On the evening of the day following that upon which we had consigned
the remains of Lieutenant Kidder and his party to their humble
resting-place, the command reached Fort Wallace on the Smoky Hill
route. From the occupants of the fort we learned much that was
interesting regarding events which had transpired during our isolation
from all points of communication. The Indians had attacked the fort
twice within the past few days, in both of which engagements men were
killed on each side. The fighting on our side was principally under the
command of Colonel Barnitz, whose forces were composed of detachments
of the Seventh Cavalry. The fighting occurred on the level plain near
the fort, where, owing to the favorable character of the ground,
the Indians had ample opportunity to display their powers both as
warriors and horsemen. One incident of the fight was related, which,
its correctness being vouched for, is worthy of being here repeated.
Both parties were mounted, and the fighting consisted principally of
charges and counter-charges, the combatants of both sides becoming at
times mingled with each other. During one of these attacks a bugler boy
belonging to the cavalry was shot from his horse; before any of his
comrades could reach him, a powerfully built warrior, superbly mounted
on a war pony, was seen to dash at full speed toward the spot where the
dying bugler lay. Scarcely checking the speed of his pony, who seemed
to divine his rider’s wishes, the warrior grasped the pony’s mane with
one hand and, stooping low as he neared the bugler, seized the latter
with the other hand and lifted him from the earth, placing him across
his pony in front of him. Still maintaining the full speed of his pony,
he was seen to retain the body of the bugler but a moment, then cast it
to the earth. The Indians being routed soon after and driven from the
field, our troops, many of whom had witnessed the strange and daring
action of the warrior, recovered possession of the dead, when the
mystery became solved. The bugler had been scalped.
Our arrival at Fort Wallace was most welcome as well as opportune.
The Indians had become so active and numerous that all travel over
the Smoky Hill route had ceased; stages had been taken off the route,
and many of the stage stations had been abandoned by the employees,
the latter fearing a repetition of the Lookout Station massacre. No
despatches or mail had been received at the fort for a considerable
period, so that the occupants might well have been considered as
undergoing a state of siege. Added to these embarrassments, which
were partly unavoidable, an additional and under the circumstances
a more frightful danger stared the troops in the face. We were over
two hundred miles from the terminus of the railroad over which our
supplies were drawn, and a still greater distance from the main dépôts
of supplies. It was found that the reserve of stores at the post was
well-nigh exhausted, and the commanding officer reported that he knew
of no fresh supplies being on the way. It is difficult to account
for such a condition of affairs. Some one must surely have been at
fault; but it is not important here to determine who or where the
parties were. The officer commanding the troops in my absence reported
officially to headquarters that the bulk of the provisions issued
to his men consisted of “rotten bacon” and “hard bread” that was
“no better.” Cholera made its appearance among the men, and deaths
occurred daily. The same officer, in officially commenting upon the
character of the provisions issued to the troops, added: “The low
state of vitality in the men, resulting from the long confinement to
this scanty and unwholesome food, will, I think, account for the great
mortality among the cholera cases; ... and I believe that unless we can
obtain a more abundant and better supply of rations than we have had,
it will be impossible to check this fearful epidemic.”
I decided to select upward of a hundred of the best mounted men in
my command, and with this force open a way through to Fort Harker, a
distance of two hundred miles, where I expected to obtain abundant
supplies; from which point the latter could be conducted, well
protected against Indians by my detachment, back to Fort Wallace. Owing
to the severe marching of the past few weeks, the horses of the command
were generally in an unfit condition for further service without rest.
So that after selecting upward of a hundred of the best, the remainder
might for the time be regarded as unserviceable; such they were in
fact. There was no idea or probability that the portion of the command
to remain in camp near Fort Wallace would be called upon to do anything
but rest and recuperate from their late marches. It was certainly not
expected that they would be molested or called out by Indians; nor were
they. Regarding the duties to be performed by the picked detachment as
being by far the most important, I chose to accompany it.
The immediate command of the detachment was given to Captain Hamilton,
of whom mention has been previously made. He was assisted by two other
officers. My intention was to push through from Fort Wallace to Fort
Hays, a distance of about one hundred and fifty miles, as rapidly as
was practicable; then, being beyond the most dangerous portion of the
route, to make the remainder of the march to Fort Harker with half a
dozen troopers, while Captain Hamilton with his command should follow
leisurely. Under this arrangement I hoped to have a train loaded with
supplies at Harker, and in readiness to start for Fort Wallace, by the
time Captain Hamilton should arrive.
Leaving Fort Wallace about sunset on the evening of the 15th of July,
we began our ride eastward, following the line of the overland stage
route. At that date the Kansas Pacific Railway was only completed
as far westward as Fort Harker. Between Forts Wallace and Harker
we expected to find the stations of the overland stage company,
at intervals of from ten to fifteen miles. In time of peace these
stations are generally occupied by half a dozen employees of the
route, embracing the stablemen and relays of drivers. They were well
supplied with firearms and ammunition, and every facility for defending
themselves against Indians. The stables were also the quarters for the
men. They were usually built of stone, and one would naturally think
that against Indians no better defensive work would be required. Yet
such was not the case. The hay and other combustible material usually
contained in them enabled the savages, by shooting prepared arrows, to
easily set them on fire, and thus drive the occupants out to the open
plain, where their fate would soon be settled. To guard against such an
emergency, each station was ordinarily provided with what on the Plains
is termed a “dug-out.” The name implies the character and description
of the work. The “dug-out” was commonly located but a few yards from
one of the corners of the stable, and was prepared by excavating the
earth so as to form an opening not unlike a cellar, which was usually
about four feet in depth, and sufficiently roomy to accommodate at
close quarters half a dozen persons. This opening was then covered
with earth and loopholed on all sides at a height of a few inches above
the original level of the ground. The earth was thrown on top until the
“dug-out” resembled an ordinary mound of earth, some four or five feet
in height. To the outside observer, no means apparently were provided
for egress or ingress; yet such was not the case. If the entrance had
been made above ground, rendering it necessary for the defenders to
pass from the stable unprotected to their citadel, the Indians would
have posted themselves accordingly, and picked them off one by one as
they should emerge from the stable. To provide against this danger,
an underground passage was constructed in each case, leading from
the “dug-out” to the interior of the stable. With these arrangements
for defence a few determined men could withstand the attacks of an
entire tribe of savages. The recent depredations of the Indians had so
demoralized the men at the various stations that many of the latter
were found deserted, their former occupants having joined their forces
with those of other stations. The Indians generally burned the deserted
stations.
Marching by night was found to be attended with some disadvantages.
The men located at the stations which were still occupied, having no
notice of our coming, and having seen no human beings for several
days except the war parties of savages who had attacked them from
time to time, were in a chronic state of alarm, and held themselves
in readiness for defence at a moment’s notice. The consequence was,
that as we pursued our way in the stillness of the night, and were
not familiar with the location of the various stations, we generally
rode into close proximity before discovering them. The station men,
however, were generally on the alert, and, as they did not wait to
challenge us or be challenged, but took it for granted that we were
Indians, our first greeting would be a bullet whistling over our
heads, sometimes followed by a perfect volley from the “dug-out.” In
such a case nothing was left for us to do but to withdraw the column
to a place of security, and then for one of our number to creep up
stealthily in the darkness to a point within hailing distance. Even
this was an undertaking attended by no little danger, as by this time
the little garrison of the “dug-out” would be thoroughly awake and
every man at his post, his finger on the trigger of his trusty rifle,
and straining both eye and ear to discover the approach of the hateful
redskins, who alone were believed to be the cause of all this ill-timed
disturbance of their slumbers. Huddled together, as they necessarily
would be, in the contracted limits of their subterranean citadel, and
all sounds from without being deadened and rendered indistinct by the
heavy roof of earth and the few apertures leading to the inside, it is
not strange that under the circumstances it would be difficult for the
occupants to distinguish between the voice of an Indian and that of a
white man. Such was in fact the case, and no sooner would the officer
sent forward for that purpose hail the little garrison and endeavor
to explain who we were, than, guided by the first sound of his voice,
they would respond promptly with their rifles. In some instances we
were in this manner put to considerable delay, and although this was
at times most provoking, it was not a little amusing to hear the
description given by the party sent forward of how closely he hugged
the ground when endeavoring to establish friendly relations with the
stage people. Finally, when successful, and in conversation with the
latter, we inquired why they did not recognize us from the fact that we
hailed them in unbroken English. They replied that the Indians resorted
to so many tricks that they had determined not to be caught even by
that one. They were somewhat justified in this idea, as we knew that
among the Indians who were then on the war-path there was at least one
full blood who had been educated within the limits of civilization,
graduated at a popular institution of learning, and only exchanged his
civilized mode of dress for the paint, blanket, and feathers of savage
life after he had reached the years of manhood. Almost at every station
we received intelligence of Indians having been seen in the vicinity
within a few days of our arrival.
We felt satisfied they were watching our movements, although we saw no
fresh signs of Indians until we arrived near Downer’s station. Here,
while stopping to rest our horses for a few minutes, a small party of
our men, who had without authority halted some distance behind, came
dashing into our midst and reported that twenty-five or thirty Indians
had attacked them some five or six miles in rear, and had killed two
of their number. As there was a detachment of infantry guarding the
station, and time being important, we pushed on toward our destination.
The two men reported killed were left to be buried by the troops on
duty at the station. Frequent halts and brief rests were made along our
line of march; occasionally we would halt long enough to indulge in a
few hour’s sleep. About three o’clock on the morning of the 18th we
reached Fort Hays, having marched about one hundred and fifty miles in
fifty-five hours, including all halts. Some may regard this as a rapid
rate of marching; in fact, a few officers of the army who themselves
have made many and long marches (principally in ambulances and railroad
cars) are of the same opinion. It was far above the usual rate of a
leisurely made march, but during the same season and with a larger
command I marched sixty miles in fifteen hours. This was officially
reported, but occasioned no remark. During the war, and at the time
the enemy’s cavalry under General J. E. B. Stuart made its famous raid
around the Army of the Potomac in Maryland, a portion of our cavalry,
accompanied by horse artillery, in attempting to overtake them, marched
over ninety miles in twenty-four hours. A year subsequent to the events
narrated in this chapter I marched a small detachment eighty miles in
seventeen hours, every horse accompanying the detachment completing the
march in as fresh condition apparently as when the march began.
Leaving Hamilton and his command to rest one day at Hays and then to
follow on leisurely to Fort Harker, I continued my ride to the latter
post, accompanied by Colonels Cook and Custer and two troopers. We
reached Fort Harker at two o’clock that night, having made the ride of
sixty miles without change of animals in less than twelve hours. As
this was the first telegraph station, I immediately sent telegrams to
headquarters and to Fort Sedgwick, announcing the fate of Kidder and
his party. General A. J. Smith, who was in command of this military
district, had his headquarters at Harker. I at once reported to him in
person, and acquainted him with every incident worthy of mention which
had occurred in connection with my command since leaving him weeks
before. Arrangements were made for the arrival of Hamilton’s party and
for a train containing supplies to be sent back under their escort.
Having made my report to General Smith as my next superior officer,
and there being no occasion for my presence until the train and escort
should be in readiness to return, I applied for and received authority
to visit Fort Riley, about ninety miles east of Harker by rail, where
my family was then located.
No movements against Indians of any marked importance occurred in
General Hancock’s department during the remainder of this year.
Extensive preparations had been made to chastise the Indians, both
in this department and in that of General Augur’s on the north; but
about the date at which this narrative has arrived, a determined
struggle between the adherents of the Indian ring and those advocating
stringent measures against the hostile tribes, resulted in the
temporary ascendancy of the former. Owing to this ascendancy, the
military authorities were so hampered and restricted by instructions
from Washington as to be practically powerless to inaugurate or execute
any decisive measures against the Indians. Their orders required them
to simply act on the defensive. It may not be uninteresting to go back
to the closing month of the preceding year. The great event in Indian
affairs of that month and year was the Fort Phil Kearny massacre, which
took place within a few miles of the fort bearing that name, and in
which a detachment of troops, numbering in all ninety-four persons,
were slain, and not one escaped or was spared to tell the tale. The
alleged grievance of the Indians prompting them to this outbreak was
the establishment by the Government of a new road of travel to Montana,
and the locating of military posts along this line. They claimed that
the building and use of this road would drive all the game out of their
best hunting-grounds. When once war was determined upon by them, it was
conducted with astonishing energy and marked success. Between the 26th
of July and the 21st of December of the same year, the Indians opposing
the establishment of this new road were known to have killed ninety-one
enlisted men, five officers, and fifty-eight citizens, besides wounding
twenty more and capturing and driving off several hundred head of
valuable stock. And during this period of less than six months, they
appeared before Fort Phil Kearny in hostile array on fifty-one separate
occasions, and attacked every train and individual attempting to pass
over the Montana road. It has been stated officially that at the three
posts established for the defence of the Montana road, there were the
following reduced amounts of ammunition: Fort C. F. Smith, ten rounds
per man; Fort Phil Kearny, forty-five rounds per man, and Fort Reno,
thirty rounds per man; and that there were but twelve officers on
duty at the three posts, many of the enlisted men of which were raw
recruits. The force being small, and the amount of labor necessary
in building new posts being very great, but little opportunity could
be had for drill or target practice. The consequence was, the troops
were totally lacking in the necessary preparation to make a successful
fight. As the massacre at Fort Phil Kearny was one of the most complete
as well as terrible butcheries connected with our entire Indian
history, some of the details, as subsequently made evident, are here
given.
On the 6th of December the wood train was attacked by Indians about two
miles from the fort. Colonel Fetterman, with about fifty mounted men,
was sent to rescue the train. He succeeded in this, but only after a
severe fight with the Indians and after suffering a loss of one officer
(Lieutenant Bingham of the cavalry) and one sergeant, who were decoyed
from the main body into an ambuscade. This affair seems to have given
the Indians great encouragement, and induced them to form their plans
for the extensive massacre which was to follow.
On the 21st the wood train was again assailed, and, as before, a party
was sent out from the fort to its relief. The relieving party consisted
of infantry and cavalry, principally the former, numbering in all
ninety-one men with three officers--Captain Brown of the infantry,
Lieutenant Grummond of the cavalry, and Colonel Fetterman of the
infantry in command.
Colonel Fetterman sallied forth promptly with his command to the rescue
of the train. He moved out rapidly, keeping to the right of the wood
road, for the purpose, as is supposed, of getting in rear of the
attacking party. As he advanced across the Piney a few Indians appeared
on his front and flanks, and kept showing themselves just beyond rifle
range until they finally disappeared beyond Lodge Trail ridge. When
Colonel Fetterman reached Lodge Trail ridge the picket signalled the
fort that the Indians had retreated, and that the train had moved
toward the timber. About noon Colonel Fetterman’s command, having
thrown out skirmishers, disappeared over the crest of Lodge Trail
ridge; firing at once commenced and was heard distinctly at the fort.
From a few scattering shots it increased in rapidity until it became
a continuous and rapid fire of musketry. A medical officer was sent
from the post to join the detachment, but was unable to do so, Indians
being encountered on the way. After the firing had become quite heavy,
showing that a severe engagement was taking place, Colonel Carrington,
the commander of the post, sent an officer and about seventy-five men
to reinforce Colonel Fetterman’s party. These reinforcements moved
rapidly toward the point from which the sound of firing proceeded.
The firing continued to be heard during their advance, diminishing
in rapidity and number of shots until they had reached a high summit
overlooking the battle-field, when one or two shots closed all sound
of conflict. From this summit a full view could be obtained of the
Peno valley beyond, in which Fetterman’s command was known to be, but
not a single individual of this ill-fated band could be seen. Instead,
however, the valley was seen to be overrun by Indians, estimated to
number fully three thousand warriors. Discovering the approach of the
reinforcements, the Indians beckoned them to come on, but without
awaiting their arrival commenced retreating. The troops then advanced
to a point where the savages had been seen collected in a circle, and
there found the dead naked bodies of Colonel Fetterman, Captain Brown,
and about sixty-five of their men. All the bodies lay in a space not
exceeding thirty-five feet in diameter. A few American horses lay dead
near by, all with their heads toward the fort. This spot was by the
roadside and beyond the summit of a hill rising to the east of Peno
creek. The road after ascending this hill follows the ridge for nearly
three-quarters of a mile, and then descends abruptly to Peno valley.
About midway between the point where these bodies lay and that where
the road begins to descend was the dead body of Lieutenant Grummond;
and at the point where the road leaves the ridge to descend to the
Peno valley were the dead bodies of three citizens and a few of the
old, long-tried, and experienced soldiers. Around this little group
were found a great number of empty cartridge shells; more than fifty
were found near the body of a citizen who had used a Henry rifle; all
going to show how stubbornly these men had fought, and that they had
fought with telling effect on their enemies was evidenced by the fact
that within a few hundred yards in front of their position ten Indian
ponies lay dead, and near by them were sixty-five pools of dark and
clotted blood. Among the records of the Indian Department in Washington
there is on file a report of one of the Peace Commissioners sent to
investigate the circumstances of this frightful slaughter. Among the
conclusions given in this report, it is stated that the Indians were
massed to resist Colonel Fetterman’s advance along Peno creek on both
sides of the road; that Colonel Fetterman formed his advanced lines on
the summit of the hill overlooking the creek and valley, with a reserve
near where the large number of dead bodies lay; that the Indians
in large force attacked him vigorously in this position, and were
successfully resisted for half an hour or more; that the command then
being short of ammunition and seized with a panic at this event and
the great numerical superiority of the Indians, attempted to retreat
toward the fort; that the mountaineers and old soldiers, who had
learned that a movement from Indians in an engagement was equivalent
to death, remained in their first position and were killed there; that
immediately upon the commencement of the retreat the Indians charged
upon and surrounded the party, who could not now be formed by their
officers and were immediately killed. Only six men of the whole command
were killed by balls, and two of these, Colonel Fetterman and Captain
Brown, no doubt inflicted this death upon themselves, or each other, by
their own hands, for both were shot through the left temple, and powder
was burnt into the skin and flesh about the wound. These officers had
often asserted that they would never be taken alive by Indians.
The difficulty, as further explained by this commissioner, was that
the officer commanding the Phil Kearny district was furnished no
more troops for a state of war than had been provided for a state of
profound peace. “In regions where all was peace, as at Laramie in
November, twelve companies were stationed; while in regions where all
was war, as at Phil Kearny, there were only five companies allowed.”
The same criticism regarding the distribution of troops would be just
if applied to a much later date.
The Indians invariably endeavored to conceal their exact losses, but
they acknowledged afterwards to have suffered a loss of twelve killed
on the field, sixty severely wounded, several of whom afterwards died,
and many others permanently maimed. They also lost twelve horses
killed outright, and fifty-six so badly wounded that they died within
twenty-four hours.
The intelligence of this massacre was received throughout the country
with universal horror, and awakened a bitter feeling toward the savage
perpetrators. The Government was implored to inaugurate measures
looking to their prompt punishment. This feeling seemed to be shared by
all classes. The following despatch, sent by General Sherman to General
Grant, immediately upon receipt of the news of the massacre, briefly
but characteristically expresses the views of the Lieutenant-General of
the Army.
ST. LOUIS, Dec. 28, 1866.
GENERAL: Just arrived in time to attend the funeral of my
Adjutant-General, Sawyer. I have given general instructions to
General Cooke about the Sioux. I do not yet understand how the
massacre of Colonel Fetterman’s party could have been so complete.
We must act with vindictive earnestness against the Sioux, even to
their extermination, men, women, and children. Nothing less will
reach the root of the case.
(Signed) W. T. SHERMAN, Lieutenant-General.
The old trouble between the War and Interior Departments, as to
which should retain control of the Indian question, was renewed with
increased vigor. The Army accused the Indian Department, and justly
too, of furnishing the Indians arms and ammunition. Prominent exponents
of either side of the question were not slow in taking up their pens in
advocacy of their respective views. In the succeeding chapter testimony
will be offered from those high in authority, now the highest, showing
that among those who had given the subject the most thoughtful
attention the opinion was unanimous in favor of the “abolition of the
civil Indian agents and licensed traders,” and of the transfer of the
Indian Bureau from the Interior Department back to the War Department,
where it originally belonged.