AGAIN ON THE TRAIL.
Our first impressions of the Yellowstone, as seen from the mouth of the
Powder River, were dismal in the last degree; but it was an undoubted
case of "any port in a storm." General Terry's supply boat put in a
prompt appearance and we drew rations again on Friday and received
intimations that we might move at any moment. "Which way?" was the not
unnatural question, and "Don't know" the laconic yet comprehensive
answer.
The rain that had deluged us on the march down the valleys of the Tongue
and Powder had ceased from sheer exhaustion, and we strove to dry our
overcoats and blankets at big fires built in the timber. We had
signalized our meeting with Terry's command by a royal bonfire which lit
up the country by night and poured a huge column of smoke skywards by
day; but as it was contrary to orders, and a most vivid indication of
our position, Colonel Mason's battalion received a scathing rebuke for
carelessness, and Mason was mad enough to follow the lead of the
historic Army of Flanders. A most conscientious and faithful officer, it
seemed to sting him to the quick that any one of his companies should
have been guilty of such recklessness. So the day after we reached the
Yellowstone, and the horses of the regiments were all grazing out along
the prairie slopes south of camp, and revelling in the rich and
plentiful buffalo grass, while all officers and men not on guard were
resting along the banks of the stream, and growling at the vigorous gale
that swept down from the north and whirled the sand in one's eyes, there
came a sudden shout of fire, and Major Upham and I, who were trying to
make a "wickyup" that would exclude the wind, became aware of a column
of flame and smoke rolling up in the very centre of his battalion. In a
moment it became evident that the biggest kind of a prairie fire was
started. The men of Company "I" were hurrying their arms and equipments
to the windward side, and as one man the rest of the regiment came
running to the scene, swinging their saddle-blankets in air.
Fanned by the hurricane blowing at the time, the flames swept over the
ground with the force of a blast-furnace; tufts of burning grass were
driven before the great surging wave of fire, and, falling far out on
the prairie, became the nuclei of new conflagrations. Fire-call was
promptly sounded by the chief trumpeter, and repeated along the lines.
The distant herds were rapidly moved off to right and left, and hurried
in towards the river. The whole command that was in bivouac west of the
Powder River turned out to fight the common enemy; but in ten minutes,
in all the might of its furious strength, a grand conflagration was
sweeping southward towards the rolling hills, and consuming all before
it.
Like the great Chicago fire, it started from a cause trivial enough,
but, spreading out right and left, it soon had a front of over half a
mile, and not till it had run fully two miles to the south was it
finally checked. Captain Hayes and a party of old and experienced hands
"raced" it far out to the front, and, there setting fire to the grass,
extinguishing it from the south and forcing it back against the wind,
they succeeded after much hard work in burning off a number of large
areas in front of the advancing wall of flame, fought fire with fire,
and in two hours were masters of the situation. But most of our grass
was gone; and Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, we of the Fifth
saddled and marched up the Yellowstone in search of fresh pasture. A
mile was all we had to go, and moving was no trouble to men who had
neither roof nor furniture.
We rode into line in the river bottom again. General Carr, with the
headquarters party, seized upon a huge log at least a yard in diameter
that lay close to the river brink; and with this as a backbone we built
such rude shelter as could be made with leaves, boughs, and a ragged
poncho or two, crawled in and made our beds upon the turf. General
Merritt and his staff found shelter in a little grove a few yards away,
and with the coming of Sunday morning all had enjoyed a good rest.
Meantime we learned that Buffalo Bill had ridden all alone down towards
the Glendive, bent on a scout to ascertain if the Indians were
attempting to cross the river. I did not envy him the peril of that
sixty-mile jaunt through the Bad Lands, but it was an old story to him.
We were to remain in camp to await his report. It seemed that nothing
definite had been ascertained as to the movements of the Indians; and
for five days we rested there on the Yellowstone, nothing of interest
transpiring, and nothing of especial pleasure.
General Carr, to keep us from rusting, ordered inspection and mounted
drills on Sunday and Monday morning; but then the rain came back, and
for forty-eight hours we were fairly afloat. It rained so hard Tuesday
and Wednesday nights that the men gave up all idea of sleep, built
great fires along the banks, and clustered round them for warmth.
Shelter there was none. Some of our officers and men, who had broken
down in the severity of the ordeal, were examined by the surgeons, and
those who were deemed too sick for service were ordered home on the
steamer _Far West_, which would take them by river as far as Bismarck.
Among them was Captain Goodloe, of the Twenty-second Infantry, who had
been prostrated by a paralytic stroke on the last day's march towards
the Yellowstone; and of our own regiment we were forced to part with
Lieutenant Eaton, whose severe hurt, received the night of the stampede
on the Rosebud, had proved disabling for campaign work. At this time,
too, some of our newspaper correspondents concluded that the chances of
a big fight were too small to justify their remaining longer with so
unlucky an expedition, and the representative of the San Francisco
_Call_, and an odd genius who had joined us at Fort Fetterman, and
speedily won the sobriquet of "Calamity Jim," concluded that their
services would be worth more in some other field.
A great loss to us was in Buffalo Bill, whose theatrical engagements
demanded his presence in the East early in the fall; and most
reluctantly he, too, was compelled to ask his release. He left his
"pardner," Jim White, with us to finish the campaign; and we little
thought that those two sworn friends were meeting for the last time on
earth when "Buffalo Chips" bade good-bye to Buffalo Bill.
Ten soldiers of the Fifth were pronounced incapacitated by the
examiners, and ordered to return. Among them was an elderly man who had
joined the regiment in June with a good character from the Fourth
Cavalry. The Custer massacre had so preyed upon his mind as to
temporarily destroy his intellect, or make it too keen for the wits of
the Medical Department. I believe that up to the last moment it was an
open question whether Caniff (for such was his name) was downright
insane or only shamming; but he carried his point, and got away from the
danger he dreaded. "But, Lord, sir," as the corporal in charge of the
detachment afterwards told me, "he was the sensiblest man you ever see
by the time we got past Bismarck." In fact, it would look as though that
Custer massacre had been responsible for the unmanning of just three
members of the Fifth Cavalry; and, to the ineffable disgust of the
veteran Company "K," two of them were privates in its ranks.
Our stay of six days on the Yellowstone presented no features of general
interest. A brace of trading-boats swept down with the current from the
markets of the Gallatin valley, and some of us were able to purchase, at
fabulous prices, new suits of underclothing and a quantity of potatoes
and onions, of which the men stood sadly in need. More supplies of grain
and rations arrived, and our horses had a few nibbles of oats, but not
enough to build up any of their lost strength. General Terry, from the
east side of the Powder, rode over one day to pay a visit to General
Crook; and the story goes that our brigadier was pointed out to him
squatted on a rock in the Yellowstone, and with that absorbed manner
which was his marked characteristic, and a disregard for "style" never
before equalled in the history of one of his rank, scrubbing away at his
hunting-shirt.
Thursday morning, August the 24th, chilled and soaked, we marched away
from the Yellowstone, and mostly on foot, leading our gaunt horses
through the thick mud of the slopes along the Powder, we toiled some ten
miles; then halted for the night. Then it cleared off, and night came on
in cloudless beauty, but sharply cold. Next morning we hung about our
fires long after our frugal breakfast, waiting for the signal to saddle
and march. Trumpet-calls were forbidden "until further orders"; and it
was divined that now, at least, we might hope to see the Indians who had
led us this exasperating chase. But it was long before we reached them,
and this narrative is running threadbare with dry detail. Let me
condense from my note-book the route and incidents of the march to Heart
River, where we finally gave up the chase:
"General Terry's cavalry--Seventh and Second--followed us on the march
of the 25th, after we had forded Powder River and started up the eastern
bank; camped again that night in the valley after long and muddy march.
At seven a.m. on the 26th we of Crook's army cut loose from any base,
and marched square to the east; and General Terry, with his entire
command, bade us farewell, and hurried back to the Yellowstone.
Couriers had reached him during the night with important information,
and he and his people were needed along the crossings of the great river
while we hunted the redskins over the prairies. The weather was lovely,
the country rolling and picturesque; but far and near the Indians had
burned away the grass. Camped on the west fork of O'Fallon's Creek. Game
abundant all around us, but no firing allowed."...
"_Sunday, 27th._--Marched seven a.m. at rear of column, north of east;
rolling country; no timber; little grass; crossed large branch of
O'Fallon's Creek at eleven a.m., where some pack-mules were stalled, but
finally got through. Bivouac one p.m. in dry east fork of same creek."...
"_Monday, 28th._--Day beautiful and cool; march rapid and pleasant along
the trail on which Terry and Custer came west in May and June. Country
beautifully bold and undulating, with fine grass everywhere. We halted
on Cabin Creek at 1.30 p.m.; and two hours after, over in the direction
of Beaver Creek to the northeast, two large smokes floated up into the
still air. Just at sunset there came on a thunder-storm, with rain,
hail, and vivid lightning--hailstones as big as acorns, and so
plentifully pelting that with great difficulty we restrained our horses
from stampede. The lightning kindled the prairie just in front of the
pickets, and the rain came only in time to save our grass. Of course, we
were drenched with rain and hammered with hail."
"_Tuesday, 29th._--Most beautiful day's march yet; morning lovely after
the storm. We move rapidly on trail of the infantry, and at ten o'clock
are astonished at seeing them massing in close column by division on the
southwest side of grassy slopes that loom up to a great height, and were
soon climbing the bluffs beyond them--an ascent of some five to six
hundred feet." ...
Here General Merritt gave the regiment a lesson which it richly
deserved. Fuel had been a little scarce on one or two recent occasions;
and some of the men, finding a few logs at the foot of the bluffs,
hoisted them on their tottering horses, and were clambering in this
fashion up the ascent, when the "Chief" caught sight of them. The
general is a man of great restraint at such a time, but, without the
employment of language either profane or profuse, he managed to convey
an intimation to some eighty acres of hillside, in less than five
seconds, that those logs should be dropped; and they were. Later in the
day he devoted a half-hour to the composition of a general order
expressive at once of his views on the matter which had excited his
wrath in the morning, and his intentions with reference to future
offenders. Winding up, as it did, with a scathing denunciation of this
"violation of the first principles" of a cavalryman's creed, we of the
Fifth felt sore for a week after; but it served us right, and the
offence did not occur again.
We found ourselves on the crest of a magnificent range, from which we
looked down into the beautiful valley of the Beaver to the east, and
southward over mile after mile of sharp, conical buttes that were
utterly unlike anything we had seen before. We had abundant water and
grass, and here we rested two days, while our scouts felt their way out
towards the Little Missouri.
Thursday, the 31st, with a cold norther blowing, we went down the Beaver
ten miles to the north, halted and conducted the bi-monthly muster
demanded by the regulations, and again the scouts swept over the country
in vain search of Indian signs, while we waited until late the following
afternoon for their reports, and then merely moved down the valley
another eight miles for the night. On the 2d we put in a good day's
work, marching rapidly and steadily until two p.m., still in the
beautiful wild valley of the Beaver, catching glimpses during the day of
the tall Sentinel Buttes off to our right. Next day we turned square to
the east again, jogging quickly along through hills and upland that grew
bolder and higher every hour; camped at head of Andrew's Creek; pushed
on again on the following morning (Monday, September 4th), cold and
shivering in another norther--by nine the rain pouring in torrents. As
we neared the Little Missouri the hills became higher, outcroppings of
coal were to be seen along every mile. Finally, we _debouched_ through a
long, deep, tortuous canyon into the Little Missouri itself, forded and
bivouacked in a fine grove of timber, where, the rain having ceased
again, and with fine, blazing fires in every direction, we spent a night
of comfort.
The Indians must be near at hand. The timber, the valley, the fords and
crossings, all indicate their recent presence. To-morrow's sun should
bring them before our eyes. At daybreak we are up and ready. The day is
drizzly, and the command don't seem to care a pin by this time. We are
becoming amphibious, and so long as the old cavalryman has a quid of
good tobacco to stow in his taciturn jaws he will jog along contentedly
for hours, though the rain descend in cataracts.
Our march leads us southeastward up the valley of Davis's Creek--a
valley that grows grandly beautiful as we near its head. We of the Fifth
are some distance from the head of column as we climb out upon the fine
plateau that here stretches for miles from the head of the creek towards
the streams that rise a day's march away and flow towards the Missouri.
Away in front we can see General Crook and his staff; far out beyond
them are tiny dots of horsemen, whom we know to be Stanton and the
scouts. Every now and then a deer darts into sight along the column, and
now permission is given to shoot; for we are over a hundred miles from
the nearest chance for supplies, and have only two days' rations left.
We are following those Indians to the bitter end.
Suddenly, away to the front, rapid shots are heard. A moment they sound
but a mile distant; in another moment they are dying out of hearing. We
prick up our ears and gather reins. Looking back, I see the long column
of bearded faces lighting up in eager expectation, but no order comes to
hasten our advance. We hear later that our scouts had succeeded in
getting near enough to exchange shots with a small war-party of Sioux;
but their ponies were fresh and fleet, our horses weak and jaded, and
there was no possibility of catching them.
Late that afternoon we halt at the head of Heart River. And now at last
it looks as though we are whipped without a fight. We not only have not
caught the Indians, but we have run out of rations. Only forty-eight
hours' full supplies are left, but a little recent economizing has
helped us to a spare day or so on half-rations. It is hard for us, but
hardest of all for the general, and it is plain that he is deeply
disappointed. But action is required, and at once. We can easily make
Fort Abraham Lincoln in four days; but, by doing so, we leave all the
great stretch of country to the south open to the hostiles, and the
Black Hills settlements defenceless. Just how long it will take us to
march to Deadwood cannot be predicted. It is due south by compass, but
over an unknown country. While the chief is deciding, we lie down in the
cold and wet and try to make ourselves comfortable. Those who are tired
of the campaign and hungry for a dinner predict that the morning will
find us striking for the Missouri posts; but those who have served long
with General Crook, and believe that there is a hostile Indian between
us and the Black Hills, roll into their blankets with the conviction
that we will have a fight out of this thing yet.
Many a horse has given out already, and dismounted men are plodding
along by the flank of column. We have been on half-rations for three
days, and are not a little ravenous in consequence, and our campaign
suits, which were shabby on the Rosebud, are rags and tatters now. As
Colonel Mason and I are "clubbing" our ponchos and blankets for the
night, I turn to my old captain, with whom it has been my good-fortune
to serve so long and still not to lose him on his promotion, and ask,
"Well, what do you think of it?" And Mason, who is an inveterate old
growler around garrison in the piping times of peace, and stanchest and
most loyal of subordinates in trying times in the field, answers as I
could have predicted: "We oughtn't to give up yet, on account of a
little roughing it; and _Crook's not the man to do it_."