CROOK AND TERRY SEPARATE—THE PICTURESQUE LITTLE MISSOURI—THE “HORSE MEAT
MARCH” FROM THE HEAD OF THE HEART RIVER TO DEADWOOD—ON THE SIOUX
TRAIL—MAKING COFFEE UNDER DIFFICULTIES—SLAUGHTERING WORN-OUT CAVALRY
HORSES FOR FOOD—THE FIGHT AT SLIM BUTTES—LIEUTENANT VON LEUTTEWITZ
LOSES A LEG—THE DYING CHIEF, “AMERICAN HORSE,” SURRENDERS—RELICS OF
THE CUSTER MASSACRE—“CRAZY HORSE” ATTACKS OUR LINES—SUNSHINE AND
RATIONS.
On the 23d of August we were beset by another violent storm, worse, if
such a thing were possible, than any yet experienced. All through the
night we lay in from three to four inches of water, unable to shelter
ourselves against the strong wind and pelting Niagara which inundated
the country. Sleep was out of the question, and when morning came it
threw its cold gray light upon a brigade of drowned rats, of disgusted
and grumbling soldiers. It was with difficulty we got the fires to burn,
but a cup of strong coffee was ready in time, and with the drinking of
that the spirits revived, and with a hearty good-will all hands pulled
out from the valley of the Yellowstone, and plodded slowly through the
plastic mud which lay ankle deep along the course of the Powder. There
was a new acquisition to the column—a fine Newfoundland dog, which
attached itself to the command, or was reported to have done so,
although I have always had doubts upon that subject. Soldiers will steal
dogs, and “Jack,” as he was known to our men, may have been an unwilling
captive, for all I know to the contrary.
There was no trouble in finding the big Sioux trail, or in following it
east to O’Fallon’s Creek, finding plenty of water and getting out of
“the burnt district.” The grass was as nutritive as it ought to have
been in Wyoming and Montana, and as it would have been had not the red
men destroyed it all. Another trying storm soaked through clothing, and
dampened the courage of our bravest. The rain which set in about four in
the afternoon, just as we were making camp, suddenly changed to hail of
large size, which, with the sudden fall in temperature, chilled and
frightened our herds of horses and mules, and had the good effect of
making them cower together in fear, instead of stampeding, as we had
about concluded they would surely do. Lightning played about us with
remorseless vividness, and one great bolt crashed within camp limits,
setting fire to the grass on a post near the sentinel.
The 29th and 30th of August we remained in bivouac at a spring on the
summit of the ridge overlooking the head waters of Cabin Creek, while
our blankets and clothing were drying; and the scouts reconnoitred to
the front and flanks to learn what was possible regarding the trail,
which seemed much fresher, as if made only a few days previously.
Hunting detachments were sent out on each flank to bring in deer,
antelope and jack rabbits for the sick, of whom we now had a number
suffering from neuralgia, rheumatism, malaria, and diarrhœa. Lieutenant
Huntington was scarcely able to sit his horse, and Lieutenant Bache had
to be hauled in a “travois.”
The night of August 31, 1876, was so bitter cold that a number of
General Crook’s staff, commissioned and enlisted, had a narrow escape
from freezing to death. In our saturated condition, with clothing scant
even for summer, we were in no condition to face a sudden “norther,”
which blew vigorously upon all who were encamped upon the crests of the
buttes but neglected those in the shelter of the ravines. The scenery in
this neighborhood was entrancing. Mr. Finerty accompanied me to the
summit of the bluffs, and we looked out upon a panorama grander than any
that artist would be bold enough to trace upon canvas. In the western
sky the waning glories of the setting sun were most dazzling. Scarlet
and gold, pink and yellow—in lovely contrast or graceful harmony—were
scattered with reckless prodigality from the tops of the distant hills
to near the zenith, where neutral tints of gray and pale blue marked the
dividing line between the gorgeousness of the vanishing sunlight and the
more placid splendors of the advancing night, with its millions of
stars. The broken contour of the ground, with its deeply furrowed
ravines, or its rank upon rank of plateaux and ridges, resembled an
angry sea whose waves had been suddenly stilled at the climax of a
storm. The juiciest grama covered the pink hillocks from base to crest,
but scarcely a leaf could be seen; it was pasturage, pure and simple—the
paradise of the grazier and the cowboy. We gave free rein to our fancy
in anticipating the changes ten years would effect in this noble region,
then the hunting ground of the savage and the lair of the wild beast.
We crossed the country to the east, going down Beaver Creek and finding
indications that the hostiles knew that we were on their trail, which
now showed signs of splitting; we picked up four ponies, abandoned by
the enemy, and Frank Gruard, who brought them in, was sure that we were
pressing closely upon the rear of the Indians, and might soon expect a
brush with them. A soldier was bitten in the thumb by a rattlesnake;
Surgeon Patzki cauterized the wound, administered ammonia, and finished
up with two stiff drinks of whiskey from the slender allowance of
hospital supplies. The man was saved. The trail kept trending to the
south, running down towards the “Sentinel” Buttes, where our advance had
a running fight with the enemy’s rear-guard, killing one or two ponies.
The next point of note was the Little Missouri River, into the valley of
which we descended on the 4th of September, at the place where General
Stanley had entered it with the expedition to survey the line of the
Northern Pacific Railroad in 1873. This is called by the Indians the
“Thick Timber” Creek, a name which it abundantly deserves in comparison
with the other streams flowing within one hundred miles on either side
of it. We emerged from the narrow defile of Andrus’ Creek, into a broad
park, walled in by precipitous banks of marl, clay, and sandstone,
ranging from one hundred to three hundred feet high. Down the central
line of this park grew a thick grove of cottonwood, willow, and
box-elder, marking the channel of the stream, which at this spot was
some thirty yards wide, two to three feet deep, carrying a good volume
of cold, sweet water, rather muddy in appearance. The bottom is of clay,
and in places miry, and the approaches are not any too good. A small
amount of work was requisite to cut them down to proper shape, but there
was such a quantity of timber and brush at hand that corduroy and
causeway were soon under construction. The fertility of the soil was
attested by the luxuriance of the grass, the thickness of timber, the
dense growth of grape-vines, wild plums, and bull berries, already
ripening under the warm rays of the sun and the constant showers. Where
the picket lines of Terry’s cavalry had been stretched during the
spring, and the horses had scattered grains of corn from their feed, a
volunteer crop had sprung up, whose stalks were from ten to twelve feet
high, each bearing from two to four large ears still in the milk.
Our scouts and the advance-guard of the cavalry rushed into this
unexpected treasure-trove, cutting and slashing the stalks, and bearing
them off in large armfuls for the feeding of our own animals. The
half-ripened plums and bull berries were thoroughly boiled, and,
although without sugar, proved pleasant to the taste and a valuable
anti-scorbutic. Trial was also made of the common opuntia, or Indian
fig, the cactus which is most frequent in that section of Dakota; the
spines were burnt off, the thick skin peeled, and the inner meaty pulp
fried; it is claimed as an excellent remedy for scurvy, but the taste is
far from agreeable, being slimy and mucilaginous.
On the 5th of September we made a long march of thirty miles in
drizzling rain and sticky mud, pushing up Davis Creek, and benefiting by
the bridges which Terry’s men had erected in many places where the
stream had to be crossed; we reached the head of the Heart River, and
passed between the Rosebud Butte on the right and the Camel’s Hump on
the left. Here we again ran upon the enemy’s rear-guard, which seemed
disposed to make a fight until our advance got up and pushed them into
the bluffs, when they retreated in safety, under cover of the heavy fog
which had spread over the hills all day. Of the fifteen days’ rations
with which we had started out from the Yellowstone, only two and a half
days’ rations were left. When Randall and Stanton returned from the
pursuit of the enemy, the Rees, who were still with us, gave it as their
opinion that the command could easily reach Fort Abraham Lincoln in four
days, or five; Glendive, on the Yellowstone, in our rear, could not be
much farther in a direct line; but here was a hot trail leading due
south towards the Black Hills, which were filling with an unknown number
of people, all of whom would be exposed to slaughter and destruction.
There is one thing certain about a hot trail: you’ll find Indians on it
if you go far enough, and you’ll find them nowhere else. Comfort and
ease beckoned from Fort Lincoln, but duty pointed to Deadwood, and
straight to Deadwood Crook went. His two and a half days’ rations were
made to last five; the Rees were sent in with despatches as fast as
their ponies could travel to Lincoln, to inform Sheridan of our
whereabouts, and to ask that supplies be hurried out from Camp Robinson
to meet us. With anything like decent luck we ought to be able to force
a fight and capture a village with its supplies of meat. Still, it was
plain that all the heroism of our natures was to be tried in the fire
before that march should be ended; Bubb concealed seventy pounds of
beans to be used for the sick and wounded in emergencies; Surgeon
Hartsuff carried in his saddle-bags two cans of jelly and half a pound
of cornstarch, with the same object; the other medical officers had each
a little something of the same sort—tea, chocolate, etc. This was a
decidedly gloomy outlook for a column of two thousand men in an unknown
region in tempestuous weather. We had had no change of clothing for more
than a month since leaving Goose Creek, and we were soaked through with
rain and mud, and suffering greatly in health and spirits in
consequence.
We left the Heart River in the cold, bleak mists of a cheerless morning,
which magnified into grim spectres the half-dozen cottonwoods nearest
camp, which were to be imprinted upon memory with all the more
vividness, because until we had struck the Belle Fourche, the type of
the streams encountered in our march was the same—timberless, muddy, and
sluggish. The ground was covered with grass, alternating with great
patches of cactus. Villages of prairie dogs extended for leagues, and
the angry squeak of the population was heard on all sides. “Jack,” the
noble Newfoundland dog which had been with us since we started out from
the mouth of Powder, was now crazy for some fresh meat, and would charge
after the prairie dogs with such impetuosity that when he attempted to
seize his victim, and the loosely packed soil around the burrow had
given way beneath their united weight, he would go head over heels,
describing a complete somersault, much to his own astonishment and our
amusement. After turning the horses out to graze in the evening, it
generally happened that camp would be visited by half a dozen jack
rabbits, driven out of their burrows by fear of the horses’ hoofs. The
soldiers derived great enjoyment every time one was started, and as poor
pussy darted from bush to bush, doubled and twisted, bounded boldly
through a line of her tormentors, or cowered trembling under some
sage-brush, the pursuers, armed with nose-bags, lariats, and halters,
would advance from all sides, and keep up the chase until the wretched
victim was fairly run to death. There would be enough shouting, yelling,
and screeching to account for the slaughter of a thousand buffaloes. We
learned to judge of the results of the chase in the inverse ratio to the
noise: when an especially deafening outcry was heard, the verdict would
be rendered at once that an unusually pigmy rabbit had been run to
cover, and that the men who had the least to do with the capture had
most to do with the tumult.
The country close to the head of Heart River was strewn with banded
agate, much of it very beautiful. We made our first camp thirty-five
miles south of Heart River by the side of two large pools of brackish
water, so full of “alkali” that neither men nor horses cared to touch
it. There wasn’t a stick of timber in sight as big around as one’s
little finger; we tried to make coffee by digging a hole in the ground
upon which we set a tin cup, and then each one in the mess by turns fed
the flames with wisps of such dry grass as could be found and twisted
into a petty fagot. We succeeded in making the coffee, but the water in
boiling threw up so much saline and sedimentary matter that the
appearance was decidedly repulsive. To the North Fork of the Grand River
was another thirty-five miles, made, like the march of the preceding
day, in the pelting rain which had lasted all night. The country was
beautifully grassed, and we saw several patches of wild onions, which we
dug up and saved to boil with the horse-meat which was now appearing as
our food; General Crook found half a dozen rose-bushes, which he had
guarded by a sentinel for the use of the sick; Lieutenant Bubb had four
or five cracker-boxes broken up and distributed to the command for fuel;
it is astonishing what results can be effected with a handful of
fire-wood if people will only half try. The half and third ration of
hard-tack was issued to each and every officer in the headquarters mess
just the same as it was issued to enlisted men; the coffee was prepared
with a quarter ration, and even that had failed. Although there could
not be a lovelier pasturage than that through which we were marching,
yet our animals, too, began to play out, because they were carrying
exhausted and half-starved men who could not sit up in the saddle, and
couldn’t so frequently dismount on coming to steep, slippery descents
where it would have been good policy to “favor” their faithful steeds.
Lieutenant Bubb was now ordered forward to the first settlement he could
find in the Black Hills—Deadwood or any other this side—and there to buy
all the supplies in sight; he took fifty picked mules and packers under
Tom Moore; the escort of one hundred and fifty picked men from the Third
Cavalry, mounted on our strongest animals, was under command of Colonel
Mills, who had with him Lieutenants Chase, Crawford, Schwatka, Von
Leuttewitz, and Doctor Stevens. Two of the correspondents, Messrs.
Strahorn and Davenport, went along, leaving the main column before it
had reached the camp of the night. We marched comparatively little the
next day, not more than twenty-four miles, going into camp in a
sheltered ravine on the South Fork of the Grand River, within sight of
the Slim Buttes, and in a position which supplied all the fuel needed,
the first seen for more than ninety miles, but so soaked with water that
all we could do with it was to raise a smoke. It rained without
intermission all day and all night, but we had found wood, and our
spirits rose with the discovery; then, our scouts had killed five
antelope, whose flesh was distributed among the command, the sick in
hospital being served first. Plums and bull berries almost ripe were
appearing in plenty, and gathered in quantity to be boiled and eaten
with horse-meat. Men were getting pretty well exhausted, and each mile
of the march saw squads of stragglers, something which we had not seen
before; the rain was so unintermittent, the mud so sticky, the air so
damp, that with the absence of food and warmth, men lost courage, and
not a few of the officers did the same thing. Horses had to be abandoned
in great numbers, but the best of them were killed to supply meat, which
with the bull berries and water had become almost our only certain food,
eked out by an occasional slice of antelope or jack rabbit.
The 8th of September was General Crook’s birthday; fifteen or sixteen of
the officers had come to congratulate him at his fire under the cover of
a projecting rock, which kept off a considerable part of the down-pour
of rain; it was rather a forlorn birthday party,—nothing to eat, nothing
to drink, no chance to dry clothes, and nothing for which to be thankful
except that we had found wood, which was a great blessing. Sage-brush,
once so despised, was now welcomed whenever it made its appearance, as
it began to do from this on; it at least supplied the means of making a
small fire, and provided the one thing which under all circumstances the
soldier should have, if possible. Exhausted by fatiguing marches through
mud and rain, without sufficient or proper food, our soldiers reached
bivouac each night, to find only a rivulet of doubtful water to quench
their thirst, and then went supperless to bed.
In all the hardships, in all the privations of the humblest soldier,
General Crook freely shared; with precisely the same allowance of food
and bedding, he made the weary campaign of the summer of 1876; criticism
was silenced in the presence of a general who would reduce himself to
the level of the most lowly, and even though there might be
dissatisfaction and grumbling, as there always will be in so large a
command, which is certain to have a percentage of the men who want to
wear uniform without being soldiers, the reflective and observing saw
that their sufferings were fully shared by their leader and honored him
accordingly. There was no mess in the whole column which suffered as
much as did that of which General Crook was a member; for four days
before any other mess had been so reduced we had been eating the meat of
played-out cavalry horses, and at the date of which I am now writing all
the food within reach was horse-meat, water, and enough bacon to grease
the pan in which the former was to be fried. Crackers, sugar, and coffee
had been exhausted, and we had no addition to our bill of fare beyond an
occasional plateful of wild onions gathered alongside of the trail. An
antelope had been killed by one of the orderlies attached to the
headquarters, and the remains of this were hoarded with care for
emergencies.
On the morning of September 9th, as we were passing a little watercourse
which we were unable to determine correctly, some insisting that it was
the South Fork of the Grand, others calling it the North Fork of Owl
Creek—the maps were not accurate, and it was hard to say anything about
that region—couriers from Mills’s advance-guard came galloping to
General Crook with the request that he hurry on to the aid of Mills, who
had surprised and attacked an Indian village of uncertain size,
estimated at twenty-five lodges, and had driven the enemy into the
bluffs near him, but was able to hold his own until Crook could reach
him. The couriers added that Lieutenant Von Leuttewitz had been severely
wounded in the knee, one soldier had been killed, and five wounded; the
loss of the enemy could not then be ascertained. Crook gave orders for
the cavalry to push on with all possible haste, the infantry to follow
more at leisure; but these directions did not suit the dismounted
battalions at all, and they forgot all about hunger, cold, wet, and
fatigue, and tramped through the mud to such good purpose that the first
infantry company was overlapping the last one of the mounted troops when
the cavalry entered the ravine in which Mills was awaiting them. Then we
learned that the previous evening Frank Gruard had discovered a band of
ponies grazing on a hill-side and reported to Mills, who, thinking that
the village was inconsiderable, thought himself strong enough to attack
and carry it unaided.
He waited until the first flush of daylight, and then left his
pack-train in the shelter of a convenient ravine, under command of Bubb,
while he moved forward with the greater part of his command on foot in
two columns, under Crawford and Von Leuttewitz respectively, intending
with them to surround the lodges, while Schwatka, with a party of
twenty-five mounted men, was to charge through, firing into the “tepis.”
The enemy’s herd stampeded through the village, awakening the inmates,
and discovering the presence of our forces. Schwatka made his charge in
good style, and the other detachments moved in as directed, but the
escape of nearly all the bucks and squaws could not be prevented, some
taking shelter in high bluffs surrounding the village, and others
running into a ravine where they still were at the moment of our
arrival—eleven A.M.
The village numbered more than Mills had imagined: we counted
thirty-seven lodges, not including four upon which the covers had not
yet been stretched. Several of the lodges were of unusual dimensions:
one, probably that occupied by the guard called by Gruard and “Big Bat”
the “Brave Night Hearts,” contained thirty saddles and equipments. Great
quantities of furs—almost exclusively untanned buffalo robes, antelope,
and other skins—wrapped up in bundles, and several tons of meat, dried
after the Indian manner, formed the main part of the spoil, although
mention should be made of the almost innumerable tin dishes, blankets,
cooking utensils, boxes of caps, ammunition, saddles, horse equipments,
and other supplies that would prove a serious loss to the savages rather
than a gain to ourselves. Two hundred ponies—many of them fine
animals—not quite one-half the herd, fell into our hands. A cavalry
guidon, nearly new and torn from the staff; an army officer’s overcoat;
a non-commissioned officer’s blouse; cavalry saddles of the McClellan
model, covered with black leather after the latest pattern of the
ordnance bureau; a glove marked with the name of Captain Keogh; a letter
addressed to a private soldier in the Seventh Cavalry; horses branded U.
S. and 7 C.—one was branded D 7 / C were proofs that the members of this
band had taken part, and a conspicuous part, in the Custer massacre.
General Crook ordered all the meat and other supplies to be taken from
the village and piled up so that it could be issued or packed upon our
mules. Next, he ordered the wounded to receive every care; this had
already been done, as far as he was able, by Mills, who had pitched one
of the captured lodges in a cool, shady spot, near the stream, and safe
from the annoyance of random shots which the scattered Sioux still fired
from the distant hills.
A still more important task was that of dislodging a small party who had
run into a gulch fifty or sixty yards outside of the line of the lodges,
from which they made it dangerous for any of Mills’s command to enter
the village, and had already killed several of the pack-mules whose
carcasses lay among the lodges. Frank Gruard and “Big Bat” were sent
forward, crawling on hands and feet from shelter to shelter, to get
within easy talking distance of the defiant prisoners in the gulch, who
refused to accede to any terms and determined to fight it out, confident
that “Crazy Horse,” to whom they had despatched runners, would soon
hasten to their assistance. Lieutenant William P. Clarke was directed to
take charge of a picked body of volunteers and get the Indians out of
that gulch; the firing attracted a large crowd of idlers and others, who
pressed so closely upon Clarke and his party as to seriously embarrass
their work. Our men were so crowded that it was a wonder to me that the
shots of the beleaguered did not kill them by the half-dozen; but the
truth was, the Sioux did not care to waste a shot: they were busy
digging rifle-pits in the soft marly soil of the ravine, which was a
perfect ditch, not more than ten to fifteen feet wide, and fifteen to
twenty deep, with a growth of box elder that aided in concealing their
doings from our eyes. But, whenever a particularly good chance for doing
mischief presented itself, the rifle of the Sioux belched out its fatal
missile. Private Kennedy, Company “C,” Fifth Cavalry, had all the calf
of one leg carried away by a bullet, and at the same time another
soldier was shot through the ankle-joint.
The ground upon which Captain Munson and I were standing suddenly gave
way, and down we both went, landing in the midst of a pile of squaws and
children. The warriors twice tried to get aim at us, but were prevented
by the crooked shape of the ravine; on the other side, “Big Bat” and
another one of Stanton’s men, named Cary, had already secured position,
and were doing their best to induce the Indians to surrender, crying out
to them “Washte-helo” (Very good) and other expressions in Dakota, the
meaning of which I did not clearly understand. The women and pappooses,
covered with dirt and blood, were screaming in an agony of terror;
behind and above us were the oaths and yells of the surging soldiers;
back of the women lay what seemed, as near as we could make out, to be
four dead bodies still weltering in their gore. Altogether, the scene,
as far as it went, was decidedly infernal; there was very little to add
to it, but that little was added by one of the scouts named Buffalo
White, who incautiously exposed himself to find out what all the hubbub
in the ravine meant. Hardly had he lifted his body before a rifle-ball
pierced him through and through. He cried out in a way that was
heart-rending: “O, Lord! O, Lord! They’ve got me now, boys!” and dropped
limp and lifeless to the base of the hillock upon which he had perched
himself, thirty feet into the ravine below at its deepest point.
Encouraged by “Big Bat,” the squaws and children ventured to come up to
us, and were conducted down through the winds and turns of the ravine to
where General Crook was; he approached and addressed them pleasantly;
the women divined at once who he was, and clung to his hand and
clothing, their own skirts clutched by the babies, who all the while
wailed most dismally. When somewhat calmed down they said that their
village belonged to the Spotted Tail Agency and was commanded by “Roman
Nose” and “American Horse,” or “Iron Shield,” the latter still in the
ravine. General Crook bade one of them go back and say that he would
treat kindly all who surrendered. The squaw complied and returned to the
edge of the ravine, there holding a parley, as the result bringing back
a young warrior about twenty years old. To him General Crook repeated
the assurances already given, and this time the young man went back,
accompanied by “Big Bat,” whose arrival unarmed convinced “American
Horse” that General Crook’s promises were not written in sand.
“American Horse” emerged from his rifle-pit, supported on one side by
the young warrior, on the other by “Big Bat,” and slowly drew near the
group of officers standing alongside of General Crook; the reception
accorded the captives was gentle, and their wounded ones were made the
recipients of necessary attentions. Out of this little nook twenty-eight
Sioux—little and great, dead and alive—were taken; the corpses were
suffered to lie where they fell. “American Horse” had been shot through
the intestines, and was biting hard upon a piece of wood to suppress any
sign of pain or emotion; the children made themselves at home around our
fires, and shared with the soldiers the food now ready for the evening
meal. We had a considerable quantity of dried buffalo-meat, a few
buffalo-tongues, some pony-meat, and parfleche panniers filled with
fresh and dried buffalo berries, wild cherries, wild plums, and other
fruit—and, best find of all, a trifle of salt. One of the Sioux food
preparations—dried meat, pounded up with wild plums and wild
cherries—called “Toro,” was very palatable and nutritious; it is
cousin-german to our own plum pudding.
These Indians had certificates of good conduct dated at Spotted Tail
Agency and issued by Agent Howard. General Crook ordered that every
vestige of the village and the property in it which could not be kept as
serviceable to ourselves should be destroyed. The whole command ate
ravenously that evening and the next morning, and we still had enough
meat to load down twenty-eight of our strongest pack-mules. This will
show that the official reports that fifty-five hundred pounds had been
captured were entirely too conservative. I was sorry to see that the
value of the wild fruit was not appreciated by some of the company
commanders, who encouraged their men very little in eating it and thus
lost the benefit of its anti-scorbutic qualities. All our wounded were
cheerful and doing well, including Von Leuttewitz, whose leg had been
amputated at the thigh.
The barking of stray puppies, the whining of children, the confused hum
of the conversation going on among two thousand soldiers, officers, and
packers confined within the narrow limits of the ravine, were augmented
by the sharp crack of rifles and the whizzing of bullets, because “Crazy
Horse,” prompt in answering the summons of his distressed kinsmen, was
now on the ground, and had drawn his lines around our position, which he
hoped to take by assault, not dreaming that the original assailants had
been re-enforced so heavily. It was a very pretty fight, what there was
of it, because one could take his seat almost anywhere and see all that
was going on from one end of the field to the other. “Crazy Horse” moved
his men up in fine style, but seemed to think better of the scheme after
the cavalry gave him a volley from their carbines; the Sioux were not
left in doubt long as to what they were to do, because the infantry
battalions commanded by Burt and Daniel W. Burke got after them and
raced them off the field, out of range.
One of our officers whose conduct impressed me very much was Lieutenant
A. B. Bache, Fifth Cavalry: he was so swollen with inflammatory
rheumatism that he had been hauled for days in a “travois” behind a
mule; but, hearing the roll of rifles and carbines, he insisted upon
being mounted upon a horse and strapped to the saddle, that he might go
out upon the skirmish line. We never had a better soldier than he, but
he did not survive the hardships of that campaign. The Sioux did not
care to leave the battle-field without some token of prowess, and seeing
a group of ten or twelve cavalry horses which had been abandoned during
the day, and were allowed to follow along at their own pace, merely to
be slaughtered by Bubb for meat when it should be needed, flattered
themselves that they had a grand prize within reach; a party of bold
young bucks, anxious to gain a trifle of renown, stripped themselves and
their ponies, and made a dash for the broken-down cast-offs; the
skirmishers, by some sort of tacit consent, refrained from firing a
shot, and allowed the hostiles to get right into the “bunch” and see how
hopelessly they had been fooled, and then when the Sioux started to spur
and gallop back to their own lines the humming of bullets apprised them
that our men were having the joke all to themselves.
Just as “Crazy Horse” hauled off his forces, two soldiers bare-footed,
and in rags, walked down to our lines and entered camp; their horses had
“played out” in the morning, and were in the group which the Sioux had
wished to capture; the soldiers themselves had lain down to rest in a
clump of rocks and fallen asleep to be awakened by the circus going on
all around them; they kept well under cover, afraid as much of the
projectiles of their friends as of the fire of the savages, but were not
discovered, and now rejoined the command to be most warmly and sincerely
congratulated upon their good fortune. It rained all night, but we did
not care much, provided as we now were with plenty of food, plenty of
fuel, and some extra bedding from the furs taken in the lodges. In the
drizzling rain of that night the soul of “American Horse” took flight,
accompanied to the Happy Hunting Grounds by the spirit of Private
Kennedy.
After breakfast the next morning General Crook sent for the women and
children, and told them that we were not making war upon such as they,
and that all those who so desired were free to stay and rejoin their own
people, but he cautioned them to say to all their friends that the
American Government was determined to keep pegging away at all Indians
in hostility until the last had been killed or made a prisoner, and that
the red men would be following the dictates of prudence in surrendering
unconditionally instead of remaining at war, and exposing their wives
and children to accidents and dangers incidental to that condition. The
young warrior, “Charging Bear,” declined to go with the squaws, but
remained with Crook and enlisted as a scout, becoming a corporal, and
rendering most efficient service in the campaign during the following
winter which resulted so brilliantly.
“Crazy Horse” felt our lines again as we were moving off, but was held
in check by Sumner, of the Fifth, who had one or two men slightly
wounded, while five of the attacking party were seen to fall out of
their saddles. The prisoners informed us that we were on the main trail
of the hostiles, which, although now split, was all moving down to the
south towards the agencies. Mills, Bubb, Schwatka, Chase, and fifty
picked men of the Third Cavalry, with a train made up of all our strong
mules under Tom Moore, with Frank Gruard as guide, were once more sent
forward to try to reach Deadwood, learn all the news possible concerning
the condition of the exposed mining hamlets near there, and obtain all
the supplies in sight. Crook was getting very anxious to reach Deadwood
before “Crazy Horse” could begin the work of devilment upon which he and
his bands were bent, as the squaws admitted. Bubb bore a despatch to
Sheridan, narrating the events of the trip since leaving Heart River.
Knowing that we were now practically marching among hostile Sioux, who
were watching our every movement, and would be ready to attack at the
first sign of lack of vigilance, Crook moved the column in such a manner
that it could repel an attack within thirty seconds; that is to say,
there was a strong advance-guard, a rear-guard equally strong, and lines
of skirmishers moving along each flank, while the wounded were placed on
“travois,” for the care of which Captain Andrews and his company of the
Third Cavalry were especially detailed. One of the lodges was brought
along from the village for the use of the sick and wounded, and
afterwards given to Colonel Mills. The general character of the country
between the Slim Buttes and the Belle Fourche remained much the same as
that from the head of Heart River down, excepting that there was a small
portion of timber, for which we were truly thankful. The captured ponies
were butchered and issued as occasion required; the men becoming
accustomed to the taste of the meat, which was far more juicy and tender
than that of the broken-down old cavalry nags which we had been
compelled to eat a few days earlier. The sight of an antelope, however,
seemed to set everybody crazy, and when one was caught and killed squads
of officers and men would fight for the smallest portion of flesh or
entrails; I succeeded in getting one liver, which was carried in my
nose-bag all day and broiled over the ashes at night, furnishing a very
toothsome morsel for all the members of our mess.
While speaking upon the subject of horse-meat, let me tell one of the
incidents vividly imprinted upon memory. Bubb’s butcher was one of the
least poetical men ever met in my journey through life; all he cared for
was to know just what animals were to be slaughtered, and presto! the
bloody work was done, and a carcass gleamed in the evening air. Many and
many a pony had he killed, although he let it be known to a couple of
the officers whom he took into his confidence that he had been raised a
gentleman, and had never before slaughtered anything but cows and pigs
and sheep. One evening, he killed a mare whose daughter and
granddaughter were standing by her side, the daughter nursing from the
mother and the granddaughter from the daughter. On another occasion he
was approached by one of Stanton’s scouts—I really have not preserved
his name, but it was the dark Mexican who several weeks after killed,
and was killed by, Carey, his best friend. After being paid off, they
got into some kind of a drunken row in a gambling saloon, in Deadwood,
and shot each other to death. Well, this man drew near the butcher and
began making complaint that the latter, without sufficient necessity,
had cut up a pony which the guide was anxious to save for his own use.
The discussion lasted for several minutes and terminated without
satisfaction to the scout, who then turned to mount his pony and ride
away; no pony was to be seen; he certainly had ridden one down, but it
had vanished into vapor; he could see the saddle and bridle upon the
ground, but of the animal not a trace; while he had been arguing with
the butcher, the assistants of the latter had quickly unsaddled the
mount and slaughtered and divided it, and the quarters were then on
their way over to one of the battalions. It was a piece of rapid work
worthy of the best skill of Chicago, but it confirmed one man in a
tendency to profanity and cynicism.
Our maps led us into a very serious error: from them it appeared that
the South Fork of Owl Creek was not more than twenty or twenty-five
miles from the Belle Fourche, towards which we were trudging so wearily,
the rain still beating down without pity. The foot soldiers, eager to
make the march which was to end their troubles and lead them to food and
rest, were ready for the trail by three on the morning of the 12th of
September, and all of them strung out before four. As soon as it was
light enough we saw that a portion of the trail had set off towards the
east, and Major Upham was sent with one hundred and fifty men from the
Fifth Cavalry to find out all about it. It proved to be moving in the
direction of Bear Lodge Butte, and the intention evidently was to annoy
the settlements in the Hills; one of Upham’s men went off without
permission, after antelope, and was killed and cut to pieces by the
prowling bands watching the column. The clouds lifted once or twice
during the march of the 12th and disclosed the outline of Bear Butte, a
great satisfaction to us, as it proved that we were going in the right
direction for Deadwood. The country was evenly divided between cactus
and grass, in patches of from one to six miles in breadth; the mud was
so tenacious that every time foot or hoof touched it there would be a
great mass of “gumbo” adhering to render progress distressingly tiresome
and slow. Our clothing was in rags of the flimsiest kind, shoes in
patches, and the rations captured at the village exhausted. Mules and
horses were black to the houghs with the accretions of a passage through
slimy ooze which pulled off their shoes.
Crook’s orders to the men in advance were to keep a sharp lookout for
anything in the shape of timber, as the column was to halt and bivouac
the moment we struck anything that would do to make a fire. On we
trudged, mile succeeding mile, and still no sign of the fringe of
cottonwood, willow, and elder which we had been taught to believe
represented the line of the stream of which we were in search. The rain
poured down, clothes dripped with moisture, horses reeled and staggered,
and were one by one left to follow or remain as they pleased, while the
men, all of whom were dismounted and leading their animals, fell out
singly, in couples, in squads, in solid platoons. It was half-past ten
o’clock that never-to-be-forgotten night, when the last foot soldier had
completed his forty miles, and many did not pretend to do it before the
next morning, but lay outside, in rear of the column, on the muddy
ground, as insensible to danger and pain as if dead drunk.
We did not reach the Belle Fourche that night, but a tributary called
Willow Creek which answered every purpose, as it had an abundance of
box-elder, willow, ash, and plum bushes, which before many minutes
crackled and sprang skyward in a joyous flame; we piled high the dry
wood wherever found, thinking to stimulate comrades who were weary with
marching and sleeping without the cheerful consolation of a sparkling
camp-fire. There wasn’t a thing to eat in the whole camp but pony-meat,
slices of which were sizzling upon the coals, but the poor fellows who
did not get in killed their played-out horses and ate the meat raw. If
any of my readers imagines that the march from the head of Heart River
down to the Belle Fourche was a picnic, let him examine the roster of
the command and tell off the scores and scores of men, then hearty and
rugged, who now fill premature graves or drag out an existence with
constitutions wrecked and enfeebled by such privations and vicissitudes.
There may still be people who give credence to the old superstitions
about the relative endurance of horses of different colors, and believe
that white is the weakest color. For their information I wish to say
that the company of cavalry which had the smallest loss of horses during
this exhausting march was the white horse troop of the Fifth, commanded
by Captain Robert H. Montgomery; I cannot place my fingers upon the note
referring to it, but I will state from recollection that not one of them
was left behind.
On the 13th we remained in camp until noon to let men have a rest and
give stragglers a chance to catch up with the command. Our cook made a
most tempting ragout out of some pony-meat, a fragment of antelope
liver, a couple of handfuls of wild onions, and the shin-bone of an ox
killed by the Sioux or Cheyennes, and which was to us almost as
interesting as the fragments of weeds to the sailors of Columbus. This
had been simmering all night, and when morning came there was enough of
it to supply many of our comrades with a hot platterful. At noon we
crossed to the Belle Fourche, six miles to the south, the dangerous
approaches of Willow Creek being corduroyed and placed in good order by
a party under Lieutenant Charles King, who had been assigned by General
Merritt to the work.
The Belle Fourche appealed to our fancies as in every sense deserving of
its flattering title: it was not less than one hundred feet wide, three
deep, with a good flow of water, and a current of something like four
miles an hour. The bottom was clay and sandstone drift, and even if the
water was a trifle muddy, it tasted delicious after our late
tribulations. Wells dug in the banks afforded even better quality for
drinking or cooking. The dark clouds still hung threateningly overhead,
but what of that? all eyes were strained in the direction of Deadwood,
for word had come from Mills and Bubb that they had been successful, and
that we were soon to catch a glimpse of the wagons laden with food for
our starving command. A murmur rippled through camp; in a second it had
swelled into a roar, and broken into a wild cry, half yell, half cheer.
Down the hill-sides as fast as brawny men could drive them ran fifty
head of beef cattle, and not more than a mile in the rear wagon sheets
marked out the slower-moving train with the supplies of the
commissariat.
As if to manifest sympathy with our feelings, the sun unveiled himself,
and for one good long hour shone down through scattering clouds—the
first fair look we had had at his face for ten dreary days. Since our
departure from Furey and the wagon-train, it had rained twenty-two days,
most of the storms being of phenomenal severity, and it would need a
very strong mind not to cherish the delusion that the elements were in
league with the red men to preserve the hunting lands of their fathers
from the grasp of the rapacious whites. When the supplies arrived the
great aim of every one seemed to be to carry out the old command: “Eat,
drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die.” The busy hum of cheerful
conversation succeeded to the querulous discontent of the past week, and
laughter raised the spirits of the most tired and despondent; we had won
the race and saved the Black Hills with their thousands of unprotected
citizens, four hundred of whom had been murdered since the summer began.
The first preacher venturing out to Deadwood paid the penalty of his
rashness with his life, and yielded his scalp to the Cheyennes. It was
the most ordinary thing in the world to have it reported that one, or
two, or three bodies more were to be found in such and such a gulch;
they were buried by people in no desire to remain near the scene of
horror, and as the Hills were filling up with restless spirits from all
corners of the world, and no one knew his neighbor, it is doubtful if
all the murdered ones were ever reported to the proper authorities. When
the whites succeeded in killing an Indian, which happened at extremely
rare intervals, Deadwood would go crazy with delight; the skull and
scalp were paraded and sold at public auction to the highest bidder.