SURROUNDED.
"One thing is certain: we ought to get word over to Wayne or he'll be
cut off." The speaker was old Stannard, and his auditors were a knot of
half a dozen officers of the --th. It was just daybreak, cold, crisp,
and clear. It was about a week after the news of the battle of the
Little Horn had reached the regiment. Already its two strongest
battalions were marching to join Crook at the Big Horn, but a little
squadron--two troops under command of Captain Wayne--lay nearly two
days' march away, lower down the broad valley towards the southeast. The
tidings that had come by special couriers were exciting, even alarming.
A great outbreak had occurred among the Indians still at the agencies on
White River. Nearly a thousand of the Southern Cheyennes, who had
nothing whatever to do with the quarrel of Sitting Bull and his people,
who had no grievance whatever against the government, but had been fed,
clothed, petted, and pampered for six or eight years, and who up to this
time remained at the reservations, had become so emboldened at the
success of the renegades and warriors in the Big Horn country, so
envious of their great massacre of Custer and his men, that they had
suddenly thrown off all disguise, loaded up with all the provisions,
arms, and ammunition they could buy or steal, and had jumped for the
Northwest, murdering and pillaging as they went. Waiting no orders,
dropping, indeed, the retrograde movement he was ordered to make before
this outbreak was known, the regimental commander had turned his columns
and shot "cross country" on a night march to head them off. A soldier
who doubted the "grit" of his officers and men, who was himself
indisposed to dare so strong and savage a foe, could easily have taken
refuge in these orders and, marching as directed, avoid the Cheyennes
entirely. They were known to be the fiercest, sharpest, trickiest
fighters of the plains, full of pluck and science, superb horsemen, fine
shots, splendidly mounted and equipped. A foe, indeed, the average man
would think twice before "tackling," especially in the light of the
fearful exhibition of Indian prowess of the 25th of June. But the leader
of the --th never thought twice. No sooner did the breathless couriers
reach him with the news than he formed his plans instanter. Within an
hour every horse and man in the --th seemed to know they had a race and
a fight ahead. Eighty miles of rough country to ride over before they
could strike the line on which the Cheyennes were moving, and then the
--th could speak for themselves. The news of the tragedy of the Little
Horn came like a stunning blow to many a fellow who had lost old and
tried comrades in the fray; but while laugh and jest seemed banished for
the time, there was no doubting the spirit of the regiment for the
coming business. They had turned sharply from their course late in the
afternoon of the previous day, had marched nearly all night, had halted
to make coffee and give the horses water and a good feed as they reached
the sheltering cottonwoods by the stream; and now, while some of the
officers with their field-glasses were lying prone upon the commanding
ridges studying the distant valley for signs, another party was gathered
here around the colonel, who had been having a brief chat with "old
Stannard."
"Wayne has been warned by this time. I sent two of the scouts across
from the Rawhide last evening," was the colonel's quiet reply to the
impulsive outburst of his junior.
"He is off their line of march entirely, I know," admitted Stannard,
"but those fellows have had eyes out in every direction. They know just
where he is. They know just where that wagon-train is, and up to last
evening they knew just where we were, though they are puzzled now, I
reckon. All I'm afraid of is that the moment they find we're not in
supporting distance, they'll drop what they're after and turn on Wayne.
He ought to be only forty odd miles down this valley,--considerably off
their line,--and if he has kept close and not fooled away his time he is
safe enough; but Wayne is Wayne, colonel, and I've known him to go
poking off on side scouts and losing time 'topogging' over pretty
country when he ought to have been making tracks for home." (Stannard
_would_ use the vernacular of the frontier when at all excited.) "Now it
would be just like Wayne to have lost a day in just such a manner. I
hope not,--but I fear it."
"He has Ray with him," suggested Captain Turner.
"I know that; but Wayne is butt-headed as a billy-goat on some points,
and one is that he can't be taught anything about Indians. He's as
innocent and unsuspicious and incapable of appreciating their wiles as
the average Secretary of the Interior; and Wayne isn't the kind of man
to be influenced by Ray's opinions. He'd be more apt to tell Ray to keep
them to himself. It couldn't be helped, of course, but it's a pity two
companies had to be sent on that scout. I'd feel safer under Ray with
one troop than under Wayne with two."
"I confess I wish we could see just where they were and what they were
doing," said the colonel, with an anxious look on his sun-blistered
face; "but we have our hands full as it is. Come, Mr. Adjutant, it's
time we were off! Get the men in saddle and have the arms and ammunition
inspected,--fifty rounds to the man, at least. Major Stannard, where
would you locate Truscott's command this morning? I shall send couriers
back from here to find him and tell him to join Wayne."
To join Wayne! Well, just at that particular moment Wayne was wishing
that he might,--or somebody equally strong. And if the colonel could but
have seen the fix that doughty dragoon was in--fifty miles away--the
concern on his ruddy face would have been intensified. Wayne had
succeeded in justifying everything Stannard had said of him. He had,
indeed, been "fooling away his time" on side scouts, and now, before he
had fairly dreamed of the possibility of such a thing, the hills around
him were alive with Indians.
Ray, with his troop, had been assigned to the captain's command for a
scout of some importance over towards the reservations three days before
this unlucky morning. Rumors of the disaffection of the Cheyennes had
come to the colonel. Everybody knew that the Indians would be wild with
delight over the news from Sitting Bull. Indeed, there was reason to
believe that it was being whispered at the reservations before the
telegraph flashed the tidings broadcast on the 5th of July. Were there
not two days there on the Mini Pusa--the 2d and 3d of July--when little
parties of Indians were chased towards as well as from the White River?
Wayne's orders were to scout the valley and report whether Indians were
venturing out that way. Before he had been two days away from the
regiment he found trail after trail of war-parties crossing the valley
northward. Signal-smokes and night-fires were in the hills beyond. The
evidence was conclusive to expert eyes, but Wayne said that, all told,
no more than one hundred warriors could have gone out. He was bent on
going farther and seeing how many more there were. Ray, as second in
rank among the five officers present, ventured to suggest that they had
seen quite enough, and that without delay they should either return
directly to the regiment or send word. Wayne would not send because only
a hundred tracks had been seen, and by the time he had run over double
that number the two scouts with them refused to go back. "We would be
cut off and killed, sure as fate," was their comprehensive reason. They
bivouacked that night in the timber, keeping out strong guards and
pickets, but with early dawn were astir, moving back up the valley. Once
again had Ray offered a suggestion,--that they should put back during
the night, but Wayne was nettled at the fact that Ray's prophecy had
come true. They had stayed too long and gone too far. He was a John Bull
sort of fellow, full of the ponderous, bumptious courage which prompts
the men of that illustrious island empire to be shot down like cattle by
Boers and Zulus and Arabs and Afghans, adhering rigidly to the tactics
of Waterloo to fight the scientific light troops of the savages sooner
than depart from that which was the conventional British method of
making war. Wayne was lacking only in moral courage. He was afraid to
say he was wrong and Ray was right. Before they had gone two miles he
was forced to admit it. He was hemmed in on every side.
The valley had narrowed considerably just here, and the bare, rounded
bluffs came down to within two hundred and fifty yards of the timber
along the stream. Willows in sparse groups and cottonwoods in
sun-bleached foliage were scattered along the level bench on both sides
of the river-bed. Broad wastes of sand extended in places from bank to
bank, and what water there was lay in heated pools. Here and there the
white incrustation on the sand told of the strongly alkaline nature of
the soil and the consequent impurity of the fluid. The little column,
with scouts well out on front and flanks, was moving four abreast up the
south bank along their trail of the previous day. Every now and then
some officer or man would note a new signal-smoke puffing up to the sky
among the hills some distance off the valley, and Wayne was riding in
rather sulky dignity at the head of the command. He had come to the
conclusion that he had done an idiotic thing the morning previous, in
pushing on down the valley after discovering beyond question that so
many Indians were already on the move. He well knew that Ray was the
last man in the regiment to counsel avoiding danger, unless it were
danger which would prove overwhelming and for encountering which there
could be no excuse. He _knew_ he had been idiotic now, for he could see
indications that Indians were closing in on him from every side; but,
worse than that, he knew that he had added to his idiocy a performance
that was simply asinine: he had lost his temper and said an outrageous
thing to Ray, and some of the men had heard it. From earliest dawn the
lieutenant had been out with the pickets eagerly scanning the
surrounding country. Indians, of course, were not to be seen. They kept
out of sight behind the bluffs and ridges, but their signals were
floating skyward from half a dozen different points, and Ray knew it
meant that they were calling in their forces to concentrate on this lone
command. At last he had gone to Wayne, who was sipping his coffee with
as much deliberation as though the troops had nothing on earth to do all
day.
"Captain Wayne. May I ask if anything further has been done towards
getting word back to the regiment?"
Wayne looked curiously at his junior a moment. He had the unpleasant
conviction that whatever his own views might be, the regiment generally
would be more apt to back Ray's opinions as to the chances in Indian
fighting than they would his. He could not complain of the lieutenant's
manner in the least, but all the same he felt certain that Ray had a
higher opinion of his own judgment than he had of his, the squadron
commander's. It was time to take him down.
"Why do you ask, Ray?" he said, with assumed composure, setting down
his tin cup and motioning to the attendant that he desired to have it
refilled.
"Because--we are now pretty well hemmed in, and unless word _has_ gone,
there will be little chance of sending any."
"Well, Mr. Ray, why _should_ we send any?"
"Because, Captain Wayne, we have neither ammunition nor provisions for a
siege, and the chances are in favor of our having to stand one."
"Oh, trash! Ray. I expected more nerve of you, and you are the first man
in the crowd to get stampeded."
For an instant there was danger of an explosion. Ray's eyes blazed with
wrath. He would have burst into a fury of denunciation, captain or no
captain, but there--close at hand--stood many silent groups of the men.
For once in his life Ray said not a word. For one long ten seconds he
stood there, looking Wayne straight in the eye, then turned on his heel
and left him.
The captain would have given much to recall the words. He knew their
utter injustice. He knew, worse luck! that if they succeeded in getting
back to the --th in safety, about the very first thing he would be
called upon to do would be to eat them. For the moment he was Ray's
commanding officer and there was no resenting them; but once back with
the --th, then there _would_ be fun!
Wayne rode for the first mile or so in sulky dignity, as has been said.
Ray was out in front with the scouts. He had gone without saying a word
to the commander, and though that was a breach of etiquette, the
captain well knew that there of all others was the place for Ray to be.
None of his other subalterns came near him. There were only two,--Dana
and Hunter,--and they were riding each at the head of the troop to which
he was attached. A young assistant surgeon was with the party, and a
civilian who had charge of the half-dozen pack-mules ambling alongside,
but even these men seemed indisposed to chat with the commanding
officer. The column was riding "at ease," but in silence. No whistling,
joking, or singing was going on. To the right was the timber through
which, well to the front, half a dozen skirmishers were pushing so as to
secure the main body against surprise. To the left, full eight hundred
yards away, rose the low line of bluffs, sweeping around the left front
so as to approach the stream. Two or three men rode warily along their
crest, keeping sharp lookout to the south, while scattered across the
valley a like distance ahead were half a dozen active troopers, the two
guides, and Ray. The latter, easily recognized at that distance by his
riding and by "Dandy's" elastic stride, had discarded his coat, and was
moving rapidly from point to point in his dark-blue scouting-shirt.
Nearing the bluffs that bent around their front, it could be seen that
the guides were hanging back a little, so were the skirmishers in
advance; but the men on the flanks pushed ahead. No Indians could be
seen from their more elevated position.
"They're shy of that bluff," said Wayne between his teeth. "Here, Mr.
Dana, send a sergeant and two sets of fours forward, and stir them up a
little. Wait a moment! There goes Ray."
Sure enough, Ray and a couple of horsemen, opening out considerably,
could be seen spurring diagonally across the bottom towards a point of
bluffs that rose higher than the general line off to the left. Before
they had gone two hundred yards, out from the very crest of the bluff
there leaped half a dozen quick puffs of smoke; half a dozen little
spirts of dust and sand flew up from the prairie near the three horsemen
farthest to the front, two of whose steeds were seen to veer and shy
violently, and then six sharp, spiteful, half-muffled reports were borne
on the still air.
Even before the shots were heard Wayne was turning in his saddle.
"Deploy to the front, Dana; only your first platoon," he added, as the
young officer was about throwing forward the whole troop. "Look out for
the bluffs on your left. I'll have Hunter face them. Half front your
line that way so as not to let them enfilade you. I'm going right out to
the front." With that he rode back, said a few words to Hunter, and
then, followed by his orderly trumpeter, went thumping off at ponderous
gallop towards his distant advance.
Almost at the same instant the flankers on the bluffs to the left were
seen waving their hats and spurring about in violent excitement,
pointing towards the south. Then they fired two or three wild shots in
that direction, and, ducking as though to avoid return fire, came
sweeping down the slopes at full speed.
It was stirring to mark the bearing of the little command just then.
Every man knew that the unseen foe was present in front and flank in
heavy force. Every hand seemed nerved to sudden strength. The horses
tossed their heads and pricked up their ears, looking eagerly in the
direction of the firing. In obedience to his orders, Dana was rapidly
deploying his leading platoon, and a sheaf of skirmishers went
scattering out to the front in support of the advance, while Hunter,
left for the moment alone, divined in an instant that the Indians were
coming with a rush upon the southern flank. He wheeled his fours to the
left, and, dismounting his skirmishers, sent them at the double-quick
out across the prairie. Not an instant too soon! Almost simultaneously
the ridge to the south, the bluffs out in front, and even the narrow
level between them and the timber fairly bristled with daring, dashing
horsemen,--the Cheyennes in all their glory.
Oh, what a brilliant sight they made with plume and pennon, floating
war-bonnet, lance and shield; the sunlight dancing on their barbaric
ornaments of glistening brass or silver, on brightly-painted, naked
forms, on the trappings of their nimble ponies, on rifle and spear! All
at full speed, all ayell, brandishing their weapons, firing wildly into
the valley, leaping, some of them, for an instant to the ground to take
better aim, then, like a flash, to saddle and top speed again; through
every little swale, over every ridge they popped like so many savage
Jacks-in-the-box, and came swooping, circling down on the little column
at the old-time tactics of the stampede. Warily though, with all their
clamor, for though they whoop and yell and shoot and challenge, they
veer off to right or left long before they get within dangerous range of
those silent skirmishers of Hunter's, now sprawling in long blue line
out on the dusty prairie, _ventre à terre_, and every fellow with his
carbine at the front just praying the painted scamps will come a little
closer. Warily in front, too, where Ray is skilfully retiring, face to
the foe, but keeping them back while Wayne has time to return to the
column and move his horses into the sheltering timber and prepare for
vigorous defence.
It is the only course now open to him. This is not civilized warfare,
remember, and far different rules must govern. It would be no difficult
matter against ordinary troops to lead a dashing charge, cut through the
opposing line, and so make his way back to the regiment. Of course many
men might be unhorsed and wounded, and so left behind, but they would be
cared for as prisoners until exchanged or the war was at an end. But war
with the Indian means, on his side, war _à outrance_,--war to the
cruellest death he can devise. When _he_ is cornered, all he has to do
is surrender and become the recipient of more attention and the victim
of higher living than he ever dreamed of until he tried it, and found it
so pleasant that it paid him to go on the war-path every spring, to have
a royal old revel in blood and bestiality until fall, and then yield to
the blandishments of civilization for the winter. But to officer or
soldier capture means death, and death by fiendish torture as a rule.
The Indian fights for the glory and distinction it gives him. He has
everything to gain and nothing to lose. The soldier of the United States
fights the red man only because he is ordered to. He has nothing to
gain--even glory, for the Senate has fixed a bar sinister on gallantry
in Indian warfare. He has everything to lose. However, no words of mine
will ever effect a change of political heart in such matters. The fact
remains that the one thing left for Wayne to do--finding himself cut off
by some two hundred Cheyennes--was to take to the timber and stand them
off.
By this time the fray was spirited and picturesque in the extreme. The
whole line of bluffs was alive with Indians dashing to and fro,
occasionally swooping down as though to burst through or over the
slender skirmish line. Others had swung clear around to the left, and
were circling about in the valley below them. From all but the north
side, therefore, the bullets came whistling in, and occasionally some
stricken horse would plunge and snort madly, and one or two men were
being assisted to the bank of the stream, where the young doctor had
already gone to work. Hunter's dismounted men, sturdily fronting the
south and southeast, were holding five times their force in check, while
Ray's and Dana's mounted skirmishers, fronting southwest and west, were
slowly falling back fighting. The Cheyennes encircled them on every side
but the north.
Busy in getting his horses into shelter under the bank, which was a few
feet high, and directing where the provisions and pack-mules should be
placed, Wayne was suddenly accosted by Ray.
"If twenty men can be spared, sir, I'll put them on that island,"
pointing to a clump of willows and cottonwoods that stood along the
opposite shore. "The Indians are crossing above and below, and we'll
soon have their fire on our backs."
Wayne was soldier enough to see the force of the suggestion. He was man
enough, too, to want to ask Ray's pardon for his language of the
morning, but there was only time to accede to the request. The
Kentuckian, still mounted on Dandy, was darting across the sandy space
with a dozen or more of his men at his heels. The island was a Godsend.
In less than five minutes the warriors who had ventured across, and were
now seeking for a shot at the safety-roost along under the bank, were
met by a score of well-aimed bullets that drove them to cover, dragging
with them the lifeless body of one of their number.
"Spread out there, men!" shouted Wayne. "Seize every point you can get
on t'other shore. Run up-stream fifty yards or so and scoop holes for
yourselves in the sand." And then he rode out to the front again to
superintend the retirement of his slender lines.
But all this time the firing had been rapid and almost incessant. As the
troopers came slowly in towards the timber and the Cheyennes realized
that it was impossible to drive them into panic or stampede, they seemed
to give far more attention to the accuracy of their aim, and for this
purpose the best shots had thrown themselves from their ponies and were
striving to pick off the officers and prominent sergeants. Still, the
greater number remained in saddle whooping and yelling and darting to
and fro at a comparatively safe distance, banging away at anything or
anybody within the soldier lines, and offering tempting though difficult
marks for the sorely-tried skirmishers. Until he noted the distant
war-parties crossing to the north side of the stream, Ray had been
riding up and down the lines checking the useless waste of ammunition.
Everywhere his voice could be heard, placid, almost laughing at times,
as he rebuked the senseless long-range shooting of the men.
"Hold your fire, men. You can't hit those skipping jack-rabbits half a
mile away. What on earth are you shooting at, Mulligan? You couldn't hit
a whole barn at that distance."
But all the same he was seriously worried. He knew well that at the
utmost there were no more than fifty rounds per man with the troopers,
and that rapid firing would soon reduce this to next to nothing. The
indications were that once hemmed in to the timber they would need every
shot to stand off the Cheyennes until relief could come, and before
galloping off to secure the timbered island in rear of their position
and so form a partially protected "corral" for the horses, he had
cautioned Dana and Hunter to be most sparing in their fire,--to allow no
shot unless the Indians charged.
The foe, on the contrary, were flush with ammunition. Mr. ----'s
cartridges were abundant among them, and from east, south, and west the
bullets were whizzing overhead, ripping up little grass tufts from the
prairie and raising a dust wherever they struck. The mounted skirmishers
sheered off into the timber quite early, as they were being shot at from
three sides, sprang from their horses and took to the trees, but before
they could do so several casualties had occurred. Six horses were lying
dead out on the prairie, others were wounded and bleeding, but worse
than that, two old Arizona sergeants, veterans of a dozen fights, and
five of the men were severely wounded. Ray's efforts to keep down the
return fire were futile. As long as the men had cartridges and he was
not about, they would fire. Just as Wayne the second time rode out to
the front he found Dana slowly dismounting.
"Are you hit?" he asked.
Dana nodded, pressed his hand to his side, and saying nothing, walked up
to a neighboring cottonwood and leaned against it, looking rather pale.
"Damn the luck!" growled Wayne. "This won't do. I must get the whole
crowd under cover."
"You get under yourself," grinned Dana. "That hat of yours looks like a
sieve now. Yi-ip! There goes your horse." And forgetting his own pain,
he strove to aid the captain, whose horse had suddenly plunged forward,
and was now rolling and kicking in the agony of death.
"I'm all right, Dana. Poor old Ned! he's carried me many a mile. Here,
sergeant, help the lieutenant back to the doctor. Go, Dana! I'll get the
men where they belong. We're all right, once we get in the timber."
And so, little by little, slowly and steadily the skirmishers fell back
to the shelter of the trees. There in big semicircle they were
distributed, each in a little, hastily constructed rifle-pit or shelter
of his own, and by nine o'clock this bright July morning the first phase
of the combat was at an end, and there was time to "take account of
stock."
Dana was shot through the side by a Henry or Winchester bullet, and was
lying under the bank faint, thirsty, but plucky. Sergeant Gwinn and two
of the men were dead, and eight men now needed the care of the surgeon;
three of them were senseless, probably mortally hurt. At least fifteen
horses were killed or rendered useless; the others were "corralled"
under the bank, where, in a deep bend, they were safe except from
long-range fire. Ray's men on the island had improved their advantage by
seizing defensible positions on the north bank, and, as against two
hundred and fifty Indians, with two days' rations left, with abundant
water to be had by digging in the sand, with pluck and spirit left for
anything, they were not badly off, provided the Indians were not heavily
reinforced and provided their ammunition held out.
The Cheyennes now resorted to other tactics. Leaving but few warriors
scurrying about on the open prairie, both north and south, they gathered
in force in the timber up- and down-stream and began their stealthy
approaches, keeping up all the time a sharp fire upon Wayne's position.
Every now and then would come a frantic cry from some stricken horse as
a random bullet took effect, but few struck among the men. The surgeon
and the wounded were well sheltered in a concave hollow of the bank.
There was fortunately little wind. With a gale blowing either up- or
down-stream, the Indians could have fired the timber and soon driven
them out. This was well understood on both sides. But the besieged knew
as well that other methods would be resorted to, and speedily they were
developed. The rattling fire that had been kept up ever since the first
assault had died away to an occasional shot, when suddenly from the
down-stream side there came a volley, a chorus of frantic yells, and
then a pandemonium of shots, shouts, howls, and screeches, answered by
the soldiers with their carbines and the billingsgate of some
irrepressible humorist. A savage attack had begun on Hunter's men. Even
as Wayne and Ray, bending low to avoid the storm, went scurrying through
the trees to his assistance, followed by some half a dozen of the "old
hands," there came from up-stream just such another assault, and in ten
seconds every able man in the command was hotly engaged.
"For God's sake, captain, don't let them waste their fire!" shouted Ray.
"I'll go back to the other front and hold them there."
"All right! I understand, Ray. You watch the same thing over there,"
answered Wayne, who at another time would have resented any suggestions,
but had seen the value of Ray's words a dozen times that day. "Damn it!
men. Fire slow. Don't throw away a shot. _Let_ them come closer; that's
what we want," he shouted to the soldiers, who, lying behind logs or
kneeling among the trees, were driving their missiles through the
timber, where the smoke-wreaths told of the otherwise invisible foe. Out
on the prairie, too, the mounted warriors went careering about, dashing
at full speed towards the woods, as though determined to charge, but
invariably veering off to right or left as they came within three
hundred yards. Of course, there was no direction from which the bullets
did not come whizzing into the timber, and men were more likely to be
hit in the back than elsewhere,--one of the many disheartening features
of such warfare. Almost every moment somebody _was_ hit, though at the
time it could not be seen or known, as all were too busy with what was
in their front to look around. Once in a while, too, some lucky shot
would send an Indian pony to his knees out on the prairie, or a warrior
would drop and be borne off by a ducking, dodging trio of his fellows.
Then there would be a shout of triumph from the timber, answering yells
of rage and defiance from the foe; but finally, after nearly an hour of
such savage work, the Cheyennes seemed to give it up. Then came another
respite, another "taking of stock."
One of the scouts, one who had refused to try and ride through to the
regiment, was shot dead, and lay on his face among the trees. So, too,
were two more of the men, while six were wounded, and Wayne himself had
a flesh wound in the thigh. The hot sun of noonday was pouring down, and
matters looked ugly.
"Do you know how much ammunition we have left?" asked Mr. Ray, in a low
tone, of the commanding officer about an hour later.
"No," said Wayne, looking anxiously in his face.
"Not twelve rounds to the man."