ambulance on this trip. If you will get a good team of mules from the
quartermaster, I will furnish my light wagon, and we will do our own
driving."
"All right," replied Booth; "I'll get the mules."
Lieut. Hallowell therefore had a set of bows fitted to his light rig,
over which was thrown an army wagon-sheet, drawn up behind with a cord,
similar to the fashion of the average emigrant outfit now so often to
be seen upon the roads of our Western prairies. A round hole was thus
left at the end, which served as a window, and as will be seen further
on, played a most important part in the tragedy in which this simply
covered wagon figured so conspicuously.
Two valises containing their dress uniforms, a box of crackers and
cheese, meat and sardines, and a bottle of anti-snakebite, made up the
precious freight for the long journey; and in the clear cold of the
early morning they rolled out of the gates of the fort, escorted by
Company L of the Eleventh Kansas, commanded by Lieut. Jacob Van Antwerp.
Junction City was in those days in reality the limit of civilization,
although Abilene with its solitary log cabin, and Salina with only
two, made great pretensions as the most westerly cities of the Great
Plains. A single glance at the howling wilderness surrounding either
place, however, dissipated all idea of possible or probable future
metropolitan greatness.
The rough bluffs that border Alum and Clear creeks, in Ellsworth
county, through which the trail wound its tortuous way, were always
in those days a favorite haunt of the Indians, and many a solitary
straggler has met his death from their swift arrows in what are now
called the "Harker Hills."
Safely through these dangerous bluffs and across the beautiful bottoms
that are to-day dotted with some of the most picturesque homes in
Ellsworth county, marched the little army and its one white covered
ambulance. Not an incident disturbed the quiet of the grand autumn
day, except the occasional slaughter of buffalo in mere wantonness now
and then by some straggling soldier; and early in the afternoon the
stockade in the bend of the Smoky Hill was reached.
After an inspection of this remote little garrison, which was found in
excellent spirits and condition, the line of march was resumed next
morning for Capt. Conkey's camp on the Walnut.
The company of 100 men acting as an escort were too formidable a number
to invite the cupidity of the Indians, and not a sign of one was seen
as the dangerous flats of Plum creek and the rolling country beyond
were successively passed; and the cantonment on the Walnut was reached
with nothing to disturb the monotony of the march.
Capt. Conkey's command at this important outpost were living in a rude
but comfortable sort of way in the simplest of dugouts constructed
along the bank of the stream, and the officers, a little more in
accordance with military dignity, in tents a few rods to the rear of
the line of huts. A stockade stable had been built, with a capacity of
two hundred and fifty horses, and sufficient hay had been put up by the
men to carry the horses through the winter.
The Captain was a brusque but kind-hearted man, and with him were
stationed his other officers, one of whom was a son of Admiral
Goldsborough, of naval fame.
The next morning Capt. Booth made a rigid inspection of the place,
which took all day, as an immense amount of property had accumulated
for condemnation; and when evening came, the papers, books, etc.,
were still untouched, and this branch of the inspection was postponed
until the morning. In the evening while sitting around the campfire,
discussing the war, telling stories, etc., Capt. Conkey said to Booth:
"Captain, it won't take more than half an hour in the morning to
inspect the papers and finish up what you have got to do: why don't you
start your escort out early?--then they won't be obliged to trot after
the ambulance, or you to poke along with them. You can then move out
briskly and make time."
Acting upon this suggestion, Capt. Booth went over the creek to Lieut.
Van Antwerp's camp and told him he need not wait for the ambulance
in the morning, but to march at about half-past six or at seven
o'clock, in advance. So at daylight the escort marched out agreeably
to instructions, and Booth continued his inspection. It was found,
however, that either Capt. Conkey had misjudged the amount of work to
be done or the inspecting officer's ability to do it in a certain time,
and nearly three hours elapsed before the task was completed.
At last everything was closed up, much to the satisfaction of Lieut.
Hallowell, who had been chafing under the delay ever since the troops
departed. When all was in readiness and the ambulance drawn up in front
of the commanding officer's tent, Lieut. Hallowell suggested to Booth
the propriety of taking a few of the men stationed there with them
until they overtook their own escort, which must now be several miles
on the trail toward Fort Larned. So, upon this, Booth mentioned it to
Capt. Conkey, who said: "Oh, there is no danger; there hasn't an Indian
been seen around here for more than ten days."
If they had known as much about Indians then as they afterward learned,
Capt. Conkey's response, instead of assuring them, would have made
them insist upon an escort, which Booth in his official capacity had
the power to order; but they were satisfied, and concluded to push
on. Jumping into the wagon, Lieut. Hallowell took the lines, and away
they went, rattling over the old log bridge that used to span the
Walnut, as light of heart as if riding to a dance. It was a clear
cold morning, with a stiff breeze blowing from the northwest; their
trail was frozen hard in some places, and was very rough, caused by the
travel of heavy trains when it was wet.
Booth sat on the left side with the whip in his hand, occasionally
striking the animals to keep their speed. Hallowell struck up a tune
(he was a good singer), and Booth joined in as they rolled along, as
oblivious of danger as though they were in their quarters at Riley.
After they had proceeded some distance, Hallowell remarked, "The
buffalo are grazing a long distance from the road to-day--a
circumstance which I think bodes no good." He had been on the Plains
the summer before, and was better acquainted with the Indians and their
peculiarities than Capt. Booth; but the latter replied that he "thought
it was because their escort had gone along ahead, and had probably
frightened them away." The next mile or two was passed, and still they
saw no buffalo between the trail and the river; but nothing more was
said relative to the suspicious circumstance, and they rolled rapidly
on.
When about five or six miles from Zarah, on glancing toward the river,
to the left and front, Booth saw something that looked strangely
like a drove of turkeys; he watched them intently for a few minutes,
when they rose up, and he discovered they were horsemen. He grasped
Hallowell's left arm, and directed his attention to them, saying,
"What's that?" Hallowell cast a hasty look to the point indicated,
and replying, "Indians, by George!" immediately turned the mules and
started them back toward Fort Zarah on a full gallop.
"Hold on," said Booth; "maybe it is a part of our escort."
"No, no," replied Hallowell; "I know it's Indians."
"Well," replied Booth, "I am going to see;" so, stepping out on the
footboard and holding onto the front bow, he looked back over the top
of the wagon. There was no doubt now that they were Indians. They had
fully emerged from the ravines in which they were hidden, and while he
was looking were slipping their buffalo robes from their shoulders,
taking arrows out of their quivers, drawing up their spears, and making
ready generally for a red-hot time. While Booth was intently watching
their hostile movements, Hallowell asked, "They are Indians, aren't
they?"
"Yes," replied Booth, "and they are coming like blazes!"
"Oh, dear!" said Hallowell, in a despairing tone; "I shall never see
poor Lizzie again." He had been married for only a few weeks, and his
young wife's name was Lizzie.
"Never mind Lizzie," said Booth; "let's get out of here!" Although he
was as badly frightened as Hallowell, he had no bride at Riley, and as
he tells it, "was selfishly thinking of himself and escape."
Promptly in response to Booth's remark came back from Hallowell in a
firm voice, clear and determined as ever issued from mortal throat:
"All right; you do the shooting and I'll do the driving," and suiting
the action to the word, he snatched the whip out of Booth's hand,
slipped from the seat to the front of the wagon and commenced lashing
the mules.
Booth then crawled back, pulled one of his revolvers--he had two,
Hallowell only one--then crept, or rather fell, over the "lazy-back"
of the seat, reached the hole made by the puckering of the sheet, and
counted the Indians. Thirty-four feather-bedecked, paint-bedaubed
savages, as vicious-looking an outfit as ever scalped a white man, were
coming down upon them like a hawk upon a chicken.
Booth had hardly reached his place at the back of the wagon before
Hallowell, between his yells to the mules, cried out, "How far off are
they now, Cap.?"--for he could see nothing in the rear as he sat.
Booth answered him as well as he could, and Hallowell renewed his
lashing and yelling.
Noiselessly the Indians gained, for as yet they had not uttered a whoop.
Again Hallowell asked, "How far off are they now, Cap.?" and again
Booth gave him an idea of the distance between them and their merciless
foe. From him Hallowell gathered fresh inspiration for fresh yells and
still more vigorous blows.
Booth was sitting on a box containing crackers, sardines, etc.,
watching the approach of the cut-throats, and saw with fear and
trembling the ease with which they gained upon the little wagon.
He realized then that safety did not lie in flight alone, and that
something besides mules' heels would be necessary to preserve their
scalp-locks.
Once more Hallowell inquired the distance between the pursued and
pursuing, but before Booth could answer, two shots were fired by the
rifles from the Indians, accompanied by a yell that was enough to make
the blood curdle in one's veins, and no reply was needed to acquaint
the valorous driver that the fiends were sufficiently near to commence
making trouble. He yelled at the mules, and down came the whip upon the
poor animals' backs. Booth yelled, for what reason he did not know,
unless to keep company with Hallowell, while the wagon flew over the
rough road like a patent baby-jumper. The bullets from the two rifles
passed through the wagon-cover immediately between the officers, but
did no damage; and almost instantly the Indians charged down upon them,
dividing into two parties, one going on each side, and delivering a
volley of arrows into the wagon as they rode by.
Just as they darted past the mules, Hallowell cried out, "Cap., I'm
hit!" and turning around to look at him, Booth saw an arrow sticking in
his head above his right ear; his arm was still plying the whip, which
was going as unceasingly as the sails of a windmill, and his yelling
only stopped long enough to answer, "Not much," in response to Booth's
"Does it hurt?" as he grabbed the arrow and pulled it out of his head.
The Indians by this time had passed on, and then, circling back,
prepared for another charge.
Booth had already fired at them three or four times, but owing to
the distance, the jumping of the wagon, and the "unsteadiness of his
nerves," as he declared, the shots had not decreased to any material
extent the number of their assailants.
Down came the red devils again, dividing as before, and delivering
another lot of arrows. Hallowell stopped yelling long enough to cry
out, "I'm hit again, Cap.!"
Looking around, Booth saw an arrow sticking in Hallowell's head,
just over his left ear this time, and hanging down his back like an
ornament. He snatched it out, asked Hallowell if it hurt him, but
received the same answer as before--"No; not much."
Both were yelling at the top of their voices, the mules were jerking
the wagon along at a fearful rate--frightened nearly out of their wits
at the sight of the Indians and the shouting and whipping of their
drivers. Booth, crawling to the back end of the wagon again and looking
out, saw the Indians moving across the trail, preparing for another
charge. One old fellow mounted on a black pony was jogging along in the
center of the road behind them, quite near, and evidently intent on
sending an arrow through the puckered hole of the wagon-sheet. As Booth
looked out, the Indian stopped his pony and let fly. Booth dodged back
sideways; the arrow sped on in its course, and came whizzing through
the hole and struck the black-walnut "lazy-back" of the seat, the head
sticking entirely through, the sudden checking causing the feathered
end to vibrate rapidly with a vro-o-o-ing sound. With a sudden blow
Booth struck it, breaking the shaft from the head, leaving the latter
imbedded in the wood.
As quick as he could, Booth rushed to the hole and fired at his aged
opponent, but failed to hit him. While he was trying to get another
shot at him, an arrow came flying from the left side, and struck him on
the inside of the elbow, hitting the nerve or "crazy-bone," which so
benumbed his hand and arm that he could not hold on to his revolver,
and it dropped from his hand to the road with one load still in its
chamber. Just then the mules gave an extra jump, which nearly jerked
the wagon from under him, and he fell on the end-gate, evenly balanced,
with his hands sprawling outside, attempting to clutch at something to
save himself.
At this the Indians gave a terrible yell--of exultation, probably,
supposing Booth was going to fall out; but he didn't. He caught hold of
one of the wagon-bows and pulled himself in again, terribly scared. It
was a "close call" and no mistake!
While all this was going on, Hallowell had not been neglected by the
incarnate fiends; about a dozen of them had devoted their time and
attention to him, but he had not flinched. Just as Booth had regained
his equilibrium and drawn the second revolver from his holster,
Hallowell yelled, "Right off to the right, Cap.--quick!"
Booth tumbled over the back of the seat, clutching at a bow to steady
himself, and "right off to the right" was an Indian just letting fly at
Hallowell. The arrow struck the side of the wagon; Booth at the instant
fired at the Indian, missed him of course--but he was badly scared, and
throwing himself on the opposite side of his pony, scooted off over the
prairie.
Back over the seat Booth piled again to guard the rear, where he found
a young buck riding close behind and to the right of the wagon, his
pony following the trail made by the ox-drivers in walking beside their
teams. Putting his arm around one of the wagon-bows, to prevent being
jerked out, Booth quickly stuck his revolver through the hole; but
before he could fire, the Indian flopped over on the side of his pony,
and all that could be seen of him was his arm around the pony's neck,
and from the knee down, one leg. Booth did not fire, but waited for
him to come up--he could almost hit the pony's head with his hand, so
closely was he running. He struck at it several times, but the Indian
kept him close up by whipping him on the opposite side of his neck.
Presently the Indian's arm began to work, and Booth looking saw that he
had fixed an arrow in his bow behind the pony's shoulder, and was just
on the point of shooting at him, with the head of the arrow not three
feet from his breast as he leaned out of the hole in the wagon-sheet.
Booth struck frantically at the arrow and dodged back into the wagon.
Up came the Indian, but Booth went out again, for he realized that the
Indian had to be gotten away from there, as he would make trouble.
Whenever Booth went out, down went the Indian; up he rose in a moment
again, but Booth fearing to risk himself with his head and breast
exposed at this game of "hide-and-seek," drew back as the Indian went
down the third time, and in a second up he came again--but this was
once too often. Booth had only gotten partly in and had not dropped his
revolver, and as the Indian rose, instinctively, and without taking
aim, fired.
The ball struck the Indian in the left nipple (he was naked to the
waist), the blood spurted out of the wound almost to the wagon, his
bow and arrow and lariat-rope dropped, he fell back on the pony's
rump and rolled from there heavily onto the ground, where, after a
convulsive straightening of his legs and a characteristic "Ugh!" he lay
as quiet as a stone.
"I've killed one of them, Hallowell!" yelled out Booth, as the Indian
tumbled off his pony.
"Bully for you!" came back the response; and then he continued his
shouting, and the blows of that tireless whip fell incessantly upon the
mules.
All the Indians that were in the rear and saw the young warrior fall,
rode up to him, circling around his dead body, uttering the most
unearthly yells,--but different from anything they had given vent to
before.
Hallowell, from his cramped position in front, noticed the change in
their tone, and asked, "What are they doing now, Cap.?"
Booth explained to him, and Hallowell's response was more vociferous
yelling and harder blows upon the poor galloping mules.
Booth was still sitting on the cracker-box, watching the maneuvers of
the Indians, when suddenly Hallowell sang out, "Right off to the right,
Cap.--quick!" which startled him, and whirling around instantly, he
saw an Indian within three feet of the wagon, with his bow and arrow
almost ready to shoot. There was no time to get over the seat, and as
he could not fire by Hallowell, he cried out, "Hit him with the whip!
Hit him with the whip!" The lieutenant, suiting the action to the word,
simply diverted one of the blows intended for the mules, and struck the
Indian fair across the face.
The whip had a knot on the end of it to keep it from unraveling, and
this knot must have hit the Indian in the eye, for he dropped his bow,
put his hands up to his face, rubbed his eyes, and digging his heel
into the left side of his pony, was soon out of reach of a revolver,
but nevertheless he was given a parting shot--a sort of salute, for it
was harmless.
A terrific yell from the rear at this moment caused Booth to look
around, and Hallowell to inquire, "What's the matter now?" "They are
coming down upon us like lightning!" replied Booth; and sure enough,
those who had been prancing around their dead comrade were coming
toward the wagon like a whirlwind, and with a whoop more deafening and
hideous than any that had preceded it.
Hallowell yelled louder than ever and lashed the mules more furiously
still, but the Indians gained on them as easily as a blooded racer on
a common farm plug. Separating as before, and passing on each side of
the wagon, the Indians delivered another volley as they charged by.
As this charge was made, Booth drew away from the hole in the rear of
the wagon-cover and turned his seat toward the Indians, but forgot in
the moment of excitement that, in the manner that he was sitting, his
back pressed against the sheet, his body probably plainly outlined on
the outside.
When the Indians rushed by and delivered their storm of arrows,
Hallowell cried out, "I'm hit again, Cap.!" and Booth, in turning
around to go to his relief, felt something pulling at him. Glancing
over his left shoulder to learn the cause of his trouble, he discovered
an arrow sticking into him and out through the wagon-sheet. With a jerk
of his body he tore it loose, and going to Hallowell, asked, "Where are
you hit now?" "In the back," he answered; where on looking Booth saw
an arrow sticking, the shaft extending under the "lazy-back" of the
seat. Taking hold of it, he gave it a pull, but Hallowell squirmed so
that he desisted. "Pull it out! Pull it out!" he cried. Booth thereupon
took hold of it again, and, giving a jerk or two, out it came. He was
thoroughly frightened as he saw it leave the lieutenant's body, for it
seemed to have entered at least six inches, and looked as if it must
have made a dangerous wound; but Hallowell did not cease belaboring the
mules, and his yells, accompanied by the blows, rang out as clear as
before.
After pulling out the arrow, Booth turned again to the opening at the
rear of the wagon, to see what new tricks the miscreants were up to,
when Hallowell yelled again, "Right off to the left, Cap.--quick!"
Rushing to the front of the wagon as soon as possible, Booth saw an
Indian in the act of shooting at the lieutenant from the left side, and
about ten feet away. The last revolver was empty, but something had to
be done at once; so, leveling the weapon at him, Booth yelled, "Bang!
you son-of-a-gun!"
Down went the Indian; rap, rap, went his knees against his pony's
sides, and away he flew over the prairie.
Back over the seat Booth tumbled, and began to load his revolver. The
cartridges they had in those days were the old-fashioned paper kind,
and biting off the end of one he would endeavor to pour the powder into
the chamber, but the wagon was tumbling from side to side and jumping
up and down as it flew over the rough trail, and more of the powder
went into the bottom of the wagon than into the revolver.
Just as he was inserting a ball in the chamber, Hallowell cried out
again, "Right off to the left, Cap.--quick!" Over the seat Booth went
once more, and there was another Indian, with his bow and arrow in
his hand, all ready to plug the lieutenant. Pointing his revolver at
him, Booth yelled as he had at the other, but the Indian had evidently
noticed the failure to fire at the first, and concluded that there were
no more loads left; so, instead of taking a hasty departure as his
comrade had done, he grinned a demoniacal grin and endeavored to fix
the arrow into his bow.
Thoroughly frightened now at the aspect things were assuming, Booth
rose up in the wagon, and grasping hold of a bow with his left hand,
seized the revolver by the muzzle, and with all the force he could
muster, hurled it at the impudent brute. It was a new Remington octagon
barrel, with sharp corners, and when it was thrown turned in the air,
striking the Indian, muzzle first, on the ribs, cutting a long gash.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian, and dropping his long spear and bow, he
flung himself over the side of the pony, and away he went over the
prairie, to bother them no more.
Only the one revolver left now, and that empty, and the Indians still
howling around the apparently doomed men like so many demons.
After he had driven the Indian off, Booth fell over the seat, picked up
the empty revolver and attempted to load; but before he could bite off
a cartridge, Hallowell yelled again, "I'm hit again, Cap.!"
"Where are you hit now?" asked the gallant captain.
"In the hand," replied Hallowell.
Looking around, Booth saw his right arm was plying the whip to the now
laggard mules, and sticking through the fleshy part of his thumb was an
arrow, which was flopping up and down as his arm rose and fell in its
ceaseless and evidently tireless efforts to keep up the speed of the
almost exhausted animals.
"Let me pull it out," said Booth.
"No, never mind," said Hallowell; "can't stop, can't stop"--and up and
down went his arm, and flip-flap went the arrow with it, until finally
it tore through the flesh and fell to the ground.
Along they bowled, the Indians yelling and the occupants of the wagon
defiantly answering them, while Booth was still making a desperate but
vain effort to load the revolver. In a few moments Hallowell shouted,
"They are crowding the mules into the sunflowers!"
Along the sides of the trail huge sunflowers had grown the previous
summer, and now their dry stalks stood as thick as a canebrake, and if
the wagon once got among them the mules could not keep up their gallop,
and would soon be compelled to stop.
The Indians seemed to realize this fact, and one huge fellow kept
riding beside the off mule and throwing his spear at him and then
jerking it back with the thong, one end of which was fastened to his
wrist, the other to the shaft of the spear. The mule on the side next
the Indian was jumping frantically and pushing the near mule from the
road.