THE JUNCTION WITH MERRITT AND THE MARCH TO MEET TERRY—THE COUNTRY ON
FIRE—MERRITT AND HIS COMMAND—MR. “GRAPHIC”—STANTON AND HIS
“IRREGULARS”—“UTE JOHN”—THE SITE OF THE HOSTILE CAMP—A SIOUX
CEMETERY—MEETING TERRY’S COMMAND—FINDING TWO SKELETONS—IN THE BAD
LANDS—LANCING RATTLESNAKES—BATHING IN THE YELLOWSTONE—MACKINAW BOATS
AND “BULL” BOATS—THE REES HAVE A PONY DANCE—SOME TERRIBLE
STORMS—LIEUTENANT WILLIAM P. CLARKE.
On the 3d of August, 1876, Crook’s command marched twenty miles
north-northeast to Goose Creek, where Merritt had been ordered to await
its arrival. The flames of prairie fires had parched and disfigured the
country. “Big Bat” took me a short cut across a petty affluent of the
Goose, which had been full of running water but was now dry as a bone,
choked with ashes and dust, the cottonwoods along its banks on fire, and
every sign that its current had been dried up by the intense heat of the
flames. In an hour or so more the pent-up waters forced a passage
through the ashes, and again flowed down to mingle with the Yellowstone.
The Sioux had also set fire to the timber in the Big Horn, and at night
the sight was a beautiful one of the great line of the foot-hills
depicted in a tracery of gold.
General Merritt received us most kindly. He was at that time a very
young man, but had had great experience during the war in command of
mounted troops. He was blessed with a powerful physique, and seemed to
be specially well adapted to undergo any measure of fatigue and
privation that might befall him. His force consisted of ten companies of
the Fifth Cavalry, and he had also brought along with him seventy-six
recruits for the Second and Third Regiments, and over sixty surplus
horses, besides an abundance of ammunition.
The officers with General Merritt, or whose names have not already been
mentioned in these pages, were: Lieutenant-Colonel E. A. Carr, Major
John V. Upham, Lieutenant A. D. B. Smead, A. D. King, George O. Eaton,
Captain Robert H. Montgomery, Emil Adam, Lieutenant E. L. Keyes, Captain
Samuel Sumner, Lieutenant C. P. Rodgers, Captain George F. Price,
Captain J. Scott Payne, Lieutenants A. B. Bache, William P. Hall,
Captain E. M. Hayes, Lieutenant Hoel S. Bishop, Captain Sanford C.
Kellogg, Lieutenants Bernard Reilly and Robert London, Captain Julius W.
Mason, Lieutenant Charles King, Captain Edward H. Leib, Captain William
H. Powell, Captain James Kennington, Lieutenant John Murphy, Lieutenant
Charles Lloyd, Captain Daniel W. Burke, Lieutenant F. S. Calhoun,
Captain Thomas F. Tobey, Lieutenant Frank Taylor, Lieutenant Richard T.
Yeatman, Lieutenants Julius H. Pardee, Robert H. Young, Rockefeller, and
Satterlle C. Plummer, with Lieutenants W. C. Forbush as Adjutant, and
Charles H. Rockwell as Quartermaster of the Fifth Cavalry, and Assistant
Surgeons Grimes, Lecompt, and Surgeon B. H. Clements, who was announced
as Medical Director of the united commands by virtue of rank. Colonel T.
H. Stanton was announced as in command of the irregulars and citizen
volunteers, who in small numbers accompanied the expedition. He was
assisted by Lieutenant Robert H. Young, Fourth Infantry, a gallant and
efficient soldier of great experience. At the head of the scouts with
Merritt rode William F. Cody, better known to the world at large by his
dramatic representation which has since traversed two continents:
“Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.”
Major Furey was directed to remain at this point, or in some eligible
locality close to it, and keep with him the wagon-train and the
disabled. Paymaster Arthur was to stay with him; and outside of that
there were three casualties in the two commands: Sutorius, dismissed by
sentence of general court-martial; Wilson, resigned July 29th; and Cain,
whose mind betrayed symptoms of unsoundness, and who was ordered to
remain with Furey, but persisted in keeping with the column until the
Yellowstone had been reached. Couriers arrived with telegrams from
General Sheridan at Chicago, Williams at Omaha, and Colonel Townsend,
commanding at Fort Laramie; all of whom had likewise sent clippings from
the latest papers, furnishing information from all points in the Indian
country. From these clippings it was learned that the stream of
adventurers pouring into the Black Hills was unabated, and that at the
confluence of the Deadwood and Whitewood Creeks a large town or city of
no less than four thousand inhabitants had sprung up and was working the
gold “placers,” all the time exposed to desperate attacks from the
Indians, who, according to one statement, which was afterwards shown to
be perfectly true, had murdered more than eighty men in less than eight
days. These men were not killed within the limits of the town, but in
its environs and in the exposed “claims” out in the Hills.
Several new correspondents had attached themselves to Merritt’s column;
among them I recall Mills, of the New York _Times_, and Lathrop, of the
_Bulletin_, of San Francisco. These, I believe, were the only real
correspondents in the party, although there were others who vaunted
their pretensions; one of these last, name now forgotten, claimed to
have been sent out by the New York _Graphic_, a statement very few were
inclined to admit. He was the greenest thing I ever saw without
feathers; he had never been outside of New York before, and the way the
scouts, packers, and soldiers “laid for” that man was a caution. Let the
other newspaper men growl as they might about the lack of news, Mr.
“Graphic,” as I must call him, never had any right to complain on that
score. Never was packer or scout or soldier—shall I add officer?—so
weary, wet, hungry, or miserable at the end of a day’s march that he
couldn’t devote a half-hour to the congenial task of “stuffin’ the
tenderfoot,” The stories told of Indian atrocities to captives,
especially those found with paper and lead-pencils, were enough to make
the stoutest veteran’s teeth chatter, and at times our newly-discovered
acquisition manifested a disinclination to swallow, unstrained, the
stories told him; but his murmurs of mild dissent were drowned in an
inundation of “Oh, that hain’t nawthin’ to what I’ve seed ’em do.” Who
the poor fellow was I do not know; no one seemed to know him by any
other designation than “The Tenderfoot.” He had no money, he could not
draw, and was dependent upon the packers and others for every meal; I
must say that he never lacked food, provided he swallowed it with tales
of border horrors which would cause the pages of the Boys’ Own Five-Cent
Novelette series to creak with terror. I never saw him smile but once,
and that was under provocation sufficient to lead a corpse to laugh
itself out of its shroud.
One of the biggest liars among Stanton’s scouts—I do not recall whether
it was “Slap-jack Billy, the Pride of the Pan-Handle,” or “Pisen-weed
Patsey, the Terror of the Bresh”—was devoting a half-hour of his
valuable time to “gettin’ in his work” on the victim, and was riding one
pony and leading another, which he had tied to the tail of the first by
a rope or halter. This plan worked admirably, and would have been a
success to the end had not the led pony started at some Indian clothing
in the trail, and jumped, and pulled the tail of the leader nearly out
by the roots. The front horse wasn’t going to stand any such nonsense as
that; he squealed and kicked and plunged in rage, sending his rider over
his head like a rocket, and then, still attached to the other, something
after the style of a Siamese twin, charged through the column of scouts,
scattering them in every direction. But this paroxysm of hilarity was
soon over, and the correspondent subsided into his normal condition of
deep-settled melancholy. He left us when we reached the Yellowstone, and
I have never blamed him.
One of the facts brought out in the telegrams received by General Crook
was that eight warriors, who had left the hostiles and surrendered at
Red Cloud Agency, had reported that the main body of the hostiles would
turn south. Lieutenant E. B. Robertson, Ninth Infantry, found a
soapstone dish on the line of march, which could have come from the
Mandans only, either by trade or theft; or, possibly, some band of
Mandans, in search of buffalo, had penetrated thus far into the interior
and had lost it.
In a telegram sent in to Sheridan about this date Crook said: “On the
25th or 26th, all the hostile Indians left the foot of the Big Horn
Mountains, and moved back in the direction of the Rosebud Mountains, so
that it is now impracticable to communicate with General Terry by
courier. I am fearful that they will scatter, as there is not sufficient
grass in that country to support them in such large numbers. If we meet
the Indians in too strong force, I will swing around and unite with
General Terry. Your management of the agencies will be a great benefit
to us here.”
We had one busy day; saddles had to be exchanged or repaired, horses
shod, ammunition issued, provisions packed, and all stores in excess
turned into the wagon-train. The allowance of baggage was cut down to
the minimum: every officer and soldier was to have the clothes on his
back and no more; one overcoat, one blanket (to be carried by the
cavalry over the saddle blanket), and one India-rubber poncho or
one-half of a shelter tent, was the allowance carried by General Crook,
the members of his staff, and all the officers, soldiers, and packers.
We had rations for fifteen days—half of bacon, sugar, coffee, and salt,
and full of hard bread; none of vinegar, soap, pepper, etc. There were
two hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition to the man; one hundred to be
carried on the person, and the rest on the pack-mules, of which there
were just three hundred and ninety-nine. The pack-train was in five
divisions, each led by a bell-mare; no tents allowed, excepting one for
the use of the surgeons attending to critical cases. “Travois” poles
were hauled along to drag wounded in case it should become necessary.
Our mess, which now numbered eleven, was, beyond dispute, the most
remarkable mess the army has ever known. I challenge comparison with it
from anything that has ever been seen among our officers outside of
Libby or Andersonville prisons. General Crook did not allow us either
knife, fork, spoon, or plate. Each member carried strapped to the pommel
of his saddle a tin cup, from which at balmy morn or dewy eve, as the
poets would say, he might quaff the decoction called coffee. Our kitchen
utensils comprised one frying-pan, one carving-knife, one carving-fork,
one large coffee pot, one large tin platter, one large and two small tin
ladles or spoons, and the necessary bags for carrying sugar, coffee,
bacon, and hard bread. I forgot to say that we had also one sheet-iron
mess pan. General Crook had determined to make his column as mobile as a
column of Indians, and he knew that example was more potent than a score
of general orders.
We marched down “Prairie Dog” Creek, to its junction with Tongue River,
passing through a village of prairie dogs, which village was six miles
long. The mental alienation of our unfortunate friend—Captain
Cain—became more and more apparent. By preference, I rode with Colonel
Stanton’s scouts; they called themselves the “Montana Volunteers,” but
why they did so I never could understand, unless it was that every other
State and Territory had repudiated them and set a price upon their
heads. There was a rumor widely circulated in camp to the effect that
one or two of these scouts had never been indicted for murder; it was
generally suspected that Stanton himself was at the bottom of this, in
his anxiety to secure a better name for his corps. There were very few
of them who couldn’t claim the shelter of the jails of Cheyenne, Denver,
and Omaha by merely presenting themselves, and confessing certain
circumstances known to the police and detectives of those thriving
boroughs. Many a night Joe Wasson, Strahorn, and I sat upon our saddles,
to be sure that we should have them with us at sunrise. One of the most
important of these volunteers was “Ute John,” a member of the tribe of
the same name, who claimed to have been thoroughly civilized and
Christianized, because he had once, for six months, been “dlivin’ team
fo’ Mo’mon” in Salt Lake. “Ute John” was credited by most people with
having murdered his own grandmother and drunk her blood, but, in my
opinion, the reports to his detriment were somewhat exaggerated, and he
was harmless except when sober, which wasn’t often, provided whiskey was
handy. “John’s” proudest boast was that he was a “Klischun,” and he
assured me that he had been three times baptized in one year by the
“Mo’mon,” who had made him “heap wash,” and gave him “heap biled shirt,”
by which we understood that he had been baptized and clad in the
garments of righteousness, which he sorely needed. “Ute John” had one
peculiarity: he would never speak to any one but Crook himself in regard
to the issues of the campaign. “Hello, Cluke,” he would say, “how you
gittin’ on? Where you tink dem Clazy Hoss en Settin’ Bull is now,
Cluke?”
We had a difficult time marching down the Tongue, which had to be forded
thirteen times in one day, the foot-soldiers disdaining the aid which
the cavalry was ordered to extend by carrying across all who so desired.
The country was found to be one gloomy desolation. We crossed the
Rosebud Mountains and descended into the Rosebud Creek, where trails
were found as broad and distinct as wagon-roads; the grass was picked
clean, and the valley, of which I wrote so enthusiastically in the
spring, was now a desert. We discovered the trap which “Crazy Horse” had
set for us at the Rosebud fight on the 17th of June, and confidence in
Crook was increased tenfold by the knowledge that he had outwitted the
enemy on that occasion. The Sioux and Cheyennes had encamped in seven
circles, covering four miles in length of the valley. The trail was from
ten to twelve days old, and, in the opinion of Frank and the other
guides, had been made by from ten to twenty thousand ponies.
The hills bordering the Rosebud were vertical bluffs presenting
beautiful alternations of color in their stratification; there were
bands of red, pink, cream, black, and purple; the different tints
blending by easy gradations into a general effect pleasing to the eye.
There were quantities of lignite which would be of incalculable benefit
to the white settlers who might in the future flock into this region. In
riding along with our Indian scouts we learned much of the secret
societies among the aboriginal tribes: the “Brave Night Hearts,” the
“Owl Feathers,” and the “Wolves and Foxes.” These control the tribe,
fight its battles, and determine its policy. Initiation into some one of
them is essential to the young warrior’s advancement. The cañon of the
Rosebud would seem to have been the burying-ground of the Western
Dakotas; there were dozens of graves affixed to the branches of the
trees, some of them of great age, and all raided by our ruthless
Shoshones and Utes, who with their lances tumbled the bones to the
ground and ransacked the coverings for mementos of value, sometimes
getting fine bows, at others, nickel-plated revolvers. There was one
which the Shoshones were afraid to touch, and which they said was full
of bad “medicine;” but “Ute John,” fortified, no doubt, by the grace of
his numerous Mormon baptisms, was not restrained by vain fears, and
tumbled it to the ground, letting loose sixteen field mice which in some
way had made their home in those sepulchral cerements.
Captain “Jack Crawford, the Poet Scout,” rode into camp on the 8th of
August attended by a few companions. The weather became rainy, and the
trail muddy and heavy. August 11th our scouts sent in the information
that a line of Indians was coming up the valley, and our men advanced as
skirmishers. Soon word was received that behind the supposed enemy could
be seen the white canvas coders of a long column of wagons, and we then
knew that we were about to meet Terry’s command. Our cavalry were
ordered to halt and unsaddle to await the approach of the infantry. The
Indian scouts were directed to proceed to the front and determine
exactly who the strangers were. They decked themselves in all the
barbaric splendors of which they were capable: war-bonnets streamed to
the ground; lances and rifles gleamed in the sun; ponies and riders,
daubed with mud, pranced out to meet our friends, as we were assured
they must be.
When our Indians raised their yells and chants, the scouts at the head
of the other column took fright and ran in upon the solid masses of
horsemen following the main trail. These immediately deployed into line
of skirmishers, behind which we saw, or thought we saw, several pieces
of artillery. “Buffalo Bill,” who was riding at the head of our column,
waved his hat, and, putting spurs to his horse, galloped up alongside of
Major Reno, of the Seventh Cavalry, who was leading Terry’s advance.
When the news passed down from man to man, cheers arose from the two
columns; as fast as the cheers of Terry’s advance guard reached the ears
of our men, they responded with heart and soul. General Crook sent
Lieutenant Schuyler to extend a welcome to General Terry, and proffer to
him and his officers such hospitalities as we could furnish.
Schuyler returned, leading to the tree under which Crook was seated a
band of officers at whose head rode Terry himself. The meeting between
the two commanders was most cordial, as was that between the subalterns,
many of whom had served together during the war and in other places. We
made every exertion to receive our guests with the best in our
possession: messengers were despatched down to the pack-trains to borrow
every knife, fork, spoon, and dish available, and they returned with
about thirty of each and two great coffee-pots, which were soon humming
on the fire filled to the brim with an exhilarating decoction. Phillips,
the cook, was assisted on this occasion by a man whose experience had
been garnered among the Nez Percés and Flat-Heads, certainly not among
Caucasians, although I must admit that he worked hard and did the best
he knew how. A long strip of canvas was stretched upon the ground and
covered with the tin cups and cutlery. Terry and his staff seated
themselves and partook of what we had to offer, which was not very much,
but was given with full heart.
Terry was one of the most charming and affable of men; his general air
was that of the scholar no less than the soldier. His figure was tall
and commanding; his face gentle, yet decided; his kindly blue eyes
indicated good-nature; his complexion, bronzed by wind and rain and sun
to the color of an old sheepskin-covered Bible, gave him a decidedly
martial appearance. He won his way to all hearts by unaffectedness and
affability. In his manner he was the antithesis of Crook. Crook was also
simple and unaffected, but he was reticent and taciturn to the extreme
of sadness, brusque to the verge of severity. In Terry’s face I thought
I could sometimes detect traces of indecision; but in Crook’s
countenance there was not the slightest intimation of anything but
stubbornness, rugged resolution, and bull-dog tenacity. Of the two men
Terry alone had any pretensions to scholarship, and his attainments were
so great that the whole army felt proud of him; but Nature had been
bountiful to Crook, and as he stood there under a tree talking with
Terry, I thought that within that cleanly outlined skull, beneath that
brow, and behind those clear-glancing blue-gray eyes, there was
concealed more military sagacity, more quickness of comprehension and
celerity to meet unexpected emergencies, than in any of our then living
Generals excepting Grant, of whose good qualities he constantly reminded
me, or Sheridan, whose early friend and companion he had been at West
Point and in Oregon.
That evening, General Crook and his staff dined with General Terry,
meeting with the latter Captains Smith and Gibbs, Lieutenants Maguire,
Walker, Thompson, Nowlan, and Michaelis. From this point Terry sent his
wagon-train down to the Yellowstone, and ordered the Fifth Infantry to
embark on one of the steamboats and patrol the river, looking out for
trails of hostiles crossing or attempting to cross to the north. All the
sick and disabled were sent down with this column; we lost Cain and
Bache and a number of enlisted men, broken down by the exposure of the
campaign. The heat in the middle of the day had become excessive, and
General Terry informed me that on the 8th it registered in his own tent
117° Fahrenheit, and on the 7th, 110°. Much of this increase of
temperature was, no doubt, due to the heat from the pasturage destroyed
by the hostiles, which comprehended an area extending from the
Yellowstone to the Big Horn Mountains, from the Big Horn River on the
west to the Little Missouri on the east.
In two things the column from the Yellowstone was sadly deficient: in
cavalry and in rapid transportation. The Seventh Cavalry was in need of
reorganization, half of its original numbers having been killed or
wounded in the affair of the Big Horn; the pack-train, made up, as it
necessarily was, of animals taken out of the traces of the heavy wagons,
was the saddest burlesque in that direction which it has ever been my
lot to witness—for this no blame was ascribable to Terry, who was doing
the best he could with the means allowed him from Washington. The Second
Cavalry was in good shape, and so was Gibbon’s column of infantry, which
seemed ready to go wherever ordered and go at once. Crook’s pack-train
was a marvel of system; it maintained a discipline much severer than had
been attained by any company in either column; under the indefatigable
supervision of Tom Moore, Dave Mears, and others, who had had an
experience of more than a quarter of a century, our mules moved with a
precision to which the worn-out comparison of “clockwork” is justly
adapted. The mules had been continuously in training since the preceding
December, making long marches, carrying heavy burdens in the worst sort
of weather. Consequently, they were hardened to the hardness and
toughness of wrought-iron and whalebone. They followed the bell, and
were as well trained as any soldiers in the command. Behind them one
could see the other pack-train, a string of mules, of all sizes, each
led by one soldier and beaten and driven along by another—attendants
often rivalling animals in dumbness—and it was hard to repress a smile
except by the reflection that this was the motive power of a column
supposed to be in pursuit of savages. On the first day’s march, after
meeting Crook, Terry’s pack-train dropped, lost, or damaged more stores
than Crook’s command had spoiled from the same causes from the time when
the campaign commenced.
When the united columns struck the Tongue, the trail of the hostile
bands had split into three: one going up stream, one down, and one
across country east towards the Powder. Crook ordered his scouts to
examine in front and on flanks, and in the mean time the commands
unsaddled and went into camp; the scouts did not return until almost
dark, when they brought information that the main trail had kept on in
the direction of the Powder. Colonel Royall’s command found the
skeletons of two mining prospectors in the bushes near the Tongue;
appearances indicated that the Sioux had captured these men and roasted
them alive. On this march we saw a large “medicine rock,” in whose
crevices the Sioux had deposited various propitiatory offerings, and
upon whose face had been graven figures and symbols of fanciful and
grotesque outline.
In following the main trail of the enemy it seemed as if we were on a
newly cut country road; when we reached a projecting hill of marl and
sandy clay, the lodge poles had cut into the soft soil to such an extent
that we could almost believe that we were on the line of work just
completed, with pick, spade, and shovel, by a gang of trained laborers.
Trout were becoming scarce in this part of the Tongue, but a very
delicious variety of the “cat” was caught and added to the mess to the
great delight of the epicure members. The rain had increased in volume,
and rarely an hour now passed without its shower. One night, while
sitting by what was supposed to be our camp-fire, watching the
sputtering flames struggling to maintain life against the down-pouring
waters, I heard my name called, and as soon as I could drag my sodden,
sticky clothes through a puddle of mud I found myself face to face with
Sam Hamilton, of the Second, whom I had not seen since we were boys
together in the volunteer service in the Stone River campaign, in 1862.
It was a very melancholy meeting, each soaked through to the skin,
seated alongside of smoking embers, and chilled to the marrow, talking
of old times, of comrades dead, and wondering who next was to be called.
The Indian trail led down the Tongue for some miles before it turned
east up the “Four Horn” Creek, where we followed it, being rewarded with
an abundance of very fine grama, called by our scouts the “Two-Day”
grass, because a bellyful of it would enable a tired horse to travel for
two days more. An Indian puppy was found abandoned by its red-skinned
owners, and was adopted by one of the infantry soldiers, who carried it
on his shoulders. Part of this time we were in “Bad Lands,” infested
with rattlesnakes in great numbers, which our Shoshones lanced with
great glee. It was very interesting to watch them, and see how they
avoided being bitten: three or four would ride up within easy distance
of the doomed reptile and distract its attention by threatening passes
with their lances; the crotalus would throw itself into a coil in half a
second, and stay there, tongue darting in and out, head revolving from
side to side, leaden eyes scintillating with the glare of the diamond,
ready to strike venomous fangs into any one coming within reach. The
Shoshone boys would drive their lances into the coil from three or four
different directions, exclaiming at the same time: “Gott tammee you!
Gott tammee you!” which was all the English they had been able to
master.
We struck the Powder and followed it down to its junction with the
Yellowstone, where we were to replenish our supplies from Terry’s
steamboats. The Powder contrasted unfavorably with the Tongue: the
latter was about one hundred and fifty feet wide, four feet deep, swift
current, and cold water, and, except in the Bad Lands near its mouth,
clear and sweet, and not perceptibly alkaline. The Powder was the
opposite in every feature: its water, turbid and milky; current, slow;
bottom, muddy and frequently miry, whereas that of the Tongue was nearly
always hard-pan. The water of the Powder was alkaline and not always
palatable, and the fords rarely good and often dangerous. The
Yellowstone was a delightful stream: its width was not over two hundred
and fifty yards, but its depth was considerable, its bed constant, and
channel undeviating. The current flows with so little noise that an
unsuspecting person would have no idea of its velocity; but steamboats
could rarely stem it, and bathers venturing far from the banks were
swept off their feet. The depth was never less than five feet in the
main channel during time of high water. The banks were thickly grassed
and covered with cottonwood and other timber in heavy copses.
Crook’s forces encamped on the western bank of the Powder; the supplies
we had looked for were not on hand in sufficient quantity, and
Lieutenant Bubb, our commissary, reported that he was afraid that we
were going to be grievously disappointed in that regard. General Terry
sent steamers up and down the Yellowstone to gather up all stores from
depots, and also from points where they had been unloaded on account of
shallow water. Crook’s men spent a great deal of the time bathing in the
Yellowstone and washing their clothes, following the example set by the
General himself: each man waded out into the channel clad in his
undergarments and allowed the current to soak them thoroughly, and he
would then stand in the sunlight until dried. Each had but the suit on
his back, and this was all the cleaning or change they had for sixty
days. The Utes and Shoshones became very discontented, and “Washakie”
had several interviews with Crook, in which he plainly told the latter
that his people would not remain longer with Terry’s column, because of
the inefficiency of its transportation; with such mules nothing could be
done; the infantry was all right, and so was part of the cavalry, but
the pack-train was no good, and was simply impeding progress. The
steamer “Far West,” Captain Grant Marsh, was sent up the river to the
mouth of the Rosebud to bring down all the supplies to be found in the
depot at that point, but returned with very little for so many mouths as
we now had—about four thousand all told.
A great many fine agates were found in the Yellowstone near the Powder,
and so common were they that nearly all provided themselves with
souvenirs from that source. Colonel Burt was sent up the river to try to
induce the Crows to send some of their warriors to take the places soon
to be vacated by the Shoshones, as Crook foresaw that without native
scouts the expedition might as well be abandoned. Burt was unsuccessful
in his mission, and all our scouts left with the exception of the
much-disparaged “Ute John,” who expressed his determination to stick it
out to the last.
Mackinaw boats, manned by adventurous traders from Montana, had
descended the river loaded with all kinds of knick-knacks for the use of
the soldiers; these were retailed at enormous prices, but eagerly bought
by men who had no other means of getting rid of their money. Besides the
“Mackinaw,” which was made of rough timber framework, the waters of the
Yellowstone and the Missouri were crossed by the “bull-boat,” which bore
a close resemblance to the basket “coracle” of the west coast of
Ireland, and, like it, was a framework of willow or some kind of
basketry covered with the skins of the buffalo, or other bovine; in
these frail hemispherical barks squaws would paddle themselves and
baggage and pappooses across the swift-running current and gain the
opposite bank in safety.
At the mouth of Powder there was a sutler’s store packed from morning
till night with a crowd of expectant purchasers. To go in there was all
one’s life was worth: one moment a soldier stepped on one of your feet,
and the next some two-hundred-pound packer favored the other side in the
same manner. A disagreeable sand-storm drove Colonel Stanton and myself
to the shelter of the lunette constructed by Lieutenant William P.
Clarke, Second Cavalry, who had descended the Yellowstone from Fort
Ellis with a piece of artillery. Here we lunched with Clarke and Colonel
Carr, of the Fifth Cavalry, stormbound like ourselves. The Ree scouts
attached to Terry’s column favored our Utes and Shoshones with a “pony”
dance after nightfall. The performers were almost naked, and, with their
ponies, bedaubed and painted from head to foot. They advanced in a
regular line, which was not broken for any purpose, going over every
obstruction, even trampling down the rude structures of cottonwood
branches erected by the Utes and Shoshones for protection from the
elements. As soon as they had come within a few yards of the camp-fires
of the Shoshones, the latter, with the Utes, joined the Rees in their
chant and also jumped upon their ponies, which staggered for some
minutes around camp under their double and even treble load, until,
thank Heaven! the affair ended. Although I had what might be called a
“deadhead” view of the dance, I did not enjoy it at all, and was not
sorry when the Rees said that they would have to go back to their own
camp.
There was not very much to eat down on the Yellowstone, and one could
count on his fingers the “square” meals in that lovely valley.
Conspicuous among them should be the feast of hot bacon and beans, to
which Tom Moore invited Hartsuff, Stanton, Bubb, Wasson, Strahorn,
Schuyler, and myself long after the camp was wrapped in slumber. The
beans were cooked to a turn; there was plenty of hard-tack and coffee,
with a small quantity of sugar; each knew the other, there was much to
talk about, and in the light and genial warmth of the fire, with
stomachs filled, we passed a delightful time until morning had almost
dawned.
On the 20th of August, our Utes and Shoshones left, and word was also
received from the Crows that they were afraid to let any of the young
men leave their own country while such numbers of the Sioux and
Cheyennes were in hostility, and so close to them. General Crook had a
flag prepared for his headquarters after the style prevailing in Terry’s
column, which served the excellent purpose of directing orderlies and
officers promptly to the battalion or other command to which a message
was to be delivered. This standard, for the construction of which we
were indebted to the industry of Randall and Schuyler, was rather
primitive in design and general make-up. It was a guidon, of two
horizontal bands, white above, red beneath, with a blue star in the
centre. The white was from a crash towel contributed by Colonel Stanton,
the red came from a flannel undershirt belonging to Schuyler, and an old
blouse which Randall was about to throw away furnished the star. Tom
Moore had a “travois” pole shaved down for a staff, the ferrule and tip
of which were made of metallic cartridges.
Supper had just been finished that day when we were exposed to as
miserable a storm as ever drowned the spirit and enthusiasm out of any
set of mortals. It didn’t come on suddenly, but with slowness and
deliberation almost premeditated. For more than an hour fleecy clouds
skirmished in the sky, wheeling and circling lazily until re-enforced
from the west, and then moving boldly forward and hanging over camp in
dense, black, sullen masses. All bestirred themselves to make such
preparations as they could to withstand the siege: willow twigs and
grasses were cut in quantities, and to these were added sage-brush and
grease-wood. Wood was stacked up for the fire, so that at the earliest
moment possible after the cessation of the storm it could be rekindled
and afford some chance of warming ourselves and drying clothing. With
the twigs and sage-brush we built up beds in the best-drained nooks and
corners, placed our saddles and bridles at our heads, and carbines and
cartridges at our sides to keep them dry. As a last protection, a couple
of lariats were tied together, one end of the rope fastened to a picket
pin in the ground, the other to the limb of the withered Cottonwood
alongside of which headquarters had been established; over this were
stretched a couple of blankets from the pack-train, and we had done our
best. There was nothing else to do but grin and bear all that was to
happen. The storm-king had waited patiently for the completion of these
meagre preparations, and now, with a loud, ear-piercing crash of
thunder, and a hissing flash of white lightning, gave the signal to the
elements to begin the attack. We cowered helplessly under the shock,
sensible that human strength was insignificant in comparison with the
power of the blast which roared and yelled and shrieked about us.
For hours the rain poured down—either as heavy drops which stung by
their momentum; as little pellets which drizzled through canvas and
blankets, chilling our blood as they soaked into clothing; or
alternating with hail which in great, globular crystals, crackled
against the miserable shelter, whitened the ground, and froze the air.
The reverberation of the thunder was incessant; one shock had barely
begun to echo around the sky, when peal after peal, each stronger,
louder, and more terrifying than its predecessors, blotted from our
minds the sounds and flashes which had awakened our first astonishment,
and made us forget in new frights our old alarms. The lightning darted
from zenith to horizon, appeared in all quarters, played around all
objects. In its glare the smallest bushes, stones, and shrubs stood out
as plainly as under the noon sun of a bright summer’s day; when it
subsided, our spirits were oppressed with the weight of darkness. No
stringing together of words can complete a description of what we saw,
suffered, and feared during that awful tempest. The stoutest hearts, the
oldest soldiers, quailed.
The last growl of thunder was heard, the last flash of lightning seen,
between two and three in the morning, and then we turned out from our
wretched, water-soaked couches, and gathering around the lakelet in
whose midst our fire had been, tried by the smoke of sodden chips and
twigs to warm our benumbed limbs and dry our saturated clothing. Not
until the dawn of day did we feel the circulation quicken and our
spirits revive. A comparison of opinion developed a coincidence of
sentiment. Everybody agreed that while perhaps this was not the worst
storm he had ever known, the circumstances of our complete exposure to
its force had made it about the very worst any of the command had ever
experienced. There was scarcely a day from that on for nearly a month
that my note-books do not contain references to storms, some of them
fully as severe as the one described in the above lines; the exposure
began to tell upon officers, men, and animals, and I think the statement
will be accepted without challenge that no one who followed Crook during
those terrible days was benefited in any way.
I made out a rough list of the officers present on this expedition, and
another of those who have died, been killed, died of wounds, or been
retired for one reason or another, and I find that the first list had
one hundred and sixteen names and the second sixty-nine; so it can be
seen that of the officers who were considered to be physically able to
enter upon that campaign in the early summer months of 1876, over fifty
per cent, are not now answering to roll-call on the active list, after
about sixteen years’ interval. The bad weather had the good effects of
bringing to the surface all the dormant geniality of Colonel Evans’s
disposition: he was the Mark Tapley of the column; the harder it rained,
the louder he laughed; the bright shafts of lightning revealed nothing
more inspiriting than our worthy friend’s smile of serene contentment.
In Colonel Evans’s opinion, which he was not at all diffident about
expressing, the time had come for the young men of the command to see
what real service was like. “There had been entirely too much of this
playing soldier, sir; what had been done by soldiers who were soldiers,
sir, before the war, sir, had never been properly appreciated, sir, and
never would be until these young men got a small taste of it themselves,
sir.”
General Merritt’s division of the command was provided with a signal
apparatus, and the flags were of great use in conveying messages to camp
from the outlying pickets, and thus saving the wear and tear of
horse-flesh; but in this dark and rainy season the system was a failure,
and many thought that it would have been well to introduce a code of
signals by whistles, but it was not possible to do so under our
circumstances.
The “Far West” had made several trips to the depot at the mouth of the
Rosebud, and had brought down a supply of shoes, which was almost
sufficient for our infantry battalions, but there was little of anything
else, and Bubb, our commissary, was unable to obtain more than eleven
pounds of tobacco for the entire force.
We were now laboring under the serious disadvantage of having no native
scouts, and were obliged to start out without further delay, if anything
was to be done with the trail of the Sioux, which had been left several
marches up the Powder, before we started down to the Yellowstone to get
supplies. Crook had sent out Frank Gruard, “Big Bat,” and a small party
to learn all that could be learned of that trail, which was found
striking east and south. Terry’s scouts had gone to the north of the
Yellowstone to hunt for the signs of bands passing across the Missouri.
The report came in that they had found some in that direction, and the
two columns separated, Terry going in one direction, and Crook keeping
his course and following the large trail, which he shrewdly surmised
would lead over towards the Black Hills, where the savages would find
easy victims in the settlers pouring into the newly discovered mining
claims. Captain Cain, Captain Burrowes, and Lieutenant Eaton, the latter
broken down with chills and fever as well a pistol wound in the hand,
were ordered on board the transports, taking with them twenty-one men of
the command pronounced unfit for field service. One of these enlisted
men—Eshleman, Ninth Infantry—was violently insane. Our mess gained a new
member, Lieutenant William P. Clarke, Second Cavalry, ordered to report
to General Crook for duty as aide-de-camp. He was a brave, bright,
companionable gentleman, always ready in an emergency, and had he lived
would, beyond a doubt, have attained, with opportunity, a distinguished
place among the soldiers of our country. General Terry very kindly lent
General Crook five of his own small band of Ree scouts; they proved of
great service while with our column.