“There are two classes of people who are always eager to get up an
Indian war--the army and our frontiersmen.”
I quote from an editorial on the Indian question, which not long
since appeared in the columns of one of the leading New York daily
newspapers. That this statement was honestly made I do not doubt, but
that instead of being true it could not have been further from the
truth I will attempt to show. I assert, and all candid persons familiar
with the subject will sustain the assertion, that of all classes of our
population the army and the people living on the frontier entertain the
greatest dread of an Indian war, and are willing to make the greatest
sacrifices to avoid its horrors. This is a proposition, the assertion
of which almost carries its proof with it.
Under the most auspicious circumstances, and in time of peace with
the Indians, the life of an army officer on the Plains or along our
frontier is at best one involving no little personal discomfort, and
demanding the sacrifice of many of the luxuries and benefits which he
could obtain were he located within the limits of civilization. To many
officers, service in the West amounts almost to social exile. Some can
have their families with or near them. There is a limited opportunity
for social intercourse; travel from the States, to and across the
Plains, either for business or pleasure, is uninterrupted, and mail
facilities with friends and relations in the States are maintained. An
Indian war changes all this. The troops must prepare to take the field.
Provided with but few comforts, necessarily limited in this respect
by the amount of transportation, which on the Plains is narrowed down
to the smallest practicable, the soldier bids adieu--often a final
one--to the dear ones of home, and with his comrades in arms sets out,
no matter how inclement the season, to seek what? fame and glory? How
many military men have reaped laurels from their Indian campaigns?
Does he strive to win the approving smile of his countrymen? That is
indeed, in this particular instance, a difficult task. For let him act
as he may in conducting or assisting in a campaign against the Indians,
if he survives the campaign he can feel assured of this fact, that
one-half of his fellow-citizens at home will revile him for his zeal
and pronounce his success, if he achieves any, a massacre of poor,
defenceless, harmless Indians; while the other half, if his efforts to
chastise the common enemy are not crowned with satisfactory results,
will cry “Down with him. Down with the regular army, and give us brave
volunteers who can serve the Government in other ways besides eating
rations and drawing pay.”
An unsuccessful campaign, under which head nineteen out of twenty may
reasonably be classed, satisfies no portion of the public, and greatly
dissatisfies that portion of the Western population whose knowledge
of the murders and depredations committed by the Indians is, unlike
that of the people of the States further east, of too recent origin
to be swept away by false notions of clemency. During the continuance
of the campaign both officers and soldiers are generally cut off from
all communication with the friends left behind. Couriers, sent as
bearers of a few despatches and letters, are sometimes under cover
of the night enabled to make their way back to the forts; but even
these fail sometimes. I now recollect the circumstance of two trusty
scouts being sent with despatches and a small mail, to make their way
from the southern portion of Kansas to Fort Dodge on the Arkansas.
When we saw them again we beheld their lifeless, mangled remains,
their bodies pierced with numerous arrows, and mutilated almost beyond
recognition--our letters scattered here and there by the savages,
who had torn open the little canvas mail-bag in search of plunder.
The Indians had surrounded these faithful fellows when within about
ten miles of the end of their perilous journey. The numerous empty
cartridge shells which lay around and near the bodies of the two men,
proved how persistently and bravely they had struggled for their lives.
The opening of an Indian campaign is also the signal for the withdrawal
of all privileges and enjoyments, such as leaves of absence, visits
from Eastern friends, hunting and pleasure parties of all kinds. The
reception from the East of all luxuries and delicacies for the table
and of all current literature, such as the numerous railroads being
constructed in the West, particularly the two Pacifics, render easy of
procurement, ceases; and not only the private soldier but the officer
is limited in his mess fare to an indifferent portion of the ordinary
ration. Is it probable or reasonable that these objects and results,
the principal ones generally, so far as the army as individuals is
concerned, would be considered sufficient to render either officers
or soldiers “eager to get up an Indian war”? I have yet to make the
acquaintance of that officer of the army who, in time of undisturbed
peace, desired a war with the Indians. On the contrary, the army is
the Indian’s best friend, so long as the latter desires to maintain
friendship. It is pleasant at all times, and always interesting, to
have a village of peaceable Indians locate their lodges near our
frontier posts or camps. The daily visits of the Indians, from the most
venerable chief to the strapped pappoose, their rude interchange of
civilities, their barterings, races, dances, legends, strange customs,
and fantastic ceremonies, all combine to render them far more agreeable
as friendly neighbors than as crafty, bloodthirsty enemies.
As to the frontiersman, he has everything to lose, even to life, and
nothing to gain by an Indian war. “His object is to procure a fat
contract or a market for his produce,” adds the journal from which the
opening lines of this chapter are quoted. This seems plausible and
likely enough. But does that journal, and do the people who believe on
this question as it does, know that there are two reasons--more are not
required--why its statement is a very great error? First, our frontier
farmers, busily employed as they are in opening up their farms, never
have any produce to dispose of, but consider themselves fortunate if
they have sufficient for their personal wants. They are never brought
in contact with the Indian except when the latter makes a raid or
incursion of at least hundreds of miles, and attacks the settlements.
It is another case of Mohammed and the mountain. The frontiersman
never goes beyond the settlements. The Indian forsakes his accustomed
hunting-grounds when ambitious of obtaining scalps or plunder, and
visits the settlements. The only ground upon which the frontiersman
can be accused of inspiring or inciting a war with the Indian is,
that when applied to by the latter to surrender his life, family, and
property, scalp thrown in, he stoutly refuses, and sometimes employs
force to maintain this refusal. I have shown that this abused class of
the pioneers of civilization have no hand in the fat contracts. Who
are the fortunate parties? With but rare exceptions our most expensive
expeditions against the Indians on the Plains have been supplied by
contracts made with parties far inside the limits of civilization, who
probably never saw a hostile Indian, and who never even visited the
Indian country. The supplies are purchased far from the frontiers, in
the rich and thickly settled portions of the States, then shipped by
rail and boat to the most available military post, from which point
they are generally drawn by huge trains of army wagons, or carried on
pack animals.
Of the many important expeditions organized to operate in the Indian
country, none, perhaps, of late years has excited more general and
unfriendly comment, considering the slight loss of life inflicted
upon the Indians, than the expedition organized and led in person by
Major-General Hancock in the spring of 1867. The clique generally known
as the “Indian ring” were particularly malevolent and bitter in their
denunciations of General Hancock for precipitating, as they expressed
it, an Indian war. This expedition was quite formidable in appearance,
being made up of eight troops of cavalry, seven companies of infantry,
and one battery of light artillery, numbering altogether about 1,400
men. As General Hancock at the time and since has been so often accused
of causelessly bringing on an Indian war, a word in explanation may not
be amiss.
Being in command of the cavalry connected with the expedition, I had
ample and frequent opportunities for learning the true purposes and
objects of the march into the heart of the Indian country. I know no
better mode of explaining these than by quoting the following extract
from letters written by General Hancock to the agents of the various
tribes with which we expected to be brought in contact: “I have the
honor to state for your information that I am at present preparing
an expedition to the Plains, which will soon be ready to move. My
object in doing so at this time is, to convince the Indians within
the limits of this department that we are able to punish any of
them who may molest travellers across the Plains, or who may commit
other hostilities against the whites. We desire to avoid if possible
any troubles with the Indians, and to treat them with justice, and
according to the requirements of our treaties with them; and I wish
especially in my dealings with them to act through the agents of the
Indian Department as far as it is possible so to do.... If you as their
agent can arrange these matters satisfactorily with them, we will be
pleased to defer the whole subject to you. In case of your inability
to do so, I would be pleased to have you accompany me when I visit the
country of your tribes, to show that the officers of the Government are
acting in harmony. I will be pleased to talk with any of the chiefs
whom we may meet.”
Surely there was no hostile intent here expressed. In another
communication to the agents of different tribes, General Hancock, in
referring to certain murders which had been recently committed, and
which had been traced to the tribes in question, said: “These cases
will now be left entirely in the hands of the Indian Department, and
I do not expect to make war against any of the Indians of your agency
unless they commence war against us.”
It may be asked, What had the Indians done to make this incursion
necessary? They had been guilty of numerous thefts and murders during
the preceding summer and fall, for none of which had they been called
to account. They had attacked the stations of the overland mail route,
killed the employees, burned the station, and captured the stock.
Citizens had been murdered in their homes on the frontier of Kansas;
murders had been committed on the Arkansas route. The principal
perpetrators of these acts were the Cheyennes and Sioux. The agent of
the former, if not a party to the murder on the Arkansas, knew who
the guilty persons were, yet took no steps to bring the murderers to
punishment. Such a course would have interfered with his trade and
profits. It was not to punish for these sins of the past that the
expedition was set on foot, but rather by its imposing appearance
and its early presence in the Indian country to check or intimidate
the Indians from a repetition of their late conduct. This was deemed
particularly necessary from the fact that the various tribes from which
we had greatest cause to anticipate trouble had during the winter,
through their leading chiefs and warriors, threatened that as soon as
the grass was up in spring a combined outbreak would take place along
our entire frontier, and especially against the main routes of travel.
To assemble the tribes for the desired council, word was sent early in
March to the agents of those tribes whom it was desirable to meet. The
agents sent runners to the villages inviting them to meet us at some
point near the Arkansas river.
General Hancock, with the artillery and six companies of infantry,
reached Fort Riley, Kansas, from Fort Leavenworth by rail the last week
in March; here he was joined by four companies of the Seventh Cavalry
and an additional company of the Thirty-seventh Infantry. It was at
this point that I joined the expedition. And as a very fair sample
of the laurels which military men may win in an Indian campaign by a
zealous discharge of what they deem their duty, I will here state, in
parenthesis, that after engaging in the expedition, some of the events
of which I am about to relate, and undergoing fatigue, privations, and
dangers equal to those of a campaign during the Rebellion, I found
myself at the termination of the campaign again at Fort Riley _in
arrest_. This is not mentioned in a fault-finding spirit. I have no
fault to find. It is said that blessings sometimes come in disguise.
Such proved to be true in this instance, although I must say the
disguise for some little time was most perfect.
From Fort Riley we marched to Fort Harker, a distance of ninety miles,
where our force was strengthened by the addition of two more troops of
cavalry. Halting only long enough to replenish our supplies, we next
directed our march toward Fort Larned, near the Arkansas, about seventy
miles to the southeast. A march from the 3d to the 7th of April brought
us to Fort Larned. The agent for the Comanches and Kiowas accompanied
us. At Fort Larned we found the agent of the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and
Apaches; from the latter we learned that he had, as requested, sent
runners to the chiefs of his agency inviting them to the council, and
that they had agreed to assemble near Fort Larned on the 10th of the
month, requesting that the expedition would remain there until that
date. To this request General Hancock acceded.
On the 9th of April, while encamped awaiting the council, which was to
be held the following day, a terrible snow-storm occurred, lasting all
day until late in the evening. It was our good fortune to be in camp
rather than on the march; had it been otherwise, we could not well
have escaped without loss of life from the severe cold and blinding
snow. The cavalry horses suffered seriously, and were only preserved
by doubling their ration of oats, while to prevent their being frozen
during the intensely cold night which followed, the guards were
instructed to keep passing along the picket lines with a whip, and to
keep the horses moving constantly. The snow was eight inches in depth.
The council, which was to take place the next day, had to be postponed
until, the return of good weather. Now began the display of a kind of
diplomacy for which the Indian is peculiar. The Cheyennes and a band of
the Sioux were encamped on Pawnee Fork, about thirty miles above Fort
Larned. They neither desired to move nearer to us nor have us approach
nearer to them. On the morning of the 11th they sent us word that they
had started to visit us, but discovering a large herd of buffalo near
their camp, they had stopped to procure a supply of meat. This message
was not received with much confidence, nor was a buffalo hunt deemed
of sufficient importance to justify the Indians in breaking their
engagement. General Hancock decided, however, to delay another day,
when, if the Indians still failed to come in, he would move his command
to the vicinity of their village and hold the conference there.
Orders were issued on the evening of the 12th for the march to be
resumed on the following day. Later in the evening two chiefs of the
“Dog Soldiers,” a band composed of the most warlike and troublesome
Indians on the Plains, chiefly made up of Cheyennes, visited our camp.
They were accompanied by a dozen warriors, and expressed a desire to
hold a conference with General Hancock, to which he assented. A large
council fire was built in front of the General’s tent, and all the
officers of his command assembled there. A tent had been erected for
the accommodation of the chiefs a short distance from the General’s.
Before they could feel equal to the occasion, and in order to obtain
time to collect their thoughts, they desired that supper might be
prepared for them, which was done. When finally ready they advanced
from their tent to the council fire in single file, accompanied by
their agent and an interpreter. Arrived at the fire, another brief
delay ensued. No matter how pressing or momentous the occasion, an
Indian invariably declines to engage in a council until he has filled
his pipe and gone through with the important ceremony of a smoke. This
attended to, the chiefs announced that they were ready “to talk.”
They were then introduced to the principal officers of the group,
and seemed much struck with the flashy uniforms of the few artillery
officers who were present in all the glory of red horsehair plumes,
aigulets, etc. The chiefs seemed puzzled to determine whether these
insignia designated chieftains or medicine men. General Hancock began
the conference by a speech, in which he explained to the Indians his
purpose in coming to see them, and what he expected of them in the
future. He particularly informed them that he was not there to make
war, but to promote peace. Then expressing his regret that more of the
chiefs had not visited him, he announced his intention of proceeding
on the morrow with his command to the vicinity of their village and
there holding a council with all of the chiefs. Tall Bull, a fine,
warlike-looking chieftain, replied to General Hancock, but his speech
contained nothing important, being made up of allusions to the growing
scarcity of the buffalo, his love for the white man, and the usual hint
that a donation in the way of refreshments would be highly acceptable;
he added that he would have nothing new to say at the village.
Several years prior to the events referred to, our people had captured
from the Indians two children. I believe they were survivors of the
Chivington massacre at Sand Creek, Colorado. These children had been
kindly cared for, and were being taught to lead a civilized mode of
life. Their relatives, however, made demands for them, and we by treaty
stipulation agreed to deliver them up. One of them, a little girl, had
been cared for kindly in a family living near Denver, Colorado; the
other, a boy, had been carried East to the States, and it was with
great difficulty that the Government was able to learn his whereabouts
and obtain possession of him. He was finally discovered, however,
and sent to General Hancock, to be by him delivered up to his tribe.
He accompanied the expedition, and was quite a curiosity for the
time being. He was dressed comfortably, in accordance with civilized
custom; and, having been taken from his people at so early an age, was
apparently satisfied with the life he led. The Indians who came to
our camp expressed a great desire to see him, and when he was brought
into their presence they exhibited no emotion such as white men under
similar circumstances might be expected to show. They evidently were
not pleased to see him clothed in the white man’s dress. The little
fellow, then some eight or ten years of age, seemed little disposed to
go back to his people. I saw him the following year in the village of
his tribe; he then had lost all trace of civilization, had forgotten
his knowledge of the English language, and was as shy and suspicious
of the white men as any of his dusky comrades. From older persons of
the tribe we learned that their first act after obtaining possession
of him was to deprive him of his “store clothes,” and in their stead
substitute the blanket and leggings.
Rightly concluding that the Indians did not intend to come to our
camp as they had at first agreed to, it was decided to move nearer to
their village. On the morning following the conference held with the
two chiefs of the “Dog Soldiers,” our entire force therefore marched
from Fort Larned up Pawnee Fork in the direction of the main village,
encamping the first night about twenty-one miles from the fort. Several
parties of Indians were seen in our advance during the day, evidently
watching our movements; while a heavy smoke, seen to rise in the
direction of the Indian village, indicated that something more than
usual was going on. This smoke we afterwards learned arose from the
burning grass. The Indians, thinking to prevent us from encamping in
their vicinity, had set fire to and burned all the grass for miles in
the direction from which they expected us. Before we arrived at our
camping-ground we were met by several chiefs and warriors belonging to
the Cheyennes and Sioux. Among the chiefs were Pawnee Killer of the
Sioux, and White Horse of the Cheyennes. It was arranged that these
chiefs should accept our hospitality and remain with us during the
night, and in the morning all the chiefs of the two tribes then in
the village were to come to General Hancock’s headquarters and hold
a council. On the morning of the 14th Pawnee Killer left our camp at
an early hour, for the purpose, as he said, of going to the village
to bring in the other chiefs to the council. Nine o’clock had been
agreed upon as the hour at which the council should assemble. The hour
came, but the chiefs did not. Now an Indian council is not only often
an important but always an interesting occasion. And, somewhat like a
famous recipe for making a certain dish, the first thing necessary in
holding an Indian council is to get the Indian. Half-past nine o’clock
came, and still we were lacking this one important part of the council.
At this juncture Bull Bear, an influential chief among the Cheyennes,
came in and reported that the chiefs were on their way to our camp, but
would not be able to reach it for some time. This was a mere artifice
to secure delay. General Hancock informed Bull Bear that as the chiefs
could not arrive for some time, he would move his forces up the stream
nearer to the village, and the council could be held at our camp that
night. To this proposition Bull Bear gave his assent.
At 11 A. M. we resumed the march, and had proceeded but a few miles
when we witnessed one of the finest and most imposing military
displays, prepared according to the Indian art of war, which it has
ever been my lot to behold. It was nothing more nor less than an
Indian line of battle drawn directly across our line of march; as if
to say, Thus far and no further. Most of the Indians were mounted;
all were bedecked in their brightest colors, their heads crowned with
the brilliant war-bonnet, their lances bearing the crimson pennant,
bows strung, and quivers full of barbed arrows. In addition to these
weapons, which with the hunting-knife and tomahawk are considered as
forming the armament of the warrior, each one was supplied with either
a breech-loading rifle or revolver, sometimes with both--the latter
obtained through the wise foresight and strong love of fair play which
prevails in the Indian Department, which, seeing that its wards are
determined to fight, is equally determined that there shall be no
advantage taken, but that the two sides shall be armed alike; proving,
too, in this manner the wonderful liberality of our Government, which
not only is able to furnish its soldiers with the latest improved
style of breech-loaders to defend it and themselves, but is equally
able and willing to give the same pattern of arms to their common foe.
The only difference is, that the soldier, if he loses his weapon, is
charged double price for it; while to avoid making any such charge
against the Indian, his weapons are given him without conditions
attached. In the line of battle before us there were several hundred
Indians, while further to the rear and at different distances were
other organized bodies acting apparently as reserves. Still further
were small detachments who seemed to perform the duty of couriers, and
were held in readiness to convey messages to the village. The ground
beyond was favorable for an extended view, allowing the eye to sweep
the plain for several miles. As far as the eye could reach small groups
or individuals could be seen in the direction of the village; these
were evidently parties of observation, whose sole object was to learn
the result of our meeting with the main body and hasten with the news
to the village.
For a few moments appearances seemed to foreshadow anything but a
peaceful issue. The infantry was in the advance, followed closely by
the artillery, while my command, the cavalry, was marching on the
flank. General Hancock, who was riding with his staff at the head of
the column, coming suddenly in view of the wild fantastic battle array,
which extended far to our right and left and not more than half a mile
in our front, hastily sent orders to the infantry, artillery, and
cavalry to form line of battle, evidently determined that if war was
intended we should be prepared. The cavalry, being the last to form on
the right, came into line on a gallop, and, without waiting to align
the ranks carefully, the command was given to “draw sabre.” As the
bright blades flashed from their scabbards into the morning sunlight,
and the infantry brought their muskets to a carry, a most beautiful
and wonderfully interesting sight was spread out before and around us,
presenting a contrast which, to a military eye, could but be striking.
Here in battle array, facing each other, were the representatives of
civilized and barbarous warfare. The one, with but few modifications,
stood clothed in the same rude style of dress, bearing the same
patterned shield and weapon that his ancestors had borne centuries
before; the other confronted him in the dress and supplied with the
implements of war which the most advanced stage of civilization had
pronounced the most perfect. Was the comparative superiority of these
two classes to be subjected to the mere test of war here? Such seemed
the prevailing impression on both sides. All was eager anxiety and
expectation. Neither side seemed to comprehend the object or intentions
of the other; each was waiting for the other to deliver the first blow.
A more beautiful battle-ground could not have been chosen. Not a bush
or even the slightest irregularity of ground intervened between the two
lines which now stood frowning and facing each other. Chiefs could be
seen riding along the line as if directing and exhorting their braves
to deeds of heroism.
After a few moments of painful suspense, General Hancock, accompanied
by General A. J. Smith and other officers, rode forward, and through
an interpreter invited the chiefs to meet us midway, for the purpose
of an interview. In response to this invitation Roman Nose, bearing
a white flag, accompanied by Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard, and
Medicine Wolf on the part of the Cheyennes, and Pawnee Killer, Bad
Wound, Tall Bear that Walks under the Ground, Left Hand, Little Bear,
and Little Bull on the part of the Sioux, rode forward to the middle of
the open space between the two lines. Here we shook hands with all of
the chiefs, most of them exhibiting unmistakable signs of gratification
at this apparently peaceful termination of our rencounter. General
Hancock very naturally inquired the object of the hostile attitude
displayed before us, saying to the chiefs that if war was their object
we were ready then and there to participate. Their immediate answer
was that they did not desire war, but were peacefully disposed. They
were then told that we would continue our march toward the village, and
encamp near it, but would establish such regulations that none of the
soldiers would be permitted to approach or disturb them. An arrangement
was then effected by which the chiefs were to assemble at General
Hancock’s headquarters as soon as our camp was pitched. The interview
then terminated, and the Indians moved off in the direction of their
village, we following leisurely in rear.
A march of a few miles brought us in sight of the village, which was
situated in a beautiful grove on the banks of the stream up which we
had been marching. The village consisted of upwards of three hundred
lodges, a small fraction over half belonging to the Cheyennes, the
remainder to the Sioux. Like all Indian encampments, the ground chosen
was a most romantic spot, and at the same time fulfilled in every
respect the requirements of a good camping-ground; wood, water, and
grass were abundant. The village was placed on a wide, level plateau,
while on the north and west, at a short distance off, rose high bluffs,
which admirably served as a shelter against the cold winds which at
that season of the year prevail from these directions. Our tents were
pitched within half a mile of the village. Guards were placed between
to prevent intrusion upon our part. A few of the Indian ponies found
grazing near our camp were caught and returned to them, to show that
our intentions were at least neighborly. We had scarcely pitched our
tents when Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf, all
prominent chiefs of the Cheyennes, came into camp, with the information
that upon our approach their women and children had all fled from the
village, alarmed by the presence of so many soldiers, and imagining a
second Chivington massacre to be intended. General Hancock insisted
that they should all return, promising protection and good treatment
to all; that if the camp was abandoned he would hold it responsible.
The chiefs then stated their belief in their ability to recall the
fugitives, could they be furnished with horses to overtake them. This
was accordingly done, and two of them set out mounted on two of our
horses. An agreement was also entered into at the same time that one
of our interpreters, Ed. Gurrier, a half-breed Cheyenne who was in the
employ of the Government, should remain in the village and report every
two hours as to whether any Indians were leaving the village. This was
about seven o’clock in the evening. At half past nine the half-breed
returned to headquarters, with the intelligence that all the chiefs and
warriors were saddling up to leave, under circumstances showing that
they had no intention of returning, such as packing up such articles as
could be carried with them, and cutting and destroying their lodges,
this last being done to obtain small pieces for temporary shelter.
I had retired to my tent, which was located some few hundred yards from
that of General Hancock, when a messenger from the latter awakened
me with the information that General Hancock desired my presence at
his tent. Imagining a movement on the part of the Indians, I made no
delay in responding to the summons. General Hancock briefly stated the
situation of affairs, and directed me to mount my command as quickly
and as silently as possible, surround the Indian village, and prevent
the departure of its inhabitants. Easily said, but not so easily done.
Under ordinary circumstances, silence not being necessary, I could have
returned to my camp, and by a few blasts from the trumpet placed every
soldier in his saddle almost as quickly as it has taken time to write
this sentence. No bugle calls must be sounded; we were to adopt some
of the stealth of the Indian--how successfully remains to be seen. By
this time every soldier, officers as well as men, was in his tent sound
asleep. How to awaken them and impart to each the necessary order?
First going to the tent of the adjutant and arousing him, I procured
an experienced assistant in my labors. Next the captains of companies
were awakened and orders imparted to them. They in turn transmitted
the order to the first sergeant, who similarly aroused the men. It
has often surprised me to observe the alacrity with which disciplined
soldiers, experienced in campaigning, will hasten to prepare themselves
for the march in an emergency like this. No questions are asked,
no time is wasted. A soldier’s toilet, on an Indian campaign, is a
simple affair, and requires little time for arranging. His clothes are
gathered up hurriedly, no matter how, so long as he retains possession
of them. The first object is to get his horse saddled and bridled, and
until this is done his own toilet is a matter of secondary importance,
and one button or hook must do the duty of half a dozen. When his
horse is ready for the mount the rider will be seen completing his own
equipment; stray buttons will receive attention, arms be overhauled,
spurs restrapped; then, if there still remain a few spare moments, the
homely black pipe is filled and lighted, and the soldier’s preparation
is completed.
The night was all that could be desired for the success of our
enterprise. The air was mild and pleasant; the moon, although nearly
full, kept almost constantly behind the clouds, as if to screen us in
our hazardous undertaking. I say hazardous, because there were none
of us who imagined for one moment that if the Indians discovered us
in our attempt to surround them and their village, we would escape
without a fight--a fight, too, in which the Indians, sheltered behind
the trunks of the stately forest trees under which their lodges were
pitched, would possess all the advantage. General Hancock, anticipating
that the Indians would discover our approach, and that a fight would
ensue, ordered the artillery and infantry under arms, to await the
result of our moonlight venture. My command was soon in the saddle,
and silently making its way toward the village. Instructions had been
given forbidding all conversation except in a whisper. Sabres were so
disposed of as to prevent clanging. Taking a camp-fire which we could
see in the village as our guiding point, we made a detour so as to
place the village between ourselves and the infantry. Occasionally the
moon would peep out from behind the clouds and enable us to catch a
hasty glance at the village. Here and there under the thick foliage
we could see the white, conical-shaped lodges. Were their inmates
slumbering, unaware of our close proximity, or were their dusky
defenders concealed, as well they might have been, along the banks
of the Pawnee, quietly awaiting our approach, and prepared to greet
us with their well-known war-whoop? These were questions that were
probably suggested to the mind of each individual of my command. If we
were discovered approaching in the stealthy, suspicious manner which
characterized our movements, the hour being midnight, it would require
a more confiding nature than that of the Indian to assign a friendly
or peaceful motive to our conduct. The same flashes of moonlight
which gave us hurried glimpses of the village enabled us to see our
own column of horsemen stretching its silent length far into the dim
darkness, and winding its course, like some huge anaconda about to
envelop its victim.
The method by which it was determined to establish a cordon of armed
troopers about the fated village, was to direct the march in a circle,
with the village in the centre, the commanding officer of each rear
troop halting his command at the proper point, and deploying his
men similarly to a line of skirmishers--the entire circle, when
thus formed, facing toward the village, and distant from it perhaps
a few hundred yards. No sooner was our line completely formed than
the moon, as if deeming darkness no longer essential to our success,
appeared from behind her screen and lighted up the entire scene. And
a beautiful scene it was. The great circle of troops, each individual
of which sat on his steed silent as a statue, the beautiful and in
some places dense foliage of the cotton trees sheltering and shading
the bleached, skin-clad lodges of the red man, while in the midst of
all murmured undisturbedly in its channel the little stream on whose
banks the village was located, all combined to produce an artistic
effect, as beautiful as it was interesting. But we were not there to
study artistic effects. The next step was to determine whether we had
captured an inhabited village, involving almost necessarily a fierce
conflict with its savage occupants, or whether the red man had again
proven too wily and crafty for his more civilized brothers.
Directing the entire line of troopers to remain mounted with carbines
held at the “advance,” I dismounted, and taking with me Gurrier, the
half-breed, Dr. Coates, one of our medical staff, and Lieutenant
Moylan, the adjutant, proceeded on our hands and knees toward the
village. The prevailing opinion was that the Indians were still
asleep. I desired to approach near enough to the lodges to enable the
half-breed to hail the village in the Indian tongue, and if possible
establish friendly relations at once. It became a question of prudence
with us, which we discussed in whispers as we proceeded on our “Tramp,
tramp, tramp, the boys are creeping,” how far from our horses and how
near to the village we dared to go. If so few of us were discovered
entering the village in this questionable manner, it was more than
probable that, like the returners of stolen property, we should be
suitably rewarded and no questions asked. The opinions of Gurrier, the
half-breed, were eagerly sought for and generally deferred to. His
wife, a full-blooded Cheyenne, was a resident of the village. This with
him was an additional reason for wishing a peaceful termination to our
efforts. When we had passed over two-thirds of the distance between
our horses and the village, it was deemed best to make our presence
known. Thus far not a sound had been heard to disturb the stillness of
the night. Gurrier called out at the top of his voice in the Cheyenne
tongue. The only response came from the throats of a score or more of
Indian dogs which set up a fierce barking. At the same time one or two
of our party asserted that they saw figures moving beneath the trees.
Gurrier repeated his summons, but with no better result than before.
A hurried consultation ensued. The presence of so many dogs in the
village was regarded by the half-breed as almost positive assurance
that the Indians were still there. Yet it was difficult to account for
their silence. Gurrier in a loud tone repeated who he was, and that our
mission was a friendly one. Still no answer. He then gave it as his
opinion that the Indians were on the alert, and were probably waiting
in the shadow of the trees for us to approach nearer, when they would
pounce upon us. This comforting opinion induced another conference. We
must ascertain the truth of the matter; our party could do this as
well as a larger number, and to go back and send another party in our
stead could not be thought of.
Forward was the verdict. Each one grasped his revolver, resolved to
do his best, whether it was in running or fighting. I think most of
us would have preferred to take our own chances at running. We had
approached near enough to see that some of the lodges were detached
some distance from the main encampment. Selecting the nearest of these,
we directed our advance on it. While all of us were full of the spirit
of adventure, and were further encouraged with the idea that we were
in the discharge of our duty, there was scarcely one of us who would
not have felt more comfortable if we could have got back to our horses
without loss of pride. Yet nothing, under the circumstances, but a
positive order would have induced any one to withdraw. The doctor, who
was a great wag, even in moments of greatest danger, could not restrain
his propensities in this direction. When everything before us was
being weighed and discussed in the most serious manner, he remarked:
“General, this recalls to my mind those beautiful lines:
Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight,
Make me a child again just for one night--
this night of all others.”
We shall meet the doctor again before daylight, but under different
circumstances.