, in sight of

the column all the time. My orderlies and I had four antelope strapped

to our saddles; then came Captain F----, with a fine, large buck

strapped behind him and a saddle in his front, while his orderly was

similarly loaded; then McD---- and his orderly, each with a splendid

antelope on his saddle, while others of the men who had accompanied me

were well provided with game--except poor H----. He and the four men

of his company who went with us had equal chances with the rest, but

they had nothing. The officers give H---- no rest now on the subject

of antelope; the last advice given him was that his only chance now is

to spread his fish-net (which the officers ridicule him for bringing

into such a country as this) and catch the antelope in that way! Tuttle

killed two antelope at one shot with my Springfield at pretty long

range.

Yesterday Fred and I had an exciting time with an elk that swam the

river twice near us, but we only succeeded in wounding him before he

got away to the bluffs beyond sight of the command, where we did not

deem it prudent to follow him.

I am glad that I posted myself with regard to taxidermy; for yesterday,

after reaching camp, I devoted all the afternoon to preparing the head

of the antelope I killed for preservation. The antlers the officers

think the finest they ever saw. I have prepared the entire head, and

the skin of about one foot of the neck. I also have a beautiful set of

elk antlers that I hope to get through safely. I carry them strapped on

top of the ambulance of Mary, our cook.

I do not think we are going to have any serious difficulty with the

Indians--at least this is General Rosser’s opinion. He thinks this

expedition is too large and unwieldy to perform the desired work

promptly, and I agree with him.

There is an officer temporarily detailed with the command who inspires

my respect because he regards the wishes of his mother so highly. He

has some fine rifles at home, but did not bring any with him, merely

to please his mother, who feared that if he brought his guns along he

would be tempted to wander off alone hunting.

It is four days since I began this letter, but we have been moving in

the mean while, so that but little opportunity for writing has been

allowed.

With the ten companies of the 7th I started to join the engineers,

leaving the infantry and train to follow us. I marched thirty miles

over a bad country, besides building a bridge over a stream thirty feet

wide and ten feet deep. I superintended and planned it, and about one

hundred and eighty men worked to complete it. About twenty men had to

cross the stream before the bridge could be begun. An officer must go

with them, so I detailed McD---- and twenty of his men. They had to

strip off and swim across. You ought to have heard the young officers

on the bank hooting at McD---- when he was preparing to lead the “light

brigade” across the water! I built a bridge in about two hours, over

which the whole command and wagon-train passed.

The officers have a good joke on Lieut. H----. Nearly all of them have

killed antelope, so Mr. H---- concluded he must kill his. He went out

yesterday near the column and soon espied an antelope quietly lying in

the grass about one hundred yards distant. Quickly dismounting from

his horse, he crawled on the ground until near enough, as he thought,

to kill it. Taking deliberate aim he fired, but the ball fell short

a few feet; yet the antelope was not disturbed. This is not unusual.

Again he took aim this time with great care, fired, and to his joy he

saw the fur fly from the antelope. Never doubting but that he had given

him a mortal wound, Mr. H---- leaped into his saddle and galloped up

to the antelope to cut its throat. Imagine his disgust to find that

the antelope had been dead several days, and had already been taken

possession of by the flies! The officers will never let him hear the

last of it.

Well, I have joined the engineers, and am having such pleasant visits

with General Rosser. We talk over our West Point times and discuss

the battles of the war. I stretch the buffalo-robe under the fly of

the tent, and there in the moonlight he and I, lying at full length,

listen to each other’s accounts of battles in which both had borne a

part. It seemed like the time when we were cadets together, huddled

on one blanket and discussing dreams of the future. Rosser said the

worst whipping he had during the war was the one I gave him the 9th

of October, when I captured everything he had, including the uniform

now at home in Monroe. He said that on the morning of that fight, just

as the battle was commencing he was on a hill on our front, which I

well remember, watching us advance. He was looking at us through his

field-glass, and saw and recognized me as plainly as if I had been by

his side. I was at the head of my troops--all of which I remember--and

advancing to the attack.

Rosser said as soon as he recognized me he sent for his brigade

commanders and pointed me out to them, saying, “Do you see that man

in front with long hair? Well, that’s Custer, and we must bust him up

to-day.”

“And so,” General Rosser continued, “we would have done had you

attacked us as we thought you intended to; but instead of that you

slipped another column away around us, and my men soon began calling

out, ‘We’re flanked! we’re flanked!’ then broke and ran, and nothing

could stop them.”

Rosser wanted to meet you at the crossing, but failed, and wrote to his

wife to try and see you in St. Paul, but you had already gone through.

He too asked if you did not accompany me almost everywhere; so you see

what an extended reputation for campaigning you have. And, do you know,

he tells me he thinks I am anxious to get back to you. But I did not

tell him that I was already counting the days.

I killed another antelope yesterday, two the day before, and two the

day before that. Mary made us a delicious pot-pie out of two curlew I

shot. Whenever the subject of pot-pies comes up, Mr. Calhoun, Tom, and

I at once begin talking of the place where we got the best pot-pies we

ever tasted. One will say, “I’ll tell you where you can get the very

nicest pot-pie you ever put in your mouth,” and before he can go any

further the other two will call out, “At mother’s.”

I saw the most beautiful red-deer yesterday I ever have seen. It was a

new species to me; of the deepest red, as red as the reddest cow you

ever saw. I was too far away to get a shot.

All the officers were up at my tent last night at twilight, sitting

under the awning in front, all jolly, all good-humored, full of their

jokes, and prouder than ever of the 7th, as they _modestly_ compared

the regiment with the infantry.

This letter of forty-four closely-written pages would make a _Galaxy_

article so far as its length goes; suppose you send me a check for it

as the _Galaxy_ people do for theirs?

You must read a good deal of it to mother, or tell her of its contents,

and say that this time this letter must do for the family. I hope your

going home will be a comfort to her and improve her health.

Tell D---- if she is going to come into the Custer family she must

be prepared to receive little billet-doux something the size of this

volume!

Tom says, “Tell Libbie I intended writing, but when I saw the length of

this letter I knew that there was nothing left to tell her!”

Yellowstone River, July 19, 1873.

Well, here we are, encamped on the banks of the far-famed and to you

far distant Yellowstone! How I have longed to have you see, during our

progress, what seems to me almost like another world. Truly can this

interesting region be termed the “Wonder-land!”

When the command arrived at what was supposed to be a distance of

about fifteen miles from the river, it became necessary and important

to ascertain where the steamboat with supplies that had come by river

was located. I volunteered to go on a steamboat hunt, as I had hunted

almost every other species of game; so taking two troops and leaving

our tents and wagons, I started on a search for the _Key West_. Several

of the officers applied to go, and General Rosser, who is always ready

for a trip of this kind, accepted my invitation to accompany us.

No artist--not even a Church or a Bierstadt--could fairly represent

the wonderful country we passed over, while each step of our progress

was like each successive shifting of the kaleidoscope, presenting to

our wondering gaze views which almost appalled us by their sublimity.

We passed over a region so full of cañons and precipices. Much of

our journey was necessarily made on foot, our horses being led in

single file, except my own noble “Dandy.” He seemed to realize the

difficulties of the route, and although permitted to run untethered, he

followed me as closely and carefully as a well-trained dog.

Sometimes we found ourselves on the summit of a high peak, to ascend

which we had to risk both life and limb, and particularly imperil the

safety of our horses. Once we came to a steep declivity which neither

man nor horse could descend. It was impossible to retrace our steps,

as the sides of the peak were so steep our horses could not turn about

without great danger of tumbling hundreds of feet. Asking the rest to

wait a moment, I looked about and discovered a possible way out to our

left, provided a huge rock which lay in the path could be removed.

Bidding Tuttle “Look out,” and uttering a few words of caution to

Dandy, who seemed to comprehend our situation and say, “All right,

don’t mind me,” I left him clinging to the soft and yielding soil of

the mountain. I succeeded in dislodging the rock after some work, and

sent it leaping down the rocky side leading to the valley, sometimes

taking hundreds of feet at one plunge. The way being clear, a simple

“Come on, Dandy,” and we took the advance, followed by the rest. We

were well repaid for our risk and trouble by the grandeur of the

scenery that lay spread out beneath us.

I am making a rare collection of the fossils that the country is rich

in--vegetable and mineral specimens. I hope you will approve of my plan

of disposal of them: I intend to give them to the college at Ann Arbor.

What would you think to pass through thousands of acres of petrified

trees, some of which are twelve feet in diameter, with trunks and

branches perfect! The fallen trunks of some as they lie on the ground

are so natural in grain and color, the officers are sometimes deceived

and sit down, thinking them but lately felled.

To return to my search for the steamboat. After struggling through the

beds of deep cañons and climbing almost inaccessible peaks, we finally

emerged into the valley of the Yellowstone. We were still obliged

in crossing swales to struggle on by walking, leading, climbing, and

stumbling, and after a ride of ten miles we came to where the boat was

moored.

Every one is congratulating F---- on getting the place I applied to

Rosser for, as a member of the party of engineers. He will get $60 a

month, and a prospect later of advancement and higher salary. It is

such a pleasure when I can help young men who evince a disposition

to help themselves. I never forget those who gave me my first

encouragement in life. How I have wished that some of our home boys,

who possess talent and education, but lack means and opportunity, would

cast themselves loose from home and try their fortunes in this great

enterprising western country, where the virtues of real manhood come

quickly to the surface, and their possessor finds himself transformed

from a mere boy to a full-fledged man almost before he realizes his

quick advancement. It is such a comfort to me to feel independent. Much

as I dote on my profession, and earnestly as I am devoted to it, yet

should accident cast me adrift and I be thrown upon my own resources, I

have not a fear but that energy and a willingness to put my shoulder to

the wheel would carry me through and with reasonable success.

In this country, no man, particularly if moderately educated, need fail

in life if determined to succeed, so many and varied are the avenues to

honorable employment which open on all hands before him.

The climate is perfect out here; not five men are sick out of the whole

ten troops, and one poor fellow who was about to be discharged before

we left for disability, as he was thought to be in consumption, is now

well and does not desire his discharge. Though it is July we sleep

under blankets constantly.

Regarding the dogs, I find myself more warmly attached to Tuck than

to any other I have ever owned. Did I tell you of her catching a

full-grown antelope-buck, and pulling him down after a run of over

a mile, in which she left the other dogs far behind? She comes to

me almost every evening when I am sitting in my large camp-chair,

listening to the band or joining with the officers in conversation.

First she lays her head on my knee, as if to ask if I am too much

engaged to notice her. A pat of encouragement and her fore-feet are

thrown lightly across my lap; a few moments in this posture and she

lifts her hind-feet from the ground, and, great, over-grown dog that

she is, quietly and gently disposes of herself on my lap, and at times

will cuddle down and sleep there for an hour at a time, until I become

so tired of my charge that I am compelled to transfer her to mother

earth; and even then she resembles a well-cared for and half-spoiled

child, who can never be induced to retire until it has been fondled to

sleep in its mother’s arms.

Tuck will sleep so soundly in my lap that I can transfer her gently

to the ground and she will continue her slumber, like a little baby

carefully deposited in its crib. As I write she is lying at my feet.

She makes up with no other person.

I have just told Tom if he expects letters from you, he must write

first. He answers that he would like to know what he can find to write

“after she receives that _book_ from you.” And one might think that the

eighty pages of this letter had exhausted every subject, but there is

much I must leave untold.

I am prouder and prouder of the 7th, Libbie; not an officer or man of

my command has been seen intoxicated since the expedition left Fort

Rice. H---- and I have our periodical official tussles, as usual, but I

see a great deal of him and like him better than ever.

We have just parted with a member of the expedition who is not a loss

to us, for he is a gossip but not viciously inclined--rather the

contrary. He peddles tiresome tales without meaning harm. Everybody in

the 7th Cavalry camp is content to attend to his own business and not

meddle with other people’s affairs.

You will scarcely credit what I am about to tell you, but it is an

undeniable fact: here we have been encamped for several days with

pickets and guards surrounding our camp for its protection.

Our march here was over a stretch of wild, almost unknown country,

supposed to be infested with hostile Indians. Small parties were not

deemed safe beyond sight of our column, and yet to-day imagine our

surprise to see a plain white covered spring-wagon, drawn by two

mules and accompanied by a single individual, approach our camp from

the direction we came more than one week ago. It proved to be the

travelling-conveyance of an humble priest, who, leaving Fort Rice seven

days ago, traversed alone and unguided, except by our trail, through

more than two hundred miles of hostile and dangerous country, fording

rivers winding through deep and almost impassable cañons, toiling over

mountains, at each step liable to be massacred by hostile Indians. The

country was entirely new to him, he never having been west of Fort Rice

before. He came believing he could be of spiritual benefit to many

who would otherwise be wholly deprived of such comfort. He carried

no arms, adopted no special precautions for his safety, but with a

simple and unpretentious cross reverently erected and borne above his

travelling-wagon, he took his life in his hand and boldly plunged into

the wilds of this almost unknown region, evidently relying upon Him

who ruleth over all, to guide and protect him in his perilous journey.

This to me is an act of Christian heroism and physical courage which

entitles this humble priest to immeasurable honor and praise.

Yellowstone River, above Powder River, July 31, 1873.

... The _Josephine_ is unloading her cargo about one mile below

here, and leaves for Bismarck within an hour. We expected to have an

opportunity to write letters to-day, but as the boat receives five

hundred dollars a day it is important to discharge her as soon as

practicable.

The command is not in camp yet. I took a squadron and started ahead to

find a road. You have no idea what difficulty we have, looking out a

route through this country over which it is possible to move a train.

Yesterday I took two companies and travelled about forty miles. To-day

we reached the Yellowstone at 9.30.

We have been sleeping since (and it is now 4 P.M.) under the large

trees standing on the river bank. I have just received one letter from

you, and I think it is the first instalment only, for I hear there are

seven sacks of mail on board the boat. I am sorry I am compelled to

write under such hurried circumstances. I am lying on the ground, using

my horse-blanket for a desk.

_Official Report of the Engagements with Indians on the 4th and 11th

ultimo._

_Copy._

Head-quarters Battalion 7th Cavalry,

Pompey’s Pillar, Yellowstone River, Montana, Aug. 15, 1873.

_Acting Assistant Adjutant-general Yellowstone Expedition_:

SIR,--Acting under the instructions of the Brevet-major-general

commanding, I proceeded at five o’clock, on the morning of the 4th

instant, with one squadron of my command, numbering about ninety men,

to explore a route over which the main column could move. Having

reached a point on the Yellowstone River, near the mouth of Tongue

River, and several miles in advance, and while waiting the arrival of

the forces of the expedition, six mounted Sioux dashed boldly into

the skirt of timber within which my command had halted and unsaddled,

and attempted to stampede our horses. Fortunately our vedettes

discovered the approach of the Indians in time to give the alarm. A few

well-directed shots soon drove the Indians to a safe distance, where

they kept up a series of yells, occasionally firing a few shots. As

soon as the squadron could mount, I directed Captain Moylan to move

out in pursuit, at the same time I moved with the troops in advance,

commanded by First Lieutenant T. W. Custer. Following the Indians at

a brisk gait, my suspicions became excited by the confident bearing

exhibited by the six Sioux in our front, whose course seemed to lead us

near a heavy growth of timber which stood along the river bank above

us. When almost within rifle range of this timber, I directed the

squadron to halt, while I with two orderlies, all being well mounted,

continued after the Sioux in order to develop their intentions.

Proceeding a few hundred yards in advance of the squadron, and keeping

a watchful eye on the timber to my left, I halted. The six Indians

in my front also halted, as if to tempt farther pursuit. Finding all

efforts in this direction unavailing, their plans and intentions were

quickly made evident, as no sooner was it seen that we intended to

advance no farther, than with their characteristic howls and yells over

three hundred well-mounted warriors dashed in perfect line from the

edge of the timber, and charged down upon Captain Moylan’s squadron,

at the same time endeavoring to intercept the small party with me. As

soon as the speed of the thorough-bred on which I was mounted brought

me within hailing distance of Lieutenant Custer’s troop, I directed

that officer to quickly throw forward a dismounted line of troopers,

and endeavor to empty a few Indian saddles. The order was obeyed

with the greatest alacrity, and as the Sioux came dashing forward,

expecting to ride down the squadron, a line of dismounted cavalrymen

rose from the grass and delivered almost in the faces of the warriors a

volley of carbine bullets which broke and scattered their ranks in all

directions, and sent more than one Sioux reeling from his saddle. This

check gave us time to make our dispositions to resist the succeeding

attacks, which we knew our enemies would soon make upon us. The great

superiority of our enemies in numbers, the long distance separating us

from the main command, and the belief, afterwards verified, that the

woods above us still concealed a portion of the savage forces, induced

me to confine my movements, at first, strictly to the defensive. The

entire squadron (except the horse-holders) was dismounted and ordered

to fight on foot. The Indians outnumbering us almost five to one were

enabled to envelop us completely between their lines, formed in a

semicircle, and the river which flowed at our backs. The little belt of

timber in which we had been first attacked formed a very good cover for

our led-horses, while the crest of a second table-land, conveniently

located from the timber, gave us an excellent line of defence. The

length of our line and the numbers of the enemy prevented us from

having any force in reserve; every available officer and man was on the

skirmish-line, which was in reality our line of battle, even the number

of men holding horses had to be reduced, so that each horse-holder held

eight horses. Until the Indians were made to taste quite freely of our

lead they displayed unusual boldness, frequently charging up to our

line and firing with great deliberation and accuracy. Captain Moylan

exercised command along the entire line; Lieutenant Custer commanded

the centre; my adjutant, Lieutenant James Calhoun, commanded the right;

and Lieutenant Charles A. Varnum, the left. The first Indian killed

was shot from his pony by “Bloody Knife,” the Crow who acted as my

guide and scout. Soon after Private Charles P. Miller, of “A” troop 7th

Cavalry, succeeded in sending a carbine bullet directly through the

body of a chief who had been conspicuous throughout the engagement. At

the same time it was known that our firing had disabled many of their

ponies, while owing to our sheltered position the only damage thus far

inflicted upon us was one man and two horses wounded, one of the latter

shot in three places.

Finding their efforts to force back our line unavailing, the Indians

now resorted to another expedient. By an evidently preconcerted plan

they set fire in several places to the tall grass which covered the

ground in our front, hoping by this means to force us back to the

rear, and thus finish us at their pleasure. Fortunately for us there

was no wind prevailing at the time, while the grass was scarcely dry

enough to burn rapidly. Taking advantage of the dense curtain of

smoke which rose from the burning grass, the Indians, by following

the course of the flame, could often contrive to obtain a shot at us

at comparatively close range; but my men, observing that there was

no danger to be apprehended from the slowly advancing flames, could

frequently catch an opportunity to send a shot through a break in the

curtain of smoke, and in this way surprised the Indian by the adoption

of his own device.

The fight began at 11.30 A.M., and was waged without cessation until

near three o’clock, all efforts of the Indians to dislodge us proving

unsuccessful. The Indians had become extremely weary, and had almost

discontinued their offensive movements, when my ammunition ran low.

I decided to mount the squadron and charge the Indians, with the

intention of driving them from the field.

Captain Moylan promptly had his men in the saddle, and throwing forward

twenty mounted skirmishers, under Lieutenant Varnum, the entire

squadron moved forward at a trot. No sooner did the Indians discern our

intentions than, despite their superiority in numbers, they cowardly

prepared for flight, in which preparation they were greatly hastened

when Captain Moylan’s squadron charged them and drove them “pell-mell”

for three miles.

Five ponies killed or badly wounded were left on the battle-ground

or along the line of their flight. So rapidly were they forced to

flee that they abandoned and threw away breech-loading arms, saddle

equipments, clothing, robes, lariats, and other articles comprised in

an Indian outfit.

Among the Indians who fought us on this occasion were some of the

identical warriors who committed the massacre at Fort Phil. Kearney,

and they no doubt intended a similar programme when they sent the six

warriors to dash up and attempt to decoy us into a pursuit past the

timber in which the savages hoped to ambush us. Had we pursued the six

warriors half a mile farther, instead of halting, the entire band of

warriors would have been in our rear, and all the advantage of position

and numbers would have been with them.

So far as the troops attacked were concerned, the Indians, to offset

their own heavy losses, had been able to do us no damage except to

wound one man and two horses; but unfortunately two non-combatants,

Veterinary Surgeon John Honsinger, 7th Cavalry, and Mr. Baliran, of

Memphis, Tenn., in endeavoring to come from the main column to join the

squadron in advance, were discovered by the Indians during the attack,

and being unarmed were overtaken and killed almost within view of the

battle-ground. Fortunately the Indians were so pressed as not to be

able to scalp or otherwise mutilate the remains.

On the 8th instant we discovered the trail of a large village,

evidently that to which the party that attacked us on the 4th belonged.

The course of the trail led up the Yellowstone, and apparently

was not more than two days old. Acting under the authority of the

Brevet-major-general commanding, I ordered my command, consisting of

four squadrons of the 7th Cavalry, in readiness to begin the pursuit

that night. The Brevet-major-general also directed the detachment

of guides and Indian scouts under Lieutenant Daniel H. Brush, 17th

Infantry, to report to me for temporary service. Leaving all tents and

wagons behind, and taking with us rations for seven days, we started in

pursuit at ten o’clock on the night of the 8th instant, having waited

until that hour until the moon should enable us to follow the trail.

Following the trail as rapidly as the rough character of the country

would permit, daylight next morning found us nearly thirty miles from

our starting-point. Concealing horses and men in a ravine, a halt of

three hours was ordered to enable the horses to graze and the men to

obtain refreshments. Renewing the march at eight o’clock, the pursuit

was continued without halting until noon, when, to avoid discovery,

as well as to obtain needed rest for men and animals, it was decided

to conceal ourselves in the timber, and await the cover of night to

continue the pursuit.

Starting out at 6.30 P.M., the trail was followed rapidly for six

miles, when, to our disappointment, we discovered that the Indians had

taken to the river, and crossed to the east side. In following their

trail to this point it was evident that the movement of the Indians was

one of precipitate flight, the result of the engagement on the 4th.

All along their trail and in their camping-places were to be found

large quantities of what constitutes an Indian’s equipments, such as

lodge-poles, robes, saddle equipments, arms, and cooking utensils.

In a hastily abandoned camp-ground nearly two hundred axes, besides a

great many camp-kettles and cups, were found.

My entire command was disappointed when the trail showed that the

Indians had crossed to the other side, particularly as our rapid

marching had carried us to the point of crossing, the evening of the

day on which the last of the Indians had crossed over, so that one

more march would have enabled us to overhaul them. Bivouacking in a

belt of timber on the river bank, we waited until daylight to begin an

attempt to cross the command over the river, which at this point is

about six hundred yards wide. At early dawn the entire command forded

the river to an island located about the middle of the channel; but

our difficulties in the way of crossing here began, as the volume

of water and the entire force of the current were to be encountered

between the island and the opposite bank--the current here rushes by

at a velocity of about seven miles an hour, while the depth of the

water was such that a horse attempting to cross would be forced to

swim several hundred yards. Still, as we knew the Indians had not

discovered our pursuit, and were probably located within easy striking

distance of the river, it was most desirable that a crossing should

be effected. To accomplish this, Lieutenant Weston, 7th Cavalry, with

three accomplished swimmers from the command, attempted to cross on

a log-raft, carrying with them a cable made of lariats. The current

was so strong that Lieutenant Weston’s party were unable to effect

a landing, but were swept down the river nearly two miles, and then

forced to abandon the raft and swim to shore.

Lieutenant Weston, with characteristic perseverance and energy, made

repeated attempts afterwards to carry the cable over, but although

succeeding in reaching the opposite bank in person was unable to

connect the cable with the shore. Almost the entire day was spent in

these unsuccessful efforts, until finally a crossing in this manner

had to be abandoned. I then caused some cattle to be killed, and by

stretching the hides over a kind of basket-frame prepared by the Crow

guide, made what are known among the Indians as bull-boats; with

these I hoped to be able to connect a cable with the opposite bank at

daylight next morning, but just at sunset a small party of Indians were

seen to ride down to the bank opposite us and water their ponies. They

discovered our presence, and at once hastened away. Of course it was

useless now to attempt a surprise, and the intention to cross the river

the following morning was abandoned.

At early dawn the next day (the 11th instant), the Indians appeared

in strong force on the river bank opposite us, and opened a brisk

fire upon us from their rifles. No attention was paid to them until

encouraged by this they had collected at several points in full view,

and within range of our rifles, when about thirty of our best marksmen,

having posted themselves along the bank, opened a well-directed fire

upon the Indians and drove them back to cover.

In the mean time strong parties of Indians were reported by our

pickets to be crossing the river below and above us, their ponies and

themselves being so accustomed to the river as to render this operation

quite practicable for them. Captain French, commanding the right wing,

was directed to watch the parties crossing below, while Colonel Hart,

commanding the left wing, posted a force to discharge this duty with

regard to parties crossing above. It would have been possible, perhaps,

for us to have prevented the Indians from effecting a crossing, at

least when they did, but I was not only willing but anxious that as

many of them should come over as were so disposed. They were soon

reported as moving to the bluffs immediately in rear of us from the

river. Lieutenant Brush was directed to employ his scouts in watching

and reporting their movements--a duty which they discharged in a

thorough manner.

While this was transpiring I had mounted my command and formed it in

line close under the bluffs facing from the river, where we quietly

waited the attack of the Indians in our front. The sharp-shooting

across the river still continued, the Indians having collected some

of their best shots--apparently armed with long-range rifles--and

were attempting to drive our men back from the water’s edge. It was

at this time that my standing orderly, Private Tuttle, of “E” troop,

7th Cavalry, one of the best marksmen in my command, took a sporting

Springfield rifle and posted himself, with two other men, behind cover

on the river bank, and began picking off the Indians as they exposed

themselves on the opposite bank. He had obtained the range of the

enemy’s position early in the morning, and was able to place his shots

wherever desired. It was while so engaged that he observed an Indian

in full view near the river. Calling the attention of his comrade to

the fact, he asked him “to watch him drop that Indian,” a feat which he

succeeded in performing. Several other Indians rushed to the assistance

of their fallen comrade, when Private Tuttle, by a skilful and rapid

use of his breech-loading Springfield, succeeded in killing two other

warriors. The Indians, enraged no doubt at this rough handling,

directed their aim at Private Tuttle, who fell pierced through the head

by a rifle-bullet. He was one of the most useful and daring soldiers

who ever served under my command.

About this time Captain French, who was engaged with the Indians who

were attacking us from below, succeeded in shooting a warrior from his

saddle, while several ponies were known to be wounded or disabled. The

Indians now began to display a strong force in our front on the bluffs.

Colonel Hart was ordered to push a line of dismounted men to the crest,

and prevent the further advance of the enemy towards the river. This

duty was handsomely performed by a portion of Captain Yates’s squadron.

Colonel Hart had posted Lieutenant Charles Braden and twenty men on a

small knoll which commanded our left. Against this party the Indians

made their first onslaught. A mounted party of warriors, numbering

nearly two hundred, rode boldly to within thirty yards of Lieutenant

Braden’s position, when the latter and his command delivered such a

well-directed fire that the Indians were driven rapidly from that part

of the field, after having evidently suffered considerable loss.

Unfortunately Lieutenant Braden received a rifle-ball through the

upper part of the thigh, passing directly through the bone, but he

maintained his position with great gallantry and coolness until he had

repulsed the enemy. Hundreds of Indians were now to be seen galloping

up and down along our front, each moment becoming bolder, owing to the

smallness of our force which was then visible.

Believing the proper time had arrived to assume the offensive, orders

to this effect were accordingly sent to Colonel Hart and Captain

French, the two wing commanders. Lieutenant Weston was directed to move

his troop “L” up a deep ravine on our left, which would convey him to

the enemy’s position, and as soon as an opportunity occurred he was to

charge them, and pursue the Indians with all the vigor practicable.

Immediately after, Captain Owen Hale was directed to move his squadron,

consisting of “E” and “K” troops, in conjunction with “L” troop, and

the three to charge simultaneously. Similar dispositions were ordered

in the centre and right. Lieutenant Custer, commanding “B” troop, was

ordered to advance and charge the Indians in front of our centre, while

Captains Yates and Moylan moved rapidly forward in the same direction.

Before this movement began, it became necessary to dislodge a large

party of Indians posted in a ravine and behind rocks in our front,

who were engaged in keeping up a heavy fire upon our troops while the

latter were forming. It was at this point that the horse of Lieutenant

Hiram H. Ketchum, Acting-assistant-adjutant-general of the expedition,

was shot under him. My own horse was also shot under me within a few

paces of the latter.

The duty of driving the Indians engaged in sharp-shooting was intrusted

to Lieutenant Charles A. Varnum, 7th Cavalry, with a detachment of “A”

troop, 7th Cavalry, who soon forced the Indians back from their cover.

Everything being in readiness for a general advance, the charge was

ordered, and the squadrons took the gallop to the tune of “Garryowen,”

the band being posted immediately in rear of the skirmish line. The

Indians had evidently come out prepared to do their best, and with no

misgivings as to their success, as the mounds and high bluffs beyond

the river were covered with groups of old men, squaws, and children,

who had collected there to witness our destruction. In this instance

the proverbial power of music to soothe the savage breast utterly

failed, for no sooner did the band strike up the cheery notes of

“Garryowen,” and the squadrons advance to the charge, than the Indians

exhibited unmistakable signs of commotion, and their resistance became

more feeble, until finally satisfied of the earnestness of our attack

they turned their ponies’ heads and began a disorderly flight. The

cavalry put spurs to their horses and dashed forward in pursuit, the

various troop and squadron commanders vying with one another as to

who should head the advance. The appearance of the main command in

sight, down the valley at this moment, enabled me to relieve Captain

French’s command below us, and he was ordered to join in the pursuit.

Lieutenant McIntosh, commanding “G” troop, moved his command up the

valley at a gallop, and prevented many of the Indians from crossing.

The chase was continued with the utmost vigor until the Indians were

completely dispersed, and driven a distance of nine miles from where

the engagement took place, and they were here forced back across the

Yellowstone, the last pony killed in the fight being shot fully eight

miles from the point of attack.

The number of Indians opposed to us has been estimated by the various

officers engaged as from eight hundred to a thousand. My command

numbered four hundred and fifty, including officers and men. The

Indians were made up of different bands of Sioux, principally Unepapas,

the whole under command of “Sitting Bull,” who participated in the

second day’s fight, and who for once has been taught a lesson he will

not soon forget.

A large number of Indians who fought us were fresh from their

reservations on the Missouri River. Many of the warriors engaged in

the fight on both days were dressed in complete suits of the clothes

issued at the agencies to Indians. The arms with which they fought

us (several of which were captured in the fight) were of the latest

improved patterns of breech-loading repeating rifles, and their

supply of metallic rifle-cartridges seemed unlimited, as they were

anything but sparing in their use. So amply have they been supplied

with breech-loading rifles and ammunition that neither bows nor arrows

were employed against us. As an evidence that these Indians, at least

many of them, were recently from the Missouri River agencies, we found

provisions, such as coffee, in their abandoned camps, and cooking

and other domestic utensils, such as only reservation Indians are

supplied with. Besides, our scouts conversed with them across the river

for nearly an hour before the fight became general, and satisfied

themselves as to the identity of their foes. I only regret that it was

impossible for my command to effect a crossing of the river before our

presence was discovered, and while the hostile village was located

near at hand, as I am confident that we could have largely reduced the

necessity for appropriation for Indian supplies the coming winter....

The losses of the Indians in ponies were particularly heavy, while we

know their losses in killed and wounded were beyond all proportion to

that which they were enabled to inflict upon us, our losses being one

officer badly wounded, four men killed, and three wounded; four horses

killed and four wounded.

Careful investigation justifies the statement that including both

days’ battles, the Indians’ losses will number forty warriors, while

their wounded on the opposite bank of the river may increase this

number.

Respectfully submitted.

(Signed) G. A. CUSTER,

Lieutenant-colonel 7th Cavalry,

Brevet-major-general, U. S. A., commanding.

“Stockade” on the Yellowstone, September 6, 1873.

... I know you will rejoice when your eyes fall upon the date and

heading of this letter, and you learn that we are thus far on our

homeward journey, all safe and well. This letter is to be a SHORT one

(after having finished the letter I underscore the word), as it has

only been decided a few hours ago to despatch three of our Indian

scouts from here to Fort Buford--one hundred and twenty miles distant

by river, only eighty by land--with mail, and to bring back what awaits

us in return. As there are many official matters for me to attend to

between now and to-morrow morning--the time of the departure of the

scouts--I do not hope to give you but the main points of a letter, the

details to be filled up by word of mouth.

I am here with six companies of cavalry, having separated from the main

expedition several days ago on the Mussel Shell River, and marched to

this point direct, a distance of about one hundred and fifty miles.

The mules of the large trains began giving out; forage was almost

exhausted, the horses being allowed only about three pounds per day,

fourteen pounds being regular allowance. The country was entirely

unknown; no guides knew anything of the route before us. General ----

did not think it wise to venture into the unknown and uninviting region

with his command. But I did not feel inclined to yield to obstacles,

and made an application to take the main portion of the cavalry and

strike through for the stockade direct instead of turning back. I asked

that the railroad engineers be allowed to continue with me. Consent was

given and we started.

At head-quarters it was not believed that I would get through. So

strong was this impression, that in the official order issued for my

movement there was a clause authorizing me to burn or abandon all my

wagons or other public property, if, in my opinion, such steps were

necessary to preserve life. I could not help but smile to myself as I

read that portion of the order. I had no idea of burning or abandoning

a wagon. After we had separated from the main column, the chief of

the engineers remarked to the officers, “How positively sanguine the

general is that he will make this trip successfully.” And so I was. I

assured him from the first, and from day to day, that the 7th Cavalry

would bring them through all right. We had the good-luck to strike

across and encounter, instead of serious obstacles, the most favorable

country yet met by us for marching. Hitherto we had made about fifteen

miles per day; when we started on this trip we marched twenty-two miles

one day and thirty-five the next, and so on, and brought in every wagon

with which we started, reaching here about seven o’clock the morning of

the sixth day from our separation.

The main command headed back towards the Yellowstone, and expects to

be twelve or thirteen days in making the trip. I am going to send an

officer with his squadron in charge of fourteen wagons loaded with

forage to the relief of the rest of the command.

Our location for next winter is settled. We shall be at Fort Lincoln,

and the decision is satisfactory to me. I presume you wish you were

here to give the lieutenant-colonel of the battalion[C] a little advice

as to what companies shall be designated for each station. So far as

this reason alone is concerned, I am glad that you are not here, as I

not only would not wish you to attempt to influence such a decision,

but that no person or persons might have just ground for imagining that

you had done so. The officers are hinting strongly in the endeavor to

ascertain “Who goes where?” but thus far none are any the wiser, for

the simple reason that I have not decided the matter yet in the case of

a single troop.

[C] This reference is to himself.

It is a delicate, and in some respects an undesirable task, as all, so

far as I know, desire to go to Fort Lincoln. If no accident occurs, we

shall reach there before October 1st--less than a month from this date,

and probably less than ten days from the time you receive this, so that

all your anxiety about me will be at an end. I do not intend to relax

my caution on the march between here and Lincoln, as I do not forget

that the two officers killed last year met their deaths near the close

of the expedition.

I think I told you in my letter of eighty pages about my chasing elk

four miles and killing three. Since then I have had the good-fortune to

kill a fine large buck-elk taller than “Dandy,”[D] weighing, cleaned,

eight hundred pounds, and with the handsomest pair of antlers I ever

saw, and such a beautiful coat. I killed him only a mile and a half

from camp, sent for a wagon, and carried him entire back with us, when

the officers and men, and even those belonging to the scientific party,

flocked to the grassy plot in front of my tent to see him.

[D] His favorite hunting-horse.

The photographer who accompanied the scientists hitched up his

photograph-wagon and drove over to take a picture of what they called

the “King of the Forest.” All the officers and the photographer

insisted that not only the game but the hunter should appear in the

picture. So I sat down, dressed as I was in my buckskins, resting one

hand on an antler, and you may judge of the immense size of the elk

when I tell you that as I sat there my head only reached to about half

the height of the antlers. The picture is to form one of the series now

being collected on the expedition under the auspices of the Smithsonian

Institute.

Since the expedition started I have become acquainted with the

gentlemen of the scientific corps, particularly with the zoologist and

the taxidermist. The latter has been kind enough to make me a pupil of

his, and I can now preserve animals for all practical purposes. I have

been able to supply the gentlemen referred to with many specimens of

animals, and, in return, they have not only taught me but supplied me

with all the means necessary to preserve prepared animals.

You should see how very devoted I am to this, to me, very pleasant and

interesting pastime. Often, after marching all day, a light may be seen

in my tent long after the entire camp is asleep, and a looker-on might

see me, with sleeves rolled above the elbow, busily engaged preparing

the head of some animal killed in the chase. Assisting me might be seen

the orderly and Hughes, both, from their sleepy looks, seeming to say,

“How much longer are we to be kept out of our beds?”

I have succeeded so well in taxidermy that I can take the head and neck

of an antelope, fresh from the body, and in two hours have it fully

ready for preservation. I have prepared a most beautiful buck-antelope

head and neck for Tom. He intends it for his sweetheart, and will send

it by express from Bismarck.

I have just finished heads for two officers, which they intend as

presents for their wives, and one I shall give to the Audubon Club.

Then I have the heads of two black-tailed deer, of a buck and doe

antelope for _us_, and the head and skin with claws of a grisly-bear.

The latter is not thoroughly cured, owing to our constant marching

and the immense amount of fat contained in the neck and hide. The _ne

plus ultra_ of all is the “King of the Forest.” I have succeeded in

preserving him entire--antlers, head, neck, body, legs, and hoofs--in

fine condition, so that he can be mounted and look _exactly as in

life_. To prevent the hair being rubbed, I have caused the head to be

well covered with grain-sacks, and this, with the entire skin, to be

sewed up securely in canvas.

The scientists informed me that there were but few specimens on this

continent of elk preserved entire, and none so fine as mine. When I

first began work on it I only intended to save the head, neck, and

antlers, but finding that I was able to save the whole, I decided upon

the latter course. Had I kept the head and neck only, it was intended

for you; but having it complete alters my intention, as it would

require a room to contain it. So I have concluded, with your approval,

to present it to the Audubon Club in Detroit.[E]

[E] It is now in Detroit.

I have a fine buffalo head for you, beautifully haired and with

symmetrical horns. A pair of sage-chickens, a pair of curlew, and a

jack-rabbit complete my present collection....

One day I shot three antelope without changing my position, the nearest

of the three being three hundred and twenty yards from me.

Our mess continues to be successful. Nearly every day we have something

nice to send to Lieutenant Braden.[F] Only think of him, with his

shattered thigh, having to trail over a rough country for three hundred

miles! He is not transported in an ambulance, but a long stretcher

arranged on wheels about thirty feet apart, pulled and pushed by men on

foot. They carry him much more steadily than would horses or mules. It

requires a full company of men each day to transport Mr. Braden in this

way. He is with the main command, but was doing well when we left. The

day the command divided I had the band take a position near the route

where the rest of the expedition would pass, and when he and his escort

approached they struck up “Garryowen.” He acknowledged the attention as

well as he could.

[F] Lieutenant Braden was wounded in the battle described in

the official report which accompanies this letter.

Upon our arrival here what was our joy to find quite a large mail

awaiting us! It had been forwarded from Rice and Lincoln to Fort

Buford, and from there came here by scouts. I received four letters

from you.... Do you know, on the 4th of August--the very day you were

writing me one of the letters I received--I was fighting, probably at

the same time.... After I received my four letters I threw myself down

on the bed to read them. When any one poked his head inside my large

and comfortable tent, and ventured a question, you can probably imagine

the brevity and abruptness of a certain man’s replies. My communication

was strictly Biblical, being either “Yea, yea, or Nay, nay.”

East Bank of the Yellowstone, September 10th.

... When I began my letter, a few days ago, announcing our safe return

to the stockade, I said you must only expect a few lines; but those few

lines stretched out until they covered five sheets of letter-paper. I

could now cover five times five and then only have begun my letter, but

where the time is to be found I cannot tell.

We are just taking the men across the river on the _Josephine_, which

arrived yesterday. My head-quarters and about half the troops are over,

the rest will have followed by night. As Sheldon & Co., publishers of

the _Galaxy_, say, I am going to “boil down” this letter to as many

brief allusions as possible.

Instead of waiting here for the rest of the command to move, to-morrow

will find us on our way to Lincoln. I take six troops of the 7th, two

companies of infantry, and with the engineers set out on our return. We

rely confidently on reaching Lincoln before October 1st. The reports

brought by those who came on the boat place everything in a bright

light regarding our new quarters at Lincoln.

I think we will have a charming garrison this winter. I wish we had

some one competent to give us lessons in private theatricals. I learn

by the boat that Department Head-quarters have telegraphed to Lincoln

that it is possible I may wish to take a long leave. They almost take

it for granted I will go, but I shall not. Do you remember, on my

return from the Washita campaign, I was offered a leave in a similar

manner? I have no desire to be absent from my post now....

I have enjoyed a few very great luxuries to-day. At dinner, on the

_Josephine_, for the first time this season (September 10th) I tasted

new potatoes and cucumbers; but these were not the greatest. What do

you imagine was a greater luxury? RAW ONIONS!!!![G] Even at this great

distance I almost tremble when I inform you that I not only had onions

for dinner, but the captain of the boat gave me a whole bushel of fine

large ones. I supped on RAW ONIONS; I will probably breakfast, lunch,

and dine on them to-morrow, and the next day, and the day after _ad

libitum ad infinitum_, until--not time, but onions--shall be no more.

As one by one I dispose of each goodly-sized fragment of a huge onion,

I remark, _sotto voce_, “Go it, old fellow! Make the most of your

liberties! You are on the home-stretch now, and school soon commences;”

in other words, “If you intend to eat raw onions, now is your only

time, for ‘missus is comin’.’”

[G] I have copied the words as he printed them.

I would be glad to have every one of the officers now with me stationed

at my post. My relations with them, personal and official, are

extremely agreeable. They are all counting on going to Lincoln, but I

know some of them will have to be disappointed....

The steamer _Josephine_ will probably leave for Lincoln to-morrow or

next day, and should reach there in four or five days, so that you

should receive this letter in about one week.... The steamer brought

me two splendid letters from you, one dated the 18th, another the

25th of August. I received them on the 9th, which is pretty quick,

considering....

My collection of geological specimens for the Michigan University

is growing satisfactorily. The Indian battles hindered the work of

collecting, while in that immediate region it was unsafe to go far from

the command....

* * * * *

P.S.--Good-morning!... I am sitting in my large, comfortable tent,

writing before breakfast. And now I must refer to a matter which

thrusts itself upon my attention almost daily, yes, hourly, and that

is the great degree of comfort which I have enjoyed throughout this

long and ever-changing march; and it is all due to your thoughtfulness

and foresight, and the manner in which you fitted me up surpasses all

my comrades. No mess has compared with mine in its appointments and

outfit. I have the best cook, and certainly no bed can equal mine.

Whenever I look around me I see the evidences of your handiwork and

care for my welfare....

You never knew people more enthusiastic over the 7th than the engineers

connected with the railroad party.... Well, I must terminate this

letter, as I see no likelihood of my being able to tell you one-tenth

of what I have to say. However, we will have all winter in our “brand,

spankin’” new house to talk it over and over....

Here I have reached my thirty-second page of this large paper. I only

thought of writing three or four, and have “boiled down” as hard as I

could....

Fort Lincoln, September 23, 1873.

... Where are the numerous bridges now which you have been crossing and

recrossing in regard to our return being delayed until late in October,

perhaps until the first of November? Well, here we are, not only “as

good as new,” but, if anything, heartier, healthier, and more robust

than ever.

I have not drawn a single unhealthy breath since we started on the

expedition, and if ever a lot of hardy, strong, and athletic young

fellows were assembled in one party, it is to be seen in a group of the

officers of the 7th. What a history and reputation this 7th Cavalry has

achieved for itself! Although a new and young regiment, it has left all

the older fellows in the lurch, until to-day it is the best and most

widely known of any in the service.

I am provoked to think I wrote you a long letter on the Yellowstone,

also a telegram, and intrusted them to an officer who was to take

passage in the steamer _Josephine_, and leave about the time we did. It

should have reached here several days before we arrived, but I took six

troops of cavalry and the engineers, crossed the Yellowstone to this

side, and reached Fort Lincoln in eight days.

We took everybody by surprise, and beat the steamer here, so that your

letter and telegram are still on the boat somewhere between this point

and the stockade. You may rely upon it that no grass grew under our

feet on our return march. I knew that my family--consisting of one--was

in advance somewhere, and, as the saying is, I just “lit out.”[H] I

am so comfortably fixed in my large, heavy canvas railroad tent that

was given me on the expedition, I am sure that you and I could live

comfortably in it all winter.

[H] Here follows a description of Fort Lincoln. His sanguine

temperament made it seem little short of an earthly

paradise. He did not seem to realize that the prosaic and

plain Government buildings were placed on a treeless and

barren plain. In a carefully prepared plan of our house

which he had drawn, he gave the dimensions and description

of each room, and over the door of his library a triple

underlining of his words, “MY ROOM,” and the motto, “Who

enters here leaves hope behind.” He thus began, before we

had even occupied the house, playfully to threaten any one

who disturbed his writing or studies.

I am much pleased with the appearance of the citizens who have come

across the river from Bismarck to pay their respects and offer

congratulations on the summer’s campaign. Some of the Yankton gentlemen

are here attending court, and they also came over to see me.

I have just had a telegram from General Sheridan: “Welcome home.”

Fort Lincoln, September 28, 1873.

... When you find that I have just sent the 7th Cavalry band to

serenade ---- on his departure, you will say to yourself, “He has

been too forgiving again.” Well, perhaps I have. I often think of the

beautiful expression uttered by President Lincoln at the consecration

of the Gettysburg monument, and feel how nearly it expresses my belief,

“With malice toward none, with charity for all!” and I hope this will

ever be mine to say.[I]

[I] The officer to whom reference is made had been a persistent

and exasperating enemy of my husband during the summer,

and I could not forget or forgive, even after apologies

were offered, especially as they were not offered in the

presence of others.

Adopting your wise and deserved suggestion, I have at last written my

long delayed letter to Mr. Ford, and among other things told him I

would send him per express the skins of two young elk that I killed, to

have them tanned, and a pair of shoes made for each of us. So, you see,

I did as I generally do, obeyed my “other half,” who nine times out of

ten is right, and generally the _tenth time, too_.

During a halt of two days, just before we started for home, I wrote

a long _Galaxy_ article, and shall mail it with this. Not only did I

do that instead of resting, because of the appeals of the magazine

editors, but it behooved me to get off my contributions with some

regularity; for if I stop now, those who attribute them to you would

say all the more it was because you were not along to do the work for

me. If people only knew the amusement they have afforded us by laying

the responsibility of these articles on your shoulders.

I must not forget to tell you that during the expedition I killed with

my rifle and brought into camp forty-one antelope, four buffalo, four

elk, seven deer (four of them black-tails), two white wolves, and one

red fox.

Geese, ducks, prairie-chickens, and sage-hens without number completed

my summer’s record.

No one assisted me in killing the antelope, deer, or elk, except one of

the latter.

One porcupine and a wildcat I brought in alive. Both of these amiable

creatures I intend to send to Central Park....

LETTERS FROM THE BLACK HILLS, 1874.

_The following Extracts are taken from Letters sent from the Expedition

to the Black Hills, referred to in Chapter XX._

Thirteen Miles from Fort Lincoln, July 3, 1874.

... Yesterday was a hard day on the trains. The recent rains had so

softened the ground that the heavily-loaded wagons sunk to the hubs,

and instead of getting in camp by noon as we expected, one battalion

did not get in until after dark. But we had a good dinner, and every

one is feeling well this morning. I am making a late start in order to

give the mules a chance to graze.

I send you by bearer a young curlew, as a playmate to the wild-goose.

Should it live, its wings had better be clipped. Grasshoppers are its

principal diet.

Our mess is a great success. Last night, notwithstanding the late

hour at which we reached camp, Johnson, our new colored cook, had

hot biscuit, and this morning hot cakes and biscuit. We will not be

over twenty or twenty-five miles from the post to-night. The men are

standing around waiting to take down the tents, so I must say good-bye.

Prospect Valley, Dakota,

Twelve miles from the Montana line, July 15th.

... We are making a halt of one day at this charming spot, in order

to rest the animals and give the men an opportunity to wash their

clothes. I will begin by saying everything is and has been perfectly

satisfactory. Every one--officers, men, and citizens--are in the best

of health and spirits.

We have marched through an exceedingly interesting country. We are now

in the most beautiful valley we have seen thus far, and encamped on a

small tributary of the Little Missouri, and about five miles from the

latter. So beautiful did this place seem to us when we first came in

sight of it, I directed the engineer-officer, who is making a map of

the country, to call it Prospect Valley.

Three days ago we reached the cave referred to, before we started,

by the Indian called “Goose.” It was found to be about four hundred

feet long, and just as he described, the walls and top covered with

inscriptions and drawings. The prints of hands and feet are also in

the rocks. I think this was all the work of Indians at an early day,

although I cannot satisfactorily account for the drawings of ships

found there.

“Bos,”[J] though this is his first expedition, takes to life on the

plains as naturally as if bred to it. One of the officers says he

thinks it must “run in the blood.” He has to go through the usual

experience that falls to all “plebs.” Every one practises jokes on him,

but he has such a good disposition it does not even _ruffle him_. I

know that you would espouse his cause against us if you had seen him

take some bits of rocks out of his pocket every night after we had

reached camp, and put them to soak in his wash-basin. They were given

to him by Tom, who assured him that they were sponge stone--a variety

that softened by keeping them in water for a certain length of time.

After a few nights of faithful practice it dawned upon him that he was

again the victim of a practical joke, and he quietly dropped them by

the way without saying a word. You need not trouble yourself to take up

arms in his defence, for he gets even with us in the long-run.

[J] Our younger brother.

He has been so pleased with his mule from the first, and has praised

him to me repeatedly. He _is_ a good animal, for a _mule_, but

endurance, in his constitution, rather triumphs over speed. I could not

resist taking advantage of the country to play a trick on “Bos” one day.

The land was undulating, and you know how it always seems as if one

could surely see for miles beyond when the top of each divide is

reached, and how one can go on all day over the constant rise and fall

of the earth, thinking the next divide will reveal a vast stretch

of country. “Bos” rode beside me, and I invented an excuse to go in

advance; I made “Vic” gallop slowly over the divide, and when out of

sight on the other side I put spurs to him and dashed through the low

ground. When “Bos” came in sight I was slowly ambling up the next

divide and calling to him to come on. He spurred his mule, shouted to

him, and waved his arms and legs to incite him to a faster gait. When

he neared me I disappeared over another divide, and giving “Vic” the

rein only slackened speed when it became time for “Bos” to appear.

Then, when I had brought my horse down to a walk I called out, “Why on

earth don’t you come on?” Believing that the gait he saw me take had

been unvarying, he could not understand why I lengthened the distance

between us so rapidly. I kept this up until he discovered my joke, and

I was obliged to ride back to join him and suit “Vic’s” steps to those

of his exhausted mule....

No Indians or signs of Indians were seen from the time we left Lincoln

until the day before yesterday, when about twenty were discovered

near the column. They scampered off as soon as observed. Yesterday we

came where they had slept. The officer on rear-guard duty saw about

twenty-five following our trail.

Signal smokes were sent up all around us yesterday afternoon by the

Indians, and some were seen watching us after we reached camp, but

no hostile demonstrations have been made. Our Indian guides say the

signals may be intended to let the village know where we are, so that

they may keep out of our way....

We expect to reach the base of the Black Hills in about three days.

Professor Winchell and Mr. Grinnell discovered yesterday the fossil

remains of an animal belonging to some extinct race which in life

exceeded in size the largest elephant....

I am gradually forming my annual menagerie. I have one live

rattlesnake--for Agnes[K]--two jack-rabbits, half grown, one eagle,

and four owls. I had also two fine badgers, full grown, but they were

accidentally smothered....

[K] This was our young visitor, whose horror of snakes General

Custer well knew.

These are the first lines I have written since my last letter to you,

nearly a fortnight since, and you cannot imagine how tired my hand and

arm have become already. I have made no attempt to write on the march;

the short time I have after reaching camp every day is devoted to rest

and sleep....

General “Sandy” is delighted with the 7th Cavalry; he says no regiment

compares with it except perhaps the 4th. There has not been a single

card-party nor a drunken officer since we left Lincoln....

Our mess is a decided and gratifying success. Johnson is not only an

excellent cook but very prompt. We breakfast at four o’clock every

morning. Every day I invite some officer to dine with us.

I remember your wishes and ride at the head of the column, keeping

inside our lines all the time, although it is a great deprivation to

me not to go outside and hunt. I feel exactly like some young lady

extremely fond of dancing, who, having a cold, has been forbidden by

her anxious mamma to do more than look on at some elegant party. I

received my orders from my commanding officer before starting, and I am

going to try and render strict obedience.[L]

[L] This reference to commanding officer meant his wife, whose

authority only extended to precautionary instructions as to

his safety and health. The reiterated petition was that he

should never leave the column alone.

... In looking for a road I sometimes get a mile or perhaps two ahead

of the command, but I always have seventy or eighty men with me, and

after to-day I mean to take in addition two more companies. I have no

intention of getting beyond sight and hearing of the main column. There

is an advance-guard always, and the Indian scouts at the front and on

the flanks....

I have killed six antelope at the head of the command.... Only think!

one-fifth of the time expired day before yesterday, and by the time

this reaches you one-third of our time of separation will have passed.

We will not be delayed in our return later than I expected when we left

Fort Lincoln....

As I write, the dogs surround me: “Cardigan” is sleeping on the edge of

my bed, “Tuck” at the head, and “Blücher” near by.... I am not certain

whether I will be able to send back more scouts or not. This mail is

to be carried by two Rees, Bull Bear and Skunk’s Head. Bloody Knife is

doing splendidly on this trip.

There is not a single man on the sick-report in this entire command--a

fact which the medical officer regards as unprecedented.... We will

move into the valley of the Little Missouri to-morrow, and probably

follow that stream to the Black Hills. You may judge of the fine

country we have passed over by the fact that our mules and beef-herd

have actually improved since we left Lincoln. We have travelled two

hundred and twenty-seven and a half miles, and in a straight line we

are one hundred and seventy miles from Lincoln. I must stop now, and

write my official report.

Camp near Harney’s Peak, August 2, 1874.

I wish you could see me at this moment as I am prepared to write to

you. First I must tell you that I cannot send a very long letter--not

that I have not volumes to say to you, but for reasons which I will

briefly explain. In the evening, after reaching camp, I am too much

occupied and have too much hard work to find time to write. After

dinner I usually take an escort and search out a few miles of road for

the following day. When I return I am ready to hasten to my comfortable

bed.[M]

[M] Nothing but excessive fatigue and a determination to

make the best of everything could have prompted him to

describe it as comfortable. On the first day’s march out

from garrison a careless soldier forgot the three boards

that were intended to keep the bedding from absorbing the

dampness in case of rain. During the entire summer, owing

to this piece of forgetfulness, the mattress was laid down

every night on ground that was always uneven and sometimes

wet.

We have _reveille_ regularly at a quarter before three, so that it

behooves one to get to bed as early as possible.... To-day has been

letter-day. Charlie Reynolds leaves in the morning with the mail for

Fort Laramie. I am going to explore some twenty-five or thirty miles in

that direction, and Reynolds will go with me. I take five companies.

Two others started off in another direction this morning to be absent

three days; so you see they are kept moving. I will be gone three days;

the next day after that we turn our faces northward and begin our

homeward march. I must not forget to explain the other reason why I

cannot send you a letter of thirty pages or so this time--one of those

that Tom calls my “little notes” to you. I was busy with the office

duties until ten to-day, and then I began my official report. I had so

many interruptions I was at last driven to print “Engaged” on a placard

and pin it on the front of my tent; I tied up the flaps, shutting

myself in until the twenty-two pages of my report were written.

It is now a quarter to one. Breakfast is at four, and “Boots and

Saddles” will sound at five. I wish I could go more into detail in

describing the expedition, which has exceeded all previous ones, and in

success has surpassed my most sanguine expectations.

I did not hope to have my wagon-train with me, and here it has followed

me everywhere. We have discovered a rich and beautiful country. We

have had no Indian fights and will have none. We have discovered gold

without a doubt, and probably other valuable metals. All are well, and

have been the entire trip.

My report, which you will see, will contain much that I would have sent

you in a letter....

August 3d.

P.S.--... We have marched forty-five miles to-day, in a southerly

direction from Harney’s Peak, and are now encamped on the south fork of

the Cheyenne River, about ninety miles from Fort Laramie. Reynolds[N]

leaves us here. We are now all seated or lying around a camp-fire,

writing the closing words to our letters....

[N] The scout mentioned in Chapter XXVI. It was on this trip

to Fort Laramie, carrying the despatches and mail, that he

suffered such hardships and peril.

I must say good-bye. A few days more and we shall be at home, for we

start north at five o’clock in the morning....

Bear Butte, Dakota, August 15th.

Though we shall so soon be at home, I must send a few lines by the

scout who takes the official despatches. I cannot tell you how busy I

have been, and how hard and constantly I have worked to try and make

the expedition successful. I have attempted to be several other things

besides commanding officer--particularly guide--since the expedition

started.

Now that we have been in and through the Black Hills, I have the

satisfaction of knowing that the whole undertaking has proved a

success, exceeding the expectations of the most sanguine. I think that

my superior officers will be surprised and gratified at the extent and

thoroughness of our explorations....

The photographer who accompanied us has obtained a complete set of

magnificent stereoscopic views of Black Hills scenery, so I will not

attempt to allude to this lovely country until I can review it with you

by aid of the photographs. I send you one that will show you that at

last I have killed a grisly after a most exciting hunt and contest....

Colonel Ludlow, Bloody Knife, and Private Noonan are with me in the

group, as we constituted the hunting-party. The bear measured eight

feet. I have his claws.

The scouts are on their ponies waiting for the mail, and I must

hasten....

It would have been such a treat to have had you see all that we have

seen this summer, and shared the enjoyment of this beautiful land.

But, never mind, you shall come next summer, for we all hope to return

again....

No Indians have been seen lately, but I intend to be careful until the

end of the trip....

LETTERS FROM THE YELLOWSTONE, 1876.

_Extracts from Letters written on the Second Expedition to the

Yellowstone, during the Summer of 1876._

Forty-six Miles from Fort Lincoln,

May 20th, 1876--9.15 P.M.

... It has just been decided to send scouts back to Lincoln. They leave

here at daylight, and will remain there thirty-six hours, returning to

us with despatches and mail. We are having the “parrot’s time” with the

expedition.

It is raining now, and has been since we started. The roads are

fearfully bad. Here we are on the Little Muddy, after marching four

days, and only forty-six miles from home. Everybody is more or less

disgusted except me, and I feel the relief of not having to bear the

responsibility of the delays.

The elements seem against us, but a wet season and bad roads can be

looked for always in this region in the months of May and June.

We have not seen any signs of Indians thus far, and hardly look for any

for a few days yet. I have been extremely prudent--sufficiently so to

satisfy you. I go nowhere without taking an escort with me. I act as

if Indians were near all the time. The mess prospers well. Tom and I

have fried onions at breakfast and dinner, and raw onions for lunch![O]

The scouts that were left at Lincoln joined us yesterday about 10 A.M.

with the mail. I wish that you knew how good it was to get the letters.

You must send me more by the scouts we send out to-morrow.... Since

beginning this letter it is decided that they go at once, for I know it

is best to get them out of camp at night; so they have been directed to

saddle-up immediately, and I must therefore cut this letter short.

[O] They both took advantage of their first absence from

home to partake of their favorite vegetable. Onions were

permitted at our table, but after indulging in them they

found themselves severely let alone, and that they did not

enjoy.

I said this evening that if I was sure this expedition would go no

farther the next four days than it has those just past, I would be glad

to take despatches to Lincoln and return, just for the sake of getting

home again for a few hours....

On Little Missouri, May 30th--10 P.M.

... I am determined to sit up, even though it is ten o’clock, and

write to you, notwithstanding I have had a tremendous day’s work. I

breakfasted at four o’clock, was in the saddle at five, and between

that hour and 6 P.M. I rode fifty miles over a rough country, unknown

to everybody, and only myself for a guide.

We had halted here for one day in order to determine the truth of the

many rumors which you and all of us have heard so long and often,

to the effect that the hostile Indians were gathered on the Little

Missouri River, with the intention of fighting us here.

I suggested to General Terry to send out a strong scouting-party up the

river to find out all that could be ascertained. He left the matter to

me, and I took four companies of cavalry and a part of the scouts, and

at five o’clock we were off. The valley of the river averages about one

mile in width, hemmed in on both sides by impassable Bad Lands. The

river is crooked beyond description.

To shorten the story, we marched the fifty miles and got back before

dark, having settled the question beyond a doubt that all stories about

large bodies of Indians being here are the merest bosh. None have been

here for six months, not even a small hunting-party.

We took pack-mules with us to carry feed for the horses. When we

lunched, all the officers got together and we had a jolly time.

Only think, we found the Little Missouri River so crooked and the Bad

Lands so impassable that in marching fifty miles to-day we forded the

river thirty-four (34) times. The bottom is quicksand. Many of the

horses went down, frequently tumbling their riders into the water; but

all were in good spirits, and every one laughed at every one else’s

mishaps.

General Terry just left my tent a few moments since, and when I asked

him not to be in a hurry he said, “Oh, I’ll leave you, for you must be

tired and want to go to bed.” I did not tell him that I was going to

write to you before I slept.

Bloody Knife looks on in wonder at me because I never get tired, and

says no other man could ride all night and never sleep. I know I

shall sleep soundly when I do lie down; but, actually, I feel no more

fatigued now than I did before mounting my horse this morning....

What I am going to tell you is for you alone. But ---- came to me the

other day, and asked me to arrange that he should be stationed at our

post next winter. He says he wants to be in a garrison where the duty

is strict, and, above all, he desires to prove that he is, and desires

to be, a man, and he believes that he could do much better than he has

if he could serve under me. He says the very atmosphere of his post

seems filled with evil for him. I have a scheme by which I think I can

accomplish his coming, and I believe that you will approve.[P]

[P] We had been extremely anxious about the officer to whom my

husband refers, and longed to save him from himself. Since

he is gone, I think that I am not betraying confidence in

quoting from this letter.

The scouts reached here in good time, and glad was I to get my

letters....

In Camp, about Ten Miles West of the Little Missouri,

May 31st.

... We left camp about eight o’clock. After marching a few miles, Tom,

“Bos,” and I, taking some men, started on a near route across the

country, knowing that we would intercept the column later on. This is

the second time I have left the main command, and both times they have

lost their way; so you see my “bump of locality” is of some use out

here. We reached this camp about three-quarters of an hour from the

time we left the column, but the latter strayed off, and while we were

here by 9 A.M., the rest did not reach here until two o’clock. When

they found they were lost, the officers all assembled at the head of

the column to consult together and try and find the right way.

To-day, while out with Tom and “Bos,” we were riding through a part

of the country filled with small _buttes_, in which it was easy to

lose one’s self. “Bos” stopped a few moments as we were riding through

a ravine, and dismounted to take a pebble from his pony’s shoe. I

observed it, and said to Tom, “Let’s slip round the hill behind ‘Bos,’

where he can’t find us, and when he starts we’ll fire in the air near

him.” The moment we passed out of sight our entire party galloped

around the hill behind him and concealed ourselves. Tom and I crawled

to the top of the bill and peeped through the grass without being seen.

Sure enough, “Bos” thought he was lost, as we could nowhere be seen in

the direction he expected to find us.

Tom and I were watching him, and just as he seemed in a quandary as to

where we were, I fired my rifle so that the bullet whizzed over his

head. I popped out of sight for a moment, and when I looked again “Bos”

was heading his pony towards the command, miles away. I fired another

shot in his direction, and so did Tom, and away “Bos” flew across

the plains, thinking, no doubt, the Sioux were after him. Tom and I

mounted our horses and soon overhauled him. He will not hear the last

of it for some time.

Charlie Reynolds killed two big-horn sheep to-day and gave me the

finest of the two heads. I have it in my tent now and hope to preserve

it, although I came away without my preservative powders.

Nearly all my amusement is with “Bos” and Tom. We lunch together every

day.... I have about made up my mind that when I go on expeditions like

this you are to go too. You could have endured this as well as not....

Powder River, about Twenty Miles above its Mouth,

June 9, 1876.

... We are now in a country heretofore unvisited by white men.

Reynolds, who had been guiding the command, lost his way the other day,

and General Terry did not know what to do about finding a road from

O’Fallon’s Creek across to Powder River. I told him I thought I could

guide the column. He assented; so Tom, “Bos,” and I started ahead, with

company D and the scouts as escort, and brought the command to this

point, over what seems to be the only practicable route for miles on

either side, through the worst kind of Bad Lands. The general did not

believe it possible to find a road through. When, after a hard day’s

work, we arrived at this river by a good, easy road, making thirty-two

miles in one day, he was delighted and came to congratulate me.

Yesterday I finished a _Galaxy_ article, which will go in the next

mail; so, you see, I am not entirely idle. Day before yesterday I rode

nearly fifty miles, arose yesterday morning, and went to work at my

article, determined to finish it before night, which I did, amidst

constant interruptions. It is now nearly midnight, and I must go to my

bed, for _reveille_ comes at three.

As a slight evidence that I am not very conceited regarding my personal

appearance, I have not looked in a mirror or seen the reflection of

my beautiful (?) countenance, including the fine growth of _auburn_

whiskers, since I looked in the glass at Lincoln.[Q]

[Q] This reference to the color of his beard, which he only

allowed to grow on campaigns, was a reminder of the fact

upon which we had long since agreed: that though Titian

might have found beauty in that tint, we did not.

On Yellowstone, at Mouth of Powder River,

June 11th--10.30 P.M.

... This morning we left our camp on Powder River, I acting again as

guide. The expedition started to make its way through unknown Bad

Lands to the mouth of the river. General Terry felt great anxiety in

regard to the trip, as he feared that we could not get through with

the wagons. He had been down the river to its mouth with cavalry, and

he and those with him said that wagons could not make the march in a

month, and the Bad Lands looked still more impracticable. He came to my

tent before daylight, and asked me if I would try to find the road. He

seems to think I have a gift in that way, and he hoped that we might

get within ten miles of the river’s mouth to-day. What rendered our

condition more embarrassing was that the men had only rations for one

day left.

I started with one company and the scouts, and in we “plunged boldly.”

One company had been sent out the previous day to look for a road, and

their failure to return the same day increased the anxiety. I thought

likely they had lost their way and had slept in the Bad Lands. Sure

enough we found them about 10 A.M.

After passing through some perfectly terrible country I finally

struck a beautiful road along a high plateau, and instead of guiding

the command within ten miles of here we have all arrived and the

wagon-train beside.

If you will look on the map near my desk you will find the mouth of

Powder River and our present location on the Yellowstone, almost due

west from Lincoln. Follow up the Yellowstone a short distance, and the

first stream you come to is the Tongue River, to which point we will

move after resting three or four days. We will there be joined by the

six companies of the regiment now absent on a scout, and I shall then

select the nine companies to go with me....

The steamer _Far West_ leaves for Port Buford to-morrow.... As I was

up at three this morning, and have had a hard day’s march, and as it

is now going on to twelve, I must hie to bed to get a little rest and

slumber....

Monday, June 12th--before Breakfast.

... I rose early this morning, without waiting to be called to

breakfast, in order that I might write my letter. The Yellowstone

is very high; steamers loaded to their utmost capacity can go up

some distance above the mouth of the Big Horn. I wanted to send you

a letter that I wished you to read and afterwards re-mail, had I not

thought you might have found an opportunity to come up the river in the

_Josephine_. The new supplies for our mess--of onions, potatoes, and

dried apples--have just come from the boat.

“Tuck”[R] regularly comes when I am writing, and lays her head on the

desk, rooting up my hand with her long nose until I consent to stop and

notice her. She and Swift, Lady and Kaiser sleep in my tent.

[R] She was my husband’s favorite dog.

You need not be anxious about my leaving the column with small escorts;

I scarcely hunt any more.[S]...

[S] This letter was scorched and defaced, but fortunately I

could read it all, thanks to those who sat up all night to

dry the mail.

Mouth of Tongue River, June 17th.

... I fear that my last letter, written from the mouth of Powder River,

was not received in very good condition by you. The mail was sent in

a row-boat from the stockade to Buford, under charge of a sergeant

and three or four men of the 6th Infantry. Just as they were pushing

off from the _Far West_ the boat capsized, and mail and soldiers were

thrown into the rapid current; the sergeant sank and was never seen

again. The mail was recovered, after being submerged for five or ten

minutes. Captain Marsh and several others sat up all night and dried it

by the stove. I was told that my letter to you went off all right, also

my _Galaxy_ article. The latter was recognized by a young newspaper

reporter and telegraph operator who came up on the train with us from

St. Paul, and he took special pains in drying it.

With six companies of the 7th, the Gatling battery, the scouts, and the

pack-mules, I left the mouth of Powder River Thursday morning, leaving

all our wagons behind, and directing our march for this point, less

than forty miles distant. General Terry and staff followed by steamer.

We marched here in about one and a quarter days. The boat arrived

yesterday evening.... The officers were ordered to leave their tents

behind. They are now lying under tent-flies or in shelter-tents. When

we leave here I shall only take a tent-fly. We are living delightfully.

This morning we had a splendid dish of fried fish, which Tom, “Bos,”

and I caught a few steps from my tent last evening.

The other day, on our march from Powder River, I shot an antelope. That

night, while sitting round the camp-fire, and while Hughes was making

our coffee, I roasted some of the ribs Indian fashion, and I must say

they were delicious. We all slept in the open air around the fire,

Tom and I under a fly, “Bos” and Autie Reed on the opposite side. Tom

pelted “Bos” with sticks and clods of earth after we had retired. I

don’t know what we would do with out “Bos” to tease....

Yesterday Tom and I saw a wild-goose flying over-head quite high in the

air. We were in the bushes and could not see each other. Neither knew

that the other intended to fire. Both fired simultaneously, and down

came the goose, killed. Don’t you think that pretty good shooting for

rifles?

On our march here we passed through some very extensive Indian

villages--rather the remains of villages occupied by them last winter.

I was at the head of the column as we rode through one, and suddenly

came upon a human skull lying under the remains of an extinct fire.

I halted to examine it, and lying near by I found the uniform of a

soldier. Evidently it was a cavalry uniform, as the buttons on the

overcoat had “C” on them, and the dress coat had the yellow cord of

the cavalry uniform running through it. The skull was weather-beaten,

and had evidently been there several months. All the circumstances

went to show that the skull was that of some poor mortal who had been

a prisoner in the hands of the savages, and who doubtless had been

tortured to death, probably burned....

We are expecting the _Josephine_ to arrive in a day or two. I hope

that it will bring me a good long letter from you, otherwise I do not

feel particularly interested in her arrival--unless, by good-luck, you

should be on board; you might just as well be here as not.... I hope to

begin another _Galaxy_ article, if the spirit is favorable....

Mouth of Rosebud, June 21, 1876.

... Look on my map and you will find our present location on the

Yellowstone, about midway between Tongue River and the Big Horn.

The scouting-party has returned. They saw the trail and deserted camp

of a village of three hundred and eighty (380) lodges. The trail was

about one week old. The scouts reported that they could have overtaken

the village in one day and a half. I am now going to take up the trail

where the scouting-party turned back. I fear their failure to follow

up the Indians has imperilled our plans by giving the village an

intimation of our presence. Think of the valuable time lost! But I feel

hopeful of accomplishing great results. I will move directly up the

valley of the Rosebud. General Gibbon’s command and General Terry, with

steamer, will proceed up the Big Horn as far as the boat can go.... I

like campaigning with pack-mules much better than with wagons, leaving

out the question of luxuries. We take no tents, and desire none.

I now have some Crow scouts with me, as they are familiar with the

country. They are magnificent-looking men, so much handsomer and more

Indian-like than any we have ever seen, and so jolly and sportive;

nothing of the gloomy, silent red-man about them. They have formally

given themselves to me, after the usual talk. In their speech they said

they had heard that I never abandoned a trail; that when my food gave

out I ate mule. That was the kind of a man they wanted to fight under;

they were willing to eat mule too.

I am going to send six Ree scouts to Powder River with the mail; from

there it will go with other scouts to Fort Buford....

June 22d--11 A.M.

... I have but a few moments to write, as we move at twelve, and I have

my hands full of preparations for the scout.... Do not be anxious about

me. You would be surprised to know how closely I obey your instructions

about keeping with the column. I hope to have a good report to send you

by the next mail.... A success will start us all towards Lincoln....

I send you an extract from General Terry’s official order, knowing how

keenly you appreciate words of commendation and confidence, such as

the following: “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.”

THE END.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a

predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not

changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced

quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.