BATTLE OF STONY LAKE--CAPTURE OF A TETON--DEATH OF LIEUTENANT BEAVER.
On the morning of July 28th, just as the command was breaking camp at
Stony Lake, we were attacked by Indians, in full force.
General Sibley had the expeditionary forces so well in hand that the
enemy could not possibly do us any harm. We halted but a moment, as some
of the scouts came riding furiously towards us, followed by Indians
intent on their capture. The boys cheered as they came within our
lines. The battery was ordered to the front, and soon threw a shell
among the Indians, who then galloped around on the flank, while another
squad came immediately upon our rear; but, the whole column, in a solid
square, moved on. The engagement took place on the prairie, and it was
a beautiful sight to see the regularity with which the column moved.
First, two companies of cavalry skirmishers, and at a proper interval
two companies of infantry; the same order was preserved in the rear, and
flankers on the right and left, so as to form a hollow square. In the
center were the reserve troops, stores of all sorts, and the artillery.
The teams were so fixed as to make it impossible to get up a stampede.
The Indians resort to their peculiar tactics to stampede the teams,--they
tried it to its fullest extent on this occasion, but without avail. They
did not impede our progress in the least, and as the column moved right
along, they soon gave up the attempt, and we pressed them so closely they
allowed the killed and wounded to fall into our hands. The casualties
were light, because the shells that were thrown among them did but little
damage.
The cavalry in this case was effective, and crowded the Indians, as they
charged them with drawn sabre.
This was the last stand the Indians made in a body, and they hastened
on towards the Missouri river, which they finally crossed at a point
near where Bismarck, North Dakota, now stands. They made a determined
resistance, and had been repulsed in three successive engagements, and
their situation was critical in the extreme,--the victorious army in the
rear and the Missouri in front.
After the Indians had given up the fight and had ridden ahead to urge
their families on, and we had buried the dead and cared for the wounded,
we pushed on after them.
A young Teton chief, who was out on a tour of observation, was captured
by some of the cavalry, and the circumstances and manner in which it was
done are interesting.
Thousands of us saw the strange object, but the men who captured him were
the more interested observers, and the narrator says:
"As the scouts approached it, a dark, motionless object was seen lying
upon the ground. Coming nearer, some one cried out: 'It's an old buffalo
robe'; but, as one stooped to pick it up, it sprang from the earth and
bounded off like a deer, arms extended, and flying swiftly, in a zig-zag
manner. It was a broad mark for the carbines, but where in it was the
motive power? It was impossible to tell. Some thirty shots were fired,
all hitting the robe, but still he kept on with the same zig-zag motion,
so that it was impossible to hit him.
[Illustration: Designed by A. P. Connolly.
Battle of Stony Lake, Dakota, July 28th, 1863.
Indians defeated and slaughtered in great numbers by General Sibley's
troops.]
"At last one of the guides reined up near him and, placing a revolver to
his head, fired, but he dodged and escaped the ball.
"He now stopped, dropped the robe, and threw up both hands, in token of
surrender."
The robe he wore was literally riddled with bullets, but not a scratch
upon the body of the Indian. His gallantry and his lordly bearing won the
admiration of his captors, and placing him behind one of the scouts they
bore him away in triumph, and presented him to General Sibley, to whom
he extended his hand in friendly salute, but which was declined until he
had made his statement, and assured the General that his hands were not
stained with innocent blood. Being thus convinced, General Sibley shook
him by the hand, and they became friends. He belonged to the Teton band,
which is one of the largest divisions of the Dakota Nation. They lived
west of the Missouri, and his information was that they were interested
observers, but had no sympathy with, nor taking no part in, the war.
He and his father, who was one of the head chiefs, were out on a visit
to the Yanktonians, and, learning that they were soon to have a fight
with the soldiers, his curiosity prompted him to go as an observer. His
curiosity was satisfied, and he retired with the balance, but had stopped
in a clump of grass to allow his pony to graze. While here he had fallen
asleep, and the pony was the object that first attracted the attention
of the scouts, which resulted in the Indian's capture, as above narrated.
He was a prisoner with us for five days, during which time he was treated
with some consideration as the heir apparent to the chieftainship of his
tribe. He was about twenty years old; a fine looking fellow, tall and
athletic. He became strongly attached to the General and the staff.
General Sibley afterwards learned of this Indian's death. He had given
the boy, on his departure, a letter to his father, commending him for
refusing to take up the tomahawk against the whites, and in appreciation
of this, that he had kept the son for a few days in his camp and then
gave him his liberty, so that he might return to his own people. It was
good policy, because the letter, being found in his possession, indicated
to the Indians that General Sibley was not responsible for his death.
A few days after his departure, a party of miners, who had been up in
Idaho, were coming down the Missouri river, and at the very place where
our men had reached the river and filled their canteens the Indians were
lying in wait for the descending miners.
The young Teton desired peace, and rushed toward them waving General
Sibley's letter over his head. They, not understanding his signal, shot
him to death, when they were at once surrounded by the exasperated
Indians, and a battle, short and decisive, was fought, and every man of
the miners was killed, but not before twice their number of Indians had
shared the same fate.
This was another sad chapter of this unholy war.
The Indians now approached the river, but, owing to the thick underbrush,
were obliged to abandon all their carts,--their ponies they took with
them, but their winter's supply of meat they abandoned.
Our skirmish line was formed at three paces, but even then it was
impossible to observe a line, so thick were the weeds and underbrush. The
enemy was sighted, and an advance ordered, when the line moved forward,
and after an hour of hard work, we, like De Soto, when he discovered the
Mississippi, gazed in admiration on its prototype,--the Missouri.
After having for weeks drank the brackish water of the prairie lakes, we
drank from this sweet though turbid stream, and were refreshed, as were
the children of Israel, who partook of the cool water from the stricken
rock.
While drinking and wading in the stream, we were fired upon from the
opposite shore, although a flag of truce had been raised. The Indians'
bullets fell short of their mark, but the retreat was sounded, and we
marched back for the open prairie, and returned to our camp, which was
situated on a beautiful plateau a few miles below. The brush was so thick
that the Indians were obliged to abandon all of their carts and camp
equipage, with thousands of buffalo robes, and tons of dried meat. The
rout of the Indians and destruction of property was complete.
Our casualties were very light; but, among the killed was Lieutenant
Beaver, an English lord, who came to this country to engage in a buffalo
hunt; but, upon his arrival, learning of the Indian outbreak, tendered
his services to the Government, and was commissioned a lieutenant on
General Sibley's staff, as aide-de-camp. He had been sent by General
Sibley with an order to Colonel Crooks, who was in command of the
advance, and, on his return, he and his beautiful black horse were
killed.
Colonel Crooks said to Lieutenant Beaver that the regiment would return
as soon as the skirmishers could be rallied, and invited him to remain
and ride with him back to camp, but the aide, true soldier that he was,
felt it his duty to report to General Sibley at once, and paid the
penalty.
The Indians, some at least, not being able to cross the river, were in
hiding, and others had re-crossed, and were skulking in the thick brush,
waiting for a chance to shoot with arrows. Lieutenant Beaver had mistaken
the path he came in on, and took one that led him on to some of these
skulking Indians, and he thus met his death.
Colonel Crooks returned, and though Lieutenant Beaver messed with him,
his tent was at General Sibley's headquarters, and his absence from mess
was not noticed until, upon inquiry at the General's tent, it was found
he had not reported. The sudden disappearance of one who was such a
general favorite cast a gloom over the camp.
As soon as it became dark fire rockets were sent up, in hopes that if he
was wandering away, through taking a wrong road, he might be guided back
to camp. The early morning found us astir, for a detail of my regiment
had been made to reconnoiter and to skirmish clear down to the bank of
the river, in order to gain tidings of Lieutenant Beaver, and, also, of
Private Miller, of the Sixth Regiment, who also was missing.
The reconnoissance proved successful, and both bodies were found, as well
as the body of the lieutenant's horse. Lieutenant Beaver had evidently
made a desperate fight for his life, because his two revolvers were
empty, and the indications were that he had made more than one of the
enemy bite the dust.
[Illustration: Sighting the Enemy on the Missouri.]
The bodies were brought to camp and prepared for burial in the trenches
on opposite sides of the camp, and the work was so done as to obliterate
all signs and prevent the Indians from locating the spots and desecrating
the graves. The service was touchingly solemn, and many tears were shed,
as we thought of these lonely graves so far away from the homes of the
living relatives.
Lieutenant Beaver had friends in England who were abundantly able to have
his remains disinterred and removed to a more suitable place of burial.
Money was sent out from England for this purpose, and trusted agents sent
up to the Missouri banks for the purpose of bringing back the remains.
There is a grave at Graceland, in St. Paul, on the top of which rests a
slab of granite, and engraven on this are the words:
"Sacred to the memory of Lieutenant F. J. H. Beaver, who died July 28,
1863. Peace to his ashes."
On the banks of the Missouri is a lonely grave. The winter's storms and
the summer's heat have come and gone. The night vigils of the strange
birds have been kept, the requiem of gentle breezes has been sung over
this lonely grave. Comrade Nicholas Miller, private of Company K, Sixth
Minnesota Infantry Volunteers, sleeps in his lonely bed, and "after
life's fitful fever he sleeps well."