THE SUMMER CAMPAIGN OF 1876—THE SIOUX AND CHEYENNES GETTING UGLY—RAIDING
THE SETTLEMENTS—ATTEMPT TO AMBUSCADE CROOK—KILLING THE
MAIL-RIDER—THE STORY OF THE FETTERMAN MASSACRE—LAKE DE SMET—OUR
FIRST THUNDER STORM—A SOLDIER’S BURIAL—THE SIOUX ATTACK OUR
CAMP—TROUT-FISHING—BEAR-HUNTING—CALAMITY JANE—THE CROW AND SHOSHONE
ALLIES JOIN THE COMMAND—THE WAR DANCE AND MEDICINE SONG.
The lack of coöperation by the troops in the Department of Dakota had
been severely felt; such coöperation had been promised and confidently
expected. It needed no profoundly technical military mind to see that
with two or three strong columns in the field seeking out the hostiles,
each column able to hold its own against the enemy, the chances of
escape for the Sioux and Cheyennes would be materially lessened, and
those of success for the operations of either column, or both,
perceptibly increased. But, with the exception of a telegram from
General Custer, then at Fort Lincoln, dated February 27th, making
inquiry as to the time fixed for the departure of the column under
Reynolds—which question was answered by wire the same day—nothing had
been heard of any column from the Missouri River camps going out after
the Indians whom the authorities wished to have driven into the
reservations.
With the opening of spring the phases of the problem presented greater
complexity. The recalcitrant Indians were satisfied of their ability not
only to elude pursuit but to present a bold front to the troops, and to
whip them on the field of their choice. They had whipped us—so at least
it seemed to them—on the 17th of March; why could they not do the same
on any other day—the 17th of May, or the 17th of August? Crook
determined to wait for the new grass, without which it would be
impossible to campaign far away from the line of supplies, and to let
the ground become thoroughly dry from the early thaws, before he resumed
the offensive. This would give to such columns as might be designated in
the north as coöperating forces opportunity to get into the field; as it
would also afford the restless young element on the several reservations
chance to deliberate between the policy of peace and war, between
remaining quiet at the agencies, or starting out on a career of
depredation and bloodshed.
Each day came news, stoutly denied by the agents, that there were
parties slipping away to recruit the forces of the hostiles; it was only
prudent to know in advance exactly how many there would be in our front,
and have them in our front instead of imperilling our rear by starting
out with a leaven of discontent which might do grievous harm to the
ranchos and settlements near the Union Pacific Railroad. That the main
body of the Sioux and Cheyennes was “ugly” no longer admitted of doubt.
Hostilities were not limited to grumbling and growling, to surly looks
and ungracious acts, to mere threats against the agents or some isolated
ranchos; they became active and venomous, especially along the lines of
travel leading to the disputed territory—the “Black Hills.” Attacks upon
trains were a daily—an hourly—occurrence. In one of these the son-in-law
of “Red Cloud” was killed. To defend these travellers there was no
better method than by carrying the war into Africa, and, by means of
swift-moving columns, come upon the villages of the hostiles and destroy
them, giving no time to the young men for amusements.
Three of the infantry companies from Fort Omaha and Fort Bridger were
detailed to guard the road between Fort Laramie and Custer City; each
company went into an entrenched camp with rifle-pits dug, and all
preparations made for withstanding a siege until help should arrive.
Trains could make their way from one to the other of these fortified
camps with much less danger than before their establishment, while there
were two companies of cavalry, under officers of great experience, to
patrol from Buffalo Gap, at the entrance to the hills, and the North
Platte. These officers were Captain Russell, who had seen much service
in Arizona and New Mexico against the Apaches, and “Teddy” Egan, of the
Second Cavalry, who had led the charge into the village of “Crazy Horse”
on St. Patrick’s Day. Both of these officers and their troops did all
that Crook expected of them, and that was a great deal. The same praise
belongs to the little detachments of infantry, who rendered yeoman
service. Egan was fortunate enough to come up just in the nick of time,
as a train was surrounded and fired upon by six hundred warriors; he led
the charge, and the Indians took to flight.
There were attacks all along the line: eastward in Nebraska, the Sioux
became very bold, and raided the horse and cattle ranchos in the Loup
Valley; they were pursued by Lieutenant Charles Heyl, Twenty-third
Infantry, with a small detail of men mounted upon mules from the
quartermaster’s corral, and compelled to stand and fight, dropping their
plunder, having one of their number killed, but killing one of our best
men—Corporal Dougherty. In Wyoming, they raided the Chug, and there
killed one of the old settlers—Huntoon—and ran off thirty-two horses.
Lieutenant Allison, Second Cavalry, took the trail, and would have run
his prey down had it not been for a blinding snow-storm which suddenly
arose and obliterated the tracks of the marauders; sufficient was
learned, however, to satisfy Allison that the raiders were straight from
the Red Cloud Agency. When the body of Huntoon was found, it had eleven
wounds—three from arrows. The same or similar tales came in from all
points of the compass—from the villages of the friendly Shoshones and
Bannocks in the Wind River Mountains to the scattered homes on the Lodge
Pole and the Frenchman.
A large number of the enlisted men belonging to the companies at Fort D.
A. Russell (near Cheyenne, Wyoming) deserted, alleging as a reason that
they did not care to serve under officers who would abandon their dead
and dying to the foe. Every available man of the mounted service in the
Department of the Platte was called into requisition for this campaign;
the posts which had been garrisoned by them were occupied by infantry
companies sent from Omaha, Salt Lake, and elsewhere. The point of
concentration was Fort Fetterman, and the date set as early as
practicable after the first day of May. Two other strong columns were
also to take the field—one under General John Gibbon, consisting of the
troops from the Montana camps; the other, under General Alfred H. Terry,
to start from Fort Lincoln, and to comprise every man available from the
posts in the eastern portion of the Department of Dakota. While the
different detachments were marching to the point of rendezvous, Crook
hurried to Fort Laramie, and thence eastward to the Red Cloud Agency to
hold a conference with the chiefs.
It was during trips like this—while rolling over the endless plains of
Wyoming, now rivalling the emerald in their vernal splendors—that
General Crook was at his best: a clear-headed thinker, a fluent
conversationalist, and a most pleasant companion. He expressed himself
freely in regard to the coming campaign, but said that while the Sioux
and Cheyennes were a brave and bold people, from the very nature of the
case they would never stand punishment as the Apaches had done. The
tribes of the plains had accumulated much property in ponies and other
things, and the loss of that would be felt most deeply. Crook hoped to
sound the chiefs at the Red Cloud Agency, and learn about where each
stood on the question of peace or hostility; he also hoped to be able to
enlist a small contingent of scouts for service with the troops. General
Crook was unable to find the agent who was absent, but in his place he
explained to the agency clerk what he wanted. The latter did all he
could to prevent any of the chiefs from coming to see General Crook;
nevertheless, “Sitting Bull of the South,” “Rocky Bear,” and “Three
Bears,” prominent in the tribe, came over to the office of the military
commander, Major Jordan, of the Ninth Infantry, and there met Crook, who
had with him Colonel Stanton, Colonel Jordan, Frank Gruard, and myself.
These men spoke in most favorable terms of the propositions laid down by
General Crook, and old “Sitting Bull” (who, although bearing the same
name, was as good as _the_ “Sitting Bull” was bad) assured General Crook
that even if no other chief in the tribe assisted, he would gather
together thirty-five or forty of his young men and go with the soldiers
to help drive the hostiles back to their reservations.
Although frustrated by the machinations of underlings of the Indian
Bureau at that particular time, all these men kept the word then given,
and appeared in the campaign undertaken later on in the fall. “Sitting
Bull” was too feeble to go out in person, but sent some of his best
young men; and “Three Bears” and “Rocky Bear” went as they promised they
would, and were among the bravest and most active of all the command,
red or white. When Agent Hastings returned there seemed to be a great
change in the feelings of the Indians, and it was evident that he had
done his best to set them against the idea of helping in the campaign.
He expressed himself to the effect that while he would not forbid any
Indian from going, he would not recommend any such movement. General
Crook said that at the council where General Grant had decided that the
northern Sioux should go upon their reservations or be whipped, there
were present, Secretary Chandler, Assistant Secretary Cowan,
Commissioner Smith, and Secretary Belknap. The chiefs were, “Red Cloud,”
“Old Man afraid of his Horses,” “Blue Horse,” “American Horse,” “Little
Wound,” “Sitting Bull of the South,” and “Rocky Bear.” With Agent
Hastings were, Inspector Vandever, and one of the contractors for Indian
supplies, and Mr. R. E. Strahorn. The contractor to whom reference is
here made was afterwards—in the month of November, 1878—convicted by a
Wyoming court, for frauds at this time, at this Red Cloud Agency, and
sent to the penitentiary for two years. Nothing came of this part of the
conference; the Indians, acting under bad advice, as we learned
afterwards, declined to entertain any proposition of enlisting their
people as scouts, and were then told by General Crook that if they were
not willing to do their part in maintaining order among their own people
and in their own country, he would telegraph for the Crows, and
Bannocks, and Shoshones to send down the bands they had asked permission
to send.
The Sioux appeared very much better off than any of the tribes I had
seen until that time. All of the men wore loose trousers of dark blue
cloth; moccasins of buck or buffalo skin covered with bead work; and
were wrapped in Mackinaw blankets, dark blue or black in color, closely
enveloping the frame; some of these blankets were variegated by a
transverse band of bright red cloth worked over with beads, while
underneath appeared dark woollen shirts. Strings of beads, shells, and
brass rings encircled each neck. The hair was worn long but plain, the
median line painted with vermilion or red ochre. Their faces were not
marked with paint of any kind, an unusual thing with Indians in those
days.
Smoking was done with beautiful pipes of the reddish ochreous stone
called “Catlinite,” brought from the quarries on the Missouri. The bowls
were prolonged to allow the nicotine to flow downwards, and were
decorated with inlaid silver, speaking highly of the industrial
capabilities of our aborigines. The stem was a long reed or handle of
ash, perforated and beautifully ornamented with feathers and porcupine
quills. Each smoker would take three or four whiffs, and then pass the
pipe to the neighbor on his left.
General Crook was grievously disappointed at the turn affairs had taken,
but he said nothing and kept his own counsel. Had he obtained three or
four hundred warriors from Red Cloud and Spotted Tail the hostile
element would have been reduced to that extent, and the danger to the
feeble and poorly protected settlements along the Union Pacific lessened
in the same ratio, leaving out of consideration any possible value these
young men might be as scouts and trailers, familiar with all the haunts
and devices of the hostiles. Be it remembered that while these efforts
were going on, the hay scales at the Red Cloud Agency had been burned,
and the government herds run off from both Red Cloud and Spotted Tail
Agencies.
We left the Red Cloud Agency at four o’clock in the morning, and began
the ascent of the Valley of the “White Earth” creek. After going several
miles, on looking back we saw a great cloud of signal smoke puff up from
the bluffs back of the Indian villages, but just what sort of a signal
it was no one in our party knew. As it happened, we had a strong force,
and instead of the usual escort of ten men or less, with which General
Crook travelled from one post or agency to another, we had no less than
sixty-five men all told, made up of Crook’s own escort, the escort of
Paymaster Stanton, returning from the pay trip. Colonel Ludington,
Inspector General of the Department of the Platte, was also present with
his escort, returning from a tour of inspection of the troops and camps
along the northern border. A dozen or more of the ranchers and others
living in the country had improved the opportunity to get to the
railroad with perfect safety, and thus we were a formidable body. At the
head of the White Earth we halted alongside of a pretty spring to eat
some lunch, and there were passed by the mail-rider, a man named Clark,
who exchanged the compliments of the day, and then drove on toward the
post which he was never to reach. He was ambuscaded and killed by the
band of Sioux who had planned to assassinate Crook but were deterred by
our unexpectedly large force, and, rather than go without killing
something, slaughtered the poor mail-rider, and drove off his horses.
That was the meaning of the smoke puff at Red Cloud; it was, as we
learned long afterwards, the signal to the conspirators that Crook and
his party were leaving the post.
We passed through Laramie and on to Fetterman as fast as horses and
mules could draw us. Not all the troops had yet reached Fetterman, the
condition of the road from Medicine Bow being fearfully bad. Crook,
after some difficulty, had a cable ferry established, in working order.
The first day sixty thousand pounds of stores were carried across the
river; the second, one hundred thousand pounds, besides soldiers by
solid companies. Every wagon and nearly every mule and horse had to be
carried over in the same manner, because the animals would not approach
the swift current of the swollen Platte; here they showed more sense
than the men in charge of them, and seemed to know instinctively that
the current of the river was too strong to be breasted by man or horse.
One of the teamsters, Dill, fell into the river, and was swept down
before the eyes of scores of terrified spectators and drowned. The
current had the velocity of a mill-race, and the depth was found to vary
from ten to twelve feet close to the shore. Frank Gruard was sent across
the North Platte with a small party of scouts and soldiers to examine
into the condition of the road, and while out on this duty came very
near being cut off by a reconnoitring band of the enemy.
General Crook assumed command in General Orders, No. 1, May 28, 1876.
Colonel William B. Royall, Third Cavalry, was assigned to the command of
the fifteen companies of cavalry forming part of the expedition, having
under him Colonel Alexander W. Evans, commanding the ten companies of
the Third Cavalry, and Major H. E. Noyes, commanding the five of the
Second Cavalry.
Five companies of the Ninth and Fourth Infantry were placed under the
command of Colonel Alexander Chambers, of the Fourth Infantry; Captain
Nickerson and Lieutenant Bourke were announced as Aides-de-Camp; Captain
George M. Randall, Twenty-third Infantry, as Chief of Scouts; Captain
William Stanton as Chief Engineer Officer; Captain John V. Furey as
Chief Quartermaster; First Lieutenant John W. Bubb as Commissary of
Subsistence; Assistant Surgeon Albert Hartsuff as Medical Director. The
companies starting out on this expedition and the officers connected
with them were as follows: Company “A,” Third Cavalry, Lieutenant
Charles Morton; Company “B,” Third Cavalry, Captain Meinhold, Lieutenant
Simpson; Company “C,” Third Cavalry, Captain Van Vliet, Lieutenant Von
Leuttewitz; Company “D,” Third Cavalry, Captain Guy V. Henry, Lieutenant
W. W. Robinson; Company “E,” Third Cavalry, Captain Sutorius; Company
“F,” Third Cavalry, Lieutenant B. Reynolds; Company “G,” Third Cavalry,
Lieutenant Emmet Crawford; Company “I,” Third Cavalry, Captain Andrews,
Lieutenants A. D. King and Foster; Company “L,” Third Cavalry, Captain
P. D. Vroom, Lieutenant Chase; Company “M,” Third Cavalry, Captain Anson
Mills and Lieutenants A. C. Paul and Schwatka; Company “A,” Second
Cavalry, Captain Dewees, Lieutenant Peirson; Company “B,” Second
Cavalry, Lieutenant Rawolle; Company “E,” Second Cavalry, Captain Wells,
Lieutenant Sibley; Company “I,” Second Cavalry, Captain H. E. Noyes;
Company “G,” Second Cavalry, Lieutenants Swigert and Huntington; Company
“C,” Ninth Infantry, Captain Sam Munson, Lieutenant T. H. Capron;
Company “H,” Ninth Infantry, Captain A. S. Burt, Lieutenant E. B.
Robertson; Company “G,” Ninth Infantry, Captain T. B. Burroughs,
Lieutenant W. L. Carpenter; Company “D,” Fourth Infantry, Captain A. B.
Cain, Lieutenant H. Seton; Company “F,” Fourth Infantry, Captain Gerard
Luhn.
Assistant surgeons: Patzki, Stevens, and Powell.
Chief of pack trains: Mr. Thomas Moore.
Chief of wagon trains: Mr. Charles Russell.
Guides: Frank Gruard, Louis Richaud, Baptiste Pourrier (“Big Bat”).
The press of the country was represented by Joseph Wasson, of the
_Press_, Philadelphia, _Tribune_, New York, and _Alta California_, of
San Francisco, California; Robert E. Strahorn, of the _Tribune_,
Chicago, _Rocky Mountain News_, Denver, Colorado, _Sun_, Cheyenne,
Wyoming, and _Republican_, Omaha, Nebraska; John F. Finerty, _Times_,
Chicago; T. B. MacMillan, _Inter-Ocean_, Chicago; R. B. Davenport,
_Herald_, New York.
Our camp on the north side of the North Platte presented a picturesque
appearance, with its long rows of shelter tents arranged symmetrically
in a meadow bounded on three sides by the stream; the herds of animals
grazing or running about; the trains of wagons and mules passing from
point to point, united to form a picture of animation and spirit. We had
a train of one hundred and three six-mule wagons, besides one of
hundreds of pack-mules; and the work of ferriage became too great for
mortal strength, and the ferrymen were almost exhausted both by their
legitimate duties and by those of mending and splicing the boat and the
cable which were leaking or snapping several times a day.
May 29, 1876, saw the column moving out from its camp in front of Fort
Fetterman; the long black line of mounted men stretched for more than a
mile with nothing to break the sombreness of color save the flashing of
the sun’s rays back from carbines and bridles. An undulating streak of
white told where the wagons were already under way, and a puff of dust
just in front indicated the line of march of the infantry battalion. As
we were moving along the same road described in the campaign of the
winter, no further mention is necessary until after passing old Fort
Reno. Meinhold, with two companies, was sent on in advance to
reconnoitre the country, and report the state of the road as well as any
signs of the proximity of large bands of the enemy. Van Vliet was
instructed to push ahead, and keep a look-out for the Crow and Shoshone
scouts who had promised to join the command at or near Reno. In spite of
the fact that summer was already with us, a heavy snow-storm attacked
the column on June 1st, at the time of our coming in sight of the Big
Horn Mountains. The day was miserably cold, water froze in the
camp-kettles, and there was much discomfort owing to the keen wind
blowing down from the frozen crests of the Big Horn. From Reno, Gruard,
Richaud, and “Big Bat” were sent to see what had become of the Crows,
and lead them back to our command on the line of march.
Before he left Frank gave an account, from the story told him by the
Sioux who had participated in it, of the massacre near this place of the
force of officers and men enticed out from old Fort Kearney. In this sad
affair we lost three officers—Fetterman, Brown, and Grummond—and
seventy-five enlisted, with three civilians, names unknown. The Sioux
admitted to Frank that they had suffered to the extent of one hundred
and eighty-five, killed and wounded. I mention this story here at the
place where we heard it from Frank’s lips, although we afterwards
marched over the very spot where the massacre occurred.
We broke camp at a very early hour, the infantry being out on the road
by four o’clock each morning, the cavalry remaining for some time later
to let the animals have the benefit of the grass freshened by the frost
of the night previous. We were getting quite close to Cloud Peak, the
loftiest point in the Big Horn range; its massy dome towered high in the
sky, white with a mantle of snow; here and there a streak of darkness
betrayed the attempts of the tall pine trees on the summit to penetrate
to the open air above them. Heavy belts of forest covered the sides of
the range below the snow line, and extended along the skirts of the
foot-hills well out into the plains below. The singing of meadow-larks,
and the chirping of thousands of grasshoppers, enlivened the morning
air; and save these no sound broke the stillness, except the rumbling of
wagons slowly creeping along the road. The dismal snow-storm of which so
much complaint had been made was rapidly superseded by most charming
weather: a serene atmosphere, balmy breeze, and cloudless sky were the
assurances that summer had come at last, and, as if anxious to repair
past negligence, was about to favor us with all its charms. The country
in which we now were was a great grassy plain covered with herbage just
heading into seed. There was no timber except upon the spurs of the Big
Horn, which loomed up on our left covered with heavy masses of pine,
fir, oak, and juniper. From the innumerable seams and gashes in the
flanks of this noble range issue the feeders of the Tongue and Powder,
each insignificant in itself, but so well distributed that the country
is as well adapted for pasturage as any in the world. The bluffs are
full of coal of varying qualities, from lignite to a good commercial
article; one of the men of the command brought in a curious specimen of
this lignite, which at one end was coal and at the other was silicified.
Buffalo tracks and Indian signs were becoming frequent.
Clear Creek, upon which we made camp, was a beautiful stream—fifty feet
wide, two feet deep; current rapid and as much as eight miles an hour;
water icy-cold from the melting of the snow-banks on the Big Horn;
bottom of gravel; banks gently sloping; approaches good. Grass was
excellent, but fuel rather scarce in the immediate vicinity of the road.
Birds, antelope, and fish began to figure on the mess canvas; the fish,
a variety of sucker, very palatable, were secured by shooting a bullet
under them and stunning them, so that they rose to the surface, and were
then seized. Trout were not yet found; they appear in the greatest
quantity in the waters of Tongue River, the next stream beyond to the
west. There is a variety of tortoise in the waters of these mountains
which is most toothsome, and to my uncultivated taste fully as good as
the Maryland terrapin.
Here we were visited by messengers from a party of Montana miners who
were travelling across country from the Black Hills back to the
Yellowstone; the party numbered sixty-five, and had to use every
precaution to prevent stampede and surprise; every night they dug
rifle-pits, and surrounded themselves with rocks, palisades, or anything
else that could be made to resist a charge from the Sioux, whose trails
were becoming very thick and plenty. There were many pony, but few
lodge-pole, tracks, a sure indication that the men were slipping out
from Red Cloud and Spotted Tail agencies and uniting with the hostiles,
but leaving their families at home, under the protection of the
reservations. It always seemed to me that that little party of Montana
miners displayed more true grit, more common sense, and more
intelligence in their desperate march through a scarcely known country
filled with hostile Indians than almost any similar party which I can
now recall; they were prepared for every emergency, and did excellent
service under Crook at the Rosebud; but before reaching their objective
point, I am sorry to say, many of their number fell victims to a
relentless and wily foe.
To prevent any stampede of our stock which might be attempted, our
method of establishing pickets became especially rigid: in addition to
the mounted vedettes encircling bivouac, and occupying commanding buttes
and bluffs, solid companies were thrown out a mile or two in advance and
kept mounted, with the purpose of holding in check all parties of the
enemy which might attempt to rush down upon the herds and frighten them
off by waving blankets, yelling, firing guns, or other tricks in which
the savages were adepts. One platoon kept saddled ready for instant
work; the others were allowed to loosen the cinches, but not to
unsaddle. Eight miles from the ruins of old Fort Kearney, to the east,
we passed Lake De Smet, named after the zealous missionary, Father De
Smet, whose noble life was devoted to the advancement of the Sioux,
Pawnees, Arapahoes, Crows, Blackfeet, Cheyennes, Cœurs d’Alenes, and Nez
Percés, and whose silent ministrations refute the calumny that the
American Indian is not responsive to efforts for his improvement. The
view of this body of water, from the roadside, is very beautiful; in
length, it is nearly three miles; in width, not quite a mile. The water
is clear and cold, but alkaline and disagreeable to the taste. Game and
ducks in great numbers resort to this lake, probably on account of the
mineral contained in its waters, and a variety of pickerel is said to be
abundant. Buffalo were seen near this bivouac—at old Fort Kearney—and
elk meat was brought into camp with beaver, antelope, pin-tailed grouse,
and sickle-billed curlew.
Our camp on Prairie Dog Creek, at its junction with the Tongue River,
was memorable from being the scene of the killing of the first buffalo
found within shooting distance of the column. Mosquitoes became
troublesome near the water courses. Prairie-dog villages lined the trail
in all places where the sandy soil admitted of easy digging. The last
hour or two of this march was very unpleasant. The heat of the sun
became almost unbearable. Dense masses of clouds moved sluggishly up
from the west and north, while light flaky feathers of vapor flitted
across the sky, coquetting with the breeze, now obscuring the sun, now
revealing his rays. Low, rumbling thunder sullenly boomed across the
horizon, and with the first flash of lightning changed into an almost
continuous roar. The nearest peaks of the Big Horn were hid from our
gaze. The heavy arch of clouds supported itself upon the crests of the
bluffs enclosing the valley of our camp. It was a pretty picture; the
parks of wagons and pack-mules, the bright rows of tentage, and the
moving animals and men gave enough animation to relieve the otherwise
too sombre view of the elements at war. Six buffaloes were killed this
day.
On the 7th of June we buried the soldier of Meinhold’s company who had
accidentally wounded himself with his own revolver while chopping wood.
Besides the escort prescribed by the regulations, the funeral cortege
was swollen by additions from all the companies of the expedition, the
pack-train, wagoners, officers, and others, reaching an aggregate of
over six hundred. Colonel Guy V. Henry, Third Cavalry, read in a very
feeling manner the burial service from the “Book of Common Prayer,” the
cavalry trumpets sounded “taps,” a handful of earth was thrown down upon
the remains, the grave was rapidly filled up, and the companies at quick
step returned to their tents. There was no labored panegyric delivered
over the body of Tiernan, but the kind reminiscences of his comrades
were equivalent to an eulogy of which an archbishop might have been
proud. Soldiers are the freest from care of any set of men on earth; the
grave had not closed on their comrade before they were discussing other
incidents of the day, and had forgotten the sad rites of sepulture in
which they had just participated. To be more charitable, we were seeing
so much that was novel and interesting that it was impossible to chain
the mind down to one train of thought. Captain Noyes had wandered off
during the storm of the night previous, and remained out of camp all
night hunting for good trout pools. A herd of buffaloes had trotted down
close to our bivouac, and many of our command had been unable to resist
the temptation to go out and have a shot; we knocked over half a dozen
or more of the old bulls, and brought the meat back for the use of the
messes.
The conversation ran upon the difficulty experienced by the pioneer
party under Captain Andrews, Third Cavalry, in smoothing and
straightening the road during the marches of the past two or three days.
General Crook had been successful in finding the nests and the eggs of
some rare birds, the white-ringed blackbird, the Missouri skylark, and
the crow of this region. He had all his life been an enthusiastic
collector of specimens in natural history, especially in all that
relates to nests and eggs, and had been an appreciative observer of the
valuable work done on the frontier in that direction by Captain Charles
Bendire, of the First Cavalry.
During the 8th of June there was some excitement among us, owing to the
interchange of conversation between our pickets and a party of Indians
late the previous night. It could not be determined at the moment
whether the language used was Sioux or Crow, or both, but there was a
series of calls and questions which our men did not fully understand;
one query was to the effect that ours might be a Crow camp. A pony was
found outside our lines, evidently left by the visitors. Despatches were
received by General Crook notifying him that all able-bodied male
Indians had left the Red Cloud Agency, and that the Fifth Cavalry had
been ordered up from Kansas to take post in our rear; also that the
Shoshones had sent one hundred and twenty of their warriors to help him,
and that we should look for their arrival almost any day. They were
marching across the mountains from their reservation in the Wind River
range, in the heart of the Rockies.
June 9, 1876, the monotony of camp life was agreeably broken by an
attack upon our lines made in a most energetic manner by the Sioux and
Cheyennes. We had reached a most picturesque and charming camp on the
beautiful Tongue River, and had thrown out our pickets upon the hill
tops, when suddenly the pickets began to show signs of uneasiness, and
to first walk and then trot their horses around in a circle, a warning
that they had seen something dangerous. The Indians did not wait for a
moment, but moved up in good style, driving in our pickets and taking
position in the rocks, from which they rained down a severe fire which
did no great damage but was extremely annoying while it lasted. We had
only two men wounded, one in the leg, another in the arm, both by
glancing bullets, and neither wound dangerous, and three horses and two
mules wounded, most of which died. The attacking party had made the
mistake of aiming at the tents, which at the moment were unoccupied; but
bullets ripped through the canvas, split the ridge poles, smashed the
pipes of the Sibley stoves, and imbedded themselves in the tail-boards
of the wagons. Burt, Munson, and Burroughs were ordered out with their
rifles, and Mills was ordered to take his own company of the Third
Cavalry and those of Sutorius, Andrews, and Lawson, from Royall’s
command, and go across the Tongue and drive the enemy, which they did.
The infantry held the buttes on our right until after sundown.
This attack was only a bluff on the part of “Crazy Horse” to keep his
word to Crook that he would begin to fight the latter just as soon as he
touched the waters of the Tongue River; we had scoffed at the message at
first, believing it to have been an invention of some of the agency
half-breeds, but there were many who now believed in its authenticity.
Every one was glad the attack had been made; if it did nothing else, it
proved that we were not going to have our marching for nothing; it kept
vedettes and guards on the alert and camp in condition for fight at a
moment’s notice. Grass becoming scarce on Tongue River Crook moved his
command to the confluence of the two forks of Goose Creek, which is the
largest affluent of the Tongue; the distance was a trifle over seventeen
miles, and during the march a hail-storm of great severity visited us
and continued its pestiferous attentions for some time after tents had
been erected. The situation at the new camp had many advantages:
excellent pasturage was secured from the slopes of the hills; water
flowed in the greatest profusion—clear, sweet, and icy cold, murmuring
gently in the channels on each side; fire-wood in sufficiency could be
gathered along the banks; the view of the mountains was beautiful and
exhilarating, and the climate serene and bracing. Goose Creek was
twenty-five yards wide, with a uniform depth of three feet, but greatly
swollen by recent rains and the melting of the snow-banks up in the
mountains.
We had to settle down and await the return of Frank Gruard, Louis
Richaud, and “Big Bat,” concerning whose safety not a few of the command
began to express misgivings, notwithstanding they were all experienced
frontiersmen, able to look out for their own safety under almost any
contingencies. The more sanguine held to the view that the Crows had
retired farther into their own country on account of the assembling of
great bands of their enemies—the Sioux and Cheyennes—and that our
emissaries had to travel much farther than they had first contemplated.
But they had been separated from us for ten or twelve days, and it was
becoming a matter of grave concern what to do about them.
In a bivouac of that kind the great object of life is to kill time.
Drilling and guard duty occupy very few minutes, reading and writing
become irksome, and conversation narrowly escapes the imputation of rank
stupidity. We had enjoyed several pony races, but the best plugs for
that sort of work—Major Burt’s white and Lieutenant Robertson’s bay—had
both been shot during the skirmish of the 9th of the month, the former
fatally, and we no longer enjoyed the pleasure of seeing races in which
the stakes were nothing but a can of corn or a haunch of venison on each
side, but which attracted as large and as deeply interested crowds as
many more pretentious affairs within the limits of civilization. The
sending in of the mail every week or ten days excited a ripple of
concern, and the packages of letters made up to be forwarded showed that
our soldiers were men of intelligence and not absolutely severed from
home ties. The packages were wrapped very tightly, first in waxed cloth
and then in oiled muslin, the official communications of most importance
being tied to the courier’s person, the others packed on a led mule. At
sundown the courier, Harrison, who had undertaken this dangerous
business, set out on his return to Fort Fetterman, accompanied by a
non-commissioned officer whose time had expired. They were to ride only
by night, and never follow the road too closely; by hiding in little
coves high up in the hills during the day they could most easily escape
detection by prowling bands of Indians coming out from the agencies, but
at best it was taking their lives in their hands.
The packers organized a foot-race, and bets as high as five and ten
thousand dollars were freely waged. These were of the class known in
Arizona as “jawbone,” and in Wyoming as “wind”; the largest amount of
cash that I saw change hands was twenty-five cents. Rattlesnakes began
to emerge from their winter seclusion, and to appear again in society;
Lieutenant Lemly found an immense one coiled up in his blankets, and
waked the echoes with his yells for help. The weather had assumed a most
charming phase; the gently undulating prairie upon whose bosom camp
reposed was decked with the greenest and most nutritive grasses; our
animals lazily nibbled along the hill skirts or slept in the genial
light of the sun. In the shade of the box-elder and willows along the
stream beds the song of the sweet-voiced meadow lark was heard all day.
At rare moments the chirping of grasshoppers might be distinguished in
the herbage; in front of our line of tents a cook was burning or
browning coffee—it was just as often one as the other—an idle recruit
watching the process with a semi-attentive stupefaction. The report of a
carbine, aimed and fired by one exasperated teamster at another
attracted general notice; the assailant was at once put in confinement
and a languid discussion of the merits or supposed merits of the case
undulated from tent to tent. Parties of whist-players devoted themselves
to their favorite game; other players eked out a share of diversion with
home-made checker-boards. Those who felt disposed to test their skill as
anglers were fairly rewarded; the trout began to bite languidly at first
and with exasperating deliberation, but making up for it all later on,
when a good mess could be hooked in a few minutes. Noyes and Wells and
Randall were the trout maniacs, but they had many followers in their
gentle lunacy, which, before the hot weather had ended, spread
throughout the whole command. Mills and his men were more inclined to go
up in the higher altitudes and hunt for bear; they brought in a
good-sized “cinnamon,” which was some time afterwards followed by other
specimens of the bruin family; elk and deer and buffaloes, the last
chiefly the meat of old bulls driven out of the herds to the northwest,
gave relish and variety to the ordinary rations and additional topics
for conversation.
General Crook was an enthusiastic hunter and fisher, and never failed to
return with some tribute exacted from the beasts of the hills or the
swimmers of the pools; but he frequently joined Burt and Carpenter in
their search for rare birds and butterflies, with which the rolling
plains at the base of the Big Horn were filled. We caught one very fine
specimen of the prairie owl, which seemed wonderfully tame, and
comported itself with rare dignity; the name of “Sitting Bull” was
conferred unanimously, and borne so long as the bird honored camp with
its presence. Lieutenant Foster made numbers of interesting sketches of
the scenery of the Big Horn and the hills nearest the Goose Creek; one
of the packers, a man with decided artistic abilities, named Stanley,
was busy at every spare moment sketching groups of teamsters, scouts,
animals, and wagons, with delicacy of execution and excellent effect.
Captain Stanton, our engineer officer, took his altitudes daily and
noted the positions of the stars. Newspapers were read to pieces, and
such books as had found their way with the command were passed from hand
to hand and read eagerly. Mr. Wasson and I made an arrangement to peruse
each day either one of Shakespeare’s plays or an essay by Macaulay, and
to discuss them together. The discovery of the first mess of luscious
strawberries occasioned more excitement than any of the news received in
the journals of the time, and an alarm on the picket line from the
accidental discharge of a carbine or rifle would bring out all the
conversational strength of young and old.
It was whispered that one of our teamsters was a woman, and no other
than “Calamity Jane,” a character famed in border story; she had donned
the raiment of the alleged rougher sex, and was skinning mules with the
best of them. She was eccentric and wayward rather than bad, and had
adopted male attire more to aid her in getting a living than for any
improper purpose. “Jane” was as rough and burly as any of her messmates,
and it is doubtful if her sex would ever have been discovered had not
the wagon-master noted that she didn’t cuss her mules with the
enthusiasm to be expected from a graduate of Patrick & Saulsbury’s Black
Hills Stage Line, as she had represented herself to be. The Montana
miners whom we had found near old Fort Reno began to “prospect” the
gulches, but met with slight success.
During the afternoon of June 14th Frank Gruard and Louis Richaud
returned, bringing with them an old Crow chief; they reported having
been obliged to travel as far as old Fort Smith, on the Big Horn, and
that they had there seen a large village of Crows, numbering more than
two hundred lodges. While preparing a cup of coffee the smoke from their
little fire was discovered by the Crow scouts, and all the young
warriors of the village, mistaking them for a small band of Sioux
raiders, charged across the river and attacked them, nearly killing both
Frank and Bat before mutual recognition was made and satisfactory
greetings exchanged. The Crows were at first reluctant to send any of
their men to aid in the war against the Sioux, alleging that they were
compelled to get meat for their women and children, and the buffaloes
were now close to them in great herds; we might stay out too long; the
enemy was so close to the Crows that reprisals might be attempted, and
many of the Crow women, children, and old men would fall beneath the
bullet and the lance. But at last they consented to send a detachment of
one hundred and seventy-five of their best men to see Crook and talk the
matter over. Frank led them to our deserted camp on the Tongue River,
upon seeing which they became alarmed, and supposed that we must have
had a defeat from the Sioux and been compelled to abandon the country;
only sixteen followed further; of these Frank and Louis took the old
chief and rode as rapidly as possible to our camp on the Goose, leaving
Bat to jog along with fifteen others and join at leisure.
General Crook ordered a hot meal of coffee, sugar, biscuits, butter,
venison, and stewed dried apples to be set before the guest and guides,
and then had a long talk with the former through the “sign language,”
the curious medium of correspondence between all the tribes east of the
Rocky Mountains, from the Saskatchewan to the Pecos. This language is
ideagraphic and not literal in its elements, and has strong resemblance
to the figure speech of deaf mutes. Every word, every idea to be
conveyed, has its characteristic symbol; the rapidity of transmission is
almost telegraphic; and, as will be demonstrated later on, every
possible topic finds adequate expression. The old chief explained to
Frank that the troops from Montana (Gibbon’s command) were encamped on
the left bank of the Yellowstone, opposite the mouth of the Rosebud,
unable to cross; the hostile Sioux were watching the troops from the
other side. An attempt made by Gibbon to throw his troops across had
resulted in the drowning of one company’s horses in the flood; the Sioux
had also, in some unexplained way, succeeded in running off the ponies
belonging to the thirty Crow scouts attached to Gibbon’s command.
The main body of the hostile Sioux and Cheyennes was encamped on the
Tongue, near the mouth of Otter Creek, and between that and the
Yellowstone. The Crows had heard that a large band of Shoshones had
started out to join Crook, and should soon be with him at his present
camp. It was a small detachment of Crow scouts that had alarmed our
pickets by yelling some ten nights previously. As soon as the meal and
the conversation were ended Crook sent the old chief back with Louis
Richaud and Major Burt, who from previous service among the Crows was
well acquainted with many of them, to halt the main body and induce them
to enter our camp. Burt was entirely successful in his mission, and
before dusk he was with us again, this time riding at the head of a long
retinue of savage retainers, whose grotesque head-dresses, variegated
garments, wild little ponies, and war-like accoutrements made a quaint
and curious spectacle.
While the main column halted just inside our camp, the three chiefs—“Old
Crow,” “Medicine Crow,” and “Good Heart”—were presented to General
Crook, and made the recipients of some little attentions in the way of
food. Our newly-arrived allies bivouacked in our midst, sending their
herd of ponies out to graze alongside of our own horses. The entire band
numbered one hundred and seventy-six, as near as we could ascertain;
each had two ponies. The first thing they did was to erect the
war-lodges of saplings, covered over with blankets or pieces of canvas;
fires were next built, and a feast prepared of the supplies of coffee,
sugar, and hard-tack dealt out by the commissary; these are the prime
luxuries of an Indian’s life. A curious crowd of lookers-on—officers,
soldiers, teamsters, and packers—congregated around the little squads of
Crows, watching with eager attention their every movement. The Indians
seemed proud of the distinguished position they occupied in popular
estimation, and were soon on terms of easy familiarity with the
soldiers, some of whom could talk a sentence or two of Crow, and others
were expert to a slight extent in the sign language.
In stature, complexion, dress, and general demeanor a marked contrast
was observable between our friends and the Sioux Indians, a contrast
decidedly to the advantage of the former. The Absaroka or Crow Indians,
perhaps as a consequence of their residence among the elevated banks and
cool, fresh mountain ranges between the Big Horn River and the
Yellowstone, are somewhat fairer than the other tribes about them; they
are all above medium height, not a few being quite tall, and many have a
noble expression of countenance. Their dress consisted of a shirt of
flannel, cotton, or buckskin; breech-clout; leggings of blanket;
moccasins of deer, elk, or buffalo hide; coat of bright-colored blanket,
made with loose sleeves and hood; and a head-dress fashioned in divers
shapes, but most frequently formed from an old black army hat, with the
top cut out and sides bound round with feathers, fur, and scarlet cloth.
Their arms were all breechloaders, throwing cartridges of calibre .50
with an occasional .45. Lances, medicine-poles, and tomahawks figured in
the procession. The tomahawks, made of long knives inserted in shafts or
handles of wood and horn, were murderous weapons. Accompanying these
Indians were a few little boys, whose business was to hold horses and
other unimportant work while their elders conducted the dangerous
operations of the campaign.
At “retreat” all the battalion commanders and staff officers assembled
in front of the tent of the commanding general, and listened to his
terse instructions regarding the approaching march. We were to cut loose
from our wagons, each officer and soldier carrying four days’ rations of
hard bread, coffee, and bacon in saddle-pockets, and one hundred rounds
of ammunition in belts or pouches; one blanket to each person. The
wagons were to be parked and left behind in a defensible position on the
Tongue or Goose, and under the protection of the men unable for any
reason to join in the forward movement; all the infantrymen who could
ride and who so desired were to be mounted on mules from the pack-trains
with saddles from the wagons or from the cavalry companies which could
spare them. If successful in attacking a village, the supplies of dried
meat and other food were to be saved, and we should then, in place of
returning immediately to our train, push on to make a combination with
either Terry or Gibbon, as the case might be.
Scarcely had this brief conference been ended when a long line of
glittering lances and brightly polished weapons of fire announced the
anxiously expected advent of our other allies, the Shoshones or Snakes,
who, to the number of eighty-six, galloped rapidly up to headquarters
and came left front into line in splendid style. No trained warriors of
civilized armies ever executed the movement more prettily. Exclamations
of wonder and praise greeted the barbaric array of these fierce
warriors, warmly welcomed by their former enemies but at present strong
friends—the Crows. General Crook moved out to review their line of
battle, resplendent in all the fantastic adornment of feathers, beads,
brass buttons, bells, scarlet cloth, and flashing lances. The Shoshones
were not slow to perceive the favorable impression made, and when the
order came for them to file off by the right moved with the precision of
clock-work and the pride of veterans.
A grand council was the next feature of the evening’s entertainment.
Around a huge fire of crackling boughs the officers of the command
arranged themselves in two rows, the interest and curiosity depicted
upon their countenances acting as a foil to the stolidity and
imperturbable calmness of the Indians squatted upon the ground on the
other side. The breezes blowing the smoke aside would occasionally
enable the flames to bring out in bold and sudden relief the intense
blackness of the night, the sepulchral whiteness of the tents and
wagon-sheets, the blue coats of officers and soldiers (who thronged
among the wagons behind their superiors), the red, white, yellow, and
black beaded blankets of the savages, whose aquiline features and
glittering eyes had become still more aquiline and still more
glittering, and the small group in the centre of the circle composed of
General Crook and his staff, the interpreters—Frank Gruard and “Big Bat”
and Louis—and the Indian chiefs. One quadrant was reserved for the
Shoshones, another for the Crows. Each tribe selected one spokesman, who
repeated to his people the words of the General as they were made known
by the interpreters. Ejaculations of “Ugh! ugh!” were the only signs of
approval, but it was easy enough to see that nothing was lost that was
addressed to them. Pipes of the same kind as those the Sioux have were
kept in industrious circulation. The remarks made by General Crook were
almost identical with those addressed to the Crows alone earlier in the
evening; the Indians asked the privilege of scouting in their own way,
which was conceded.
An adjournment was ordered at between ten and eleven o’clock to allow
such of our allies as so desired to seek much-needed rest. The Shoshones
had ridden sixty miles, and night was far advanced. The erroneousness of
this assumption was disclosed very speedily. A long series of monotonous
howls, shrieks, groans, and nasal yells, emphasized by a perfectly
ear-piercing succession of thumps upon drums improvised from “parfleche”
(tanned buffalo skin), attracted nearly all the soldiers and many of the
officers not on duty to the allied camp. Peeping into the different
lodges was very much like peeping through the key-hole of Hades.
Crouched around little fires not affording as much light as an ordinary
tallow candle, the swarthy figures of the naked and half-naked Indians
were visible, moving and chanting in unison with some leader. No words
were distinguishable; the ceremony partook of the nature of an
abominable incantation, and as far as I could judge had a semi-religious
character. One of the Indians, mounted on a pony and stripped almost
naked, passed along from lodge to lodge, stopping in front of each and
calling upon the Great Spirit (so our interpreter said) to send them
plenty of scalps, a big Sioux village, and lots of ponies. The inmates
would respond with, if possible, increased vehemence, and the old saying
about making night hideous was emphatically suggested. With this wild
requiem ringing in his ears one of our soldiers, a patient in hospital,
Private William Nelson, Company “L,” Third Cavalry, breathed his last.
The herd of beef cattle, now reduced to six, became scared by the din
and broke madly for the hills. All night the rain pattered down.
[Illustration: CHATO.]
Among our Crows were said to be some very distinguished warriors; one of
these pointed out to me had performed during the preceding winter the
daring feat of stealing in alone upon a Sioux village and getting a fine
pony, which he tied loosely to a stake outside; then he crept back,
lifted up the flap of one of the lodges, and called gently to the
sleepers, who, unsuspecting, answered the grunt, which awakened them,
and thus betrayed just where the men were lying; the Crow took aim
coolly and blew the head off of one of the Sioux, slipped down through
the village, untied and mounted his pony, and was away like the wind
before the astonished enemy could tell from the screaming and jabbering
squaws what was the matter.
All through the next day, June 15, 1876, camp was a beehive of busy
preparation. Colonel Chambers had succeeded in finding one hundred and
seventy-five infantrymen who could ride, or were anxious to try, so as
to see the whole trip through in proper shape. These were mounted upon
mules from the wagon and pack trains, and the first hour’s experience
with the reluctant Rosinantes equalled the best exhibition ever given by
Barnum. Tom Moore organized a small detachment of packers who had had
any amount of experience; two of them—Young and Delaney—had been with
the English in India, in the wars with the Sikhs and Rohillas, and knew
as much as most people do about campaigning and all its hardships and
dangers. The medical staff was kept busy examining men unfit to go to
the front, but it was remarkable that the men ordered to remain behind
did so under protest. The wagons were parked in a great corral, itself a
sort of fortification against which the Sioux would not heedlessly rush.
Within this corral racks made of willow branches supported loads of wild
meat, drying in the sun: deer and antelope venison, buffalo, elk, and
grizzly-bear meat, the last two killed by a hunting party from the
pack-train the previous day.
The preparations which our savage allies were making were no less
noticeable: in both Snake and Crow camps could be seen squads of young
warriors looking after their rifles, which, by the way, among the
Shoshones, I forgot to mention, were of the latest model—calibre .45—and
kept with scrupulous care in regular gun-racks. Some were sharpening
lances or adorning them with feathers and paint; others were making
“coup” sticks, which are long willow branches about twelve feet from end
to end, stripped of leaves and bark, and having each some distinctive
mark, in the way of feathers, bells, fur, paint, or bright-colored cloth
or flannel. These serve a singular purpose: the great object of the
Shoshones, Crows, Cheyennes, and Dakotas in making war is to set the
enemy afoot. This done, his destruction is rendered more easy if not
more certain. Ponies are also the wealth of the conquerors; hence, in
dividing the spoil, each man claims the animals first struck by his
“coup” stick.
With the Snakes were three white men—Cosgrove, Yarnell, and Eckles—all
Texans; and one French-Canadian half-breed, named Luisant. Cosgrove, the
leading spirit, was, during the Rebellion, a captain in the 32d Texas
Cavalry, C. S. A., and showed he had not forgotten the lessons of the
war by the appearance of discipline and good order evinced by his
command, who, in this respect, were somewhat ahead of the Crows. We were
informed that on the march over from Wind River, the Snakes, during one
afternoon, killed one hundred and seventy-five buffaloes on the eastern
slope of the Owl Creek Mountains. In the early hours of the afternoon
the Crows had a foot-race, for twenty cartridges a side; the running was
quite good for the distance of one hundred and fifty yards.
At sunset we buried Private Nelson, who had died the previous night. The
funeral cortege was decidedly imposing, because, as on all former
occasions of the same nature, all officers and men not engaged on other
duty made it a point to be present at the grave of every dead comrade;
the noise of the parting volleys brought our savages up on a gallop,
persuaded that the Sioux were making a demonstration against some part
of our lines; they dashed up to the side of the grave, and there they
sat motionless upon their ponies, feathers nodding in the breeze, and
lances gleaming in the sun. Some of them wore as many as four rings in
each ear, the entire cartilage being perforated from apex to base.