he means it.”
“Take my revolver out of the case,” said McLaughlin, “put it in your
breast-pocket, and defend yourself as occasion may require.”
Forbes obeyed. Soon after, as he was passing along with a ladder on his
shoulder, an acquaintance said to him,
“Dutch John is looking for you to kill you.”
“So I hear,” replied Forbes. “He’ll find me sooner than he wants to.”
A few rods farther on he saw John coming from the Magnolia saloon,
where he had been looking for Forbes. Forbes sprang towards him,
exclaiming with an oath,
“Here I am,” and immediately fired four shots at him. John fired once
in return, and throwing up his hands in affright at the rapid firing of
Forbes, ejaculated,
“_O mein Gott!_ Will I be murdered?”
A bystander who had witnessed the meeting, and saw that John, who had
expected an easy victory, was paralyzed with fear, called to him,
“Turn your artillery loose!”
Forbes was tried for this crime, and acquitted. He was afterwards
convicted of crime of some kind in Carson City, and imprisoned. On New
Year’s day he succeeded in removing his handcuffs, broke jail, and went
to the sheriff’s house, as he said upon entering, “to make a New Year’s
call.” The officer returned him to prison. From this time, his career
of crime knew no impediment.
On his first arrival in the mountains he corresponded for some of the
California and Nevada papers. His letters were highly interesting. His
true name was Edward Richardson.
To return to Stinson and Lyons. After the demonstration of joy at
Forbes’s escape had subsided, the people remembered that there was an
execution on the _tapis_. Drawing up a wagon in front of the building
where the criminals were confined, they ordered them to get in. They
obeyed, followed by several of their friends, who took seats beside
them. Lyons became almost uproarious in his appeals for mercy. The
women, of whom there were many, began to cry, begging earnestly for the
lives of the criminals. Smith, their lawyer, joined his petitions to
those of the women, and the entire crowd began to give way under this
pressure of sympathy. Meantime the wagon was drawn slowly towards the
place of execution. When the excitement was at its highest pitch, a
man demanded in a loud tone that the people should listen to a letter
which Lyons had written to his mother. This document, which had been
prepared by some person for the occasion, was now read. It was filled
with expressions of love for the aged mother, regret for the crime,
repentance, acknowledgments of misspent life, and strong promises of
amendment, if only life could be spared a little longer. Every sentence
elicited fresh grief from the women, who now became perfectly clamorous
in their calls for mercy to the prisoners. After the letter was read,
some one cried out, in derision,
“Give him a horse, and let him go to his mother.”
Another immediately moved that they take a vote upon that proposition.
Sheriff Todd, whose duty it was only to carry out the sentence of the
court, consented to this, and the question was submitted to ayes and
noes. Both parties claimed the victory. It was then agreed that those
in favor of hanging should go up, and those opposed, down the side of a
neighboring hill. Neither party being satisfied, as a final test, four
men were selected, and those who wished the sentence enforced were to
pass between two of them, and those who opposed, between the other two.
The votes for liberty were increased to meet the occasion, by a second
passage of as many as were necessary to carry the question. An Irish
miner, while the voting was in progress, exclaimed in a loud voice, as
a negro passed through the acquittal bureau,
“Bedad, there’s a bloody nagur that’s voted three times.”
But this vote, dishonest as it was, settled the question; for Jack
Gallagher, pistol in hand, shouted,
“Let them go. They’re cleared.”
This was a signal for a general uproar, and amid shouts from both
parties, expressive of the opinions which each entertained, some one
mounted the assassins upon a horse standing near, which belonged to a
Blackfoot squaw, and cutting the lariat, started them off at a gallop
down the gulch. At this moment one of the guard pointed to the gallows,
and said to another,
“There stands a monument of disappointed justice.”
Immediately after sentence of death had been passed upon Stinson
and Lyons, Dr. Steele returned to his cabin, two miles down the
gulch. The result of the trial had furnished him with food for sad
reflection,--especially as the duty of passing death sentence had
devolved upon him. Other considerations followed in quick succession.
He has since, when speaking of it, said that he never indulged in a
more melancholy reverie, than while returning home from this trial.
The youth of the convicts; their evident fitness, both by culture and
manners, for any sphere of active business; the effect that their
execution must have upon distant parents and friends,--all these
thoughts presented themselves in sad array before his mental vision;
when, as he was about entering his cabin, a quick clatter of hoofs
roused him and turning to see the cause, he beheld the subjects of
his gloomy reflections both mounted upon the Indian pony, approaching
at the animal’s swiftest pace. He had hardly time to recover from
his surprise, and realize that the object was not a vision, until
the animal with its double rider passed him,--and Lyons, nodding
familiarly, waved his hand, accompanying the gesture with the parting
words,
“Good-bye, Doc.”
The body of the unfortunate Dillingham lay neglected upon a gambling
table in a tent near by, until this wretched travesty was completed.
Then a wagon was obtained, and, followed by a small procession, it was
hurriedly buried. The tears had all been shed for the murderers.
“I cried for Dillingham,” said one, on being told that his wife and
daughters had expended their grief upon the wrong persons.
“Oh, you did,” was the reply. “Well thought of. Who will pray for him?
Will you do it, judge?”
Judge Bissell responded by kneeling upon the spot and offering up
an appropriate prayer, as the body of the unfortunate young man was
consigned to its mother-earth.
Soon after the murder of Dillingham, Charley Forbes suddenly
disappeared. No one knew what became of him, but it was supposed that
he had fallen a victim to the vengeance of his comrades for the course
he had taken in securing for himself a separate trial. This supposition
was afterwards confirmed by some of the robbers themselves, who stated
that in a quarrel with Moore at the Big Hole River, Forbes was killed.
Fearing that the friends of the murdered ruffian would retaliate,
Moore killed Forbes’s horse at the same time, and burned to ashes the
bodies of horse and rider. This fact was known to Plummer only, at the
time of its occurrence.
Dillingham was a straightforward, honest young man, and his office
as deputy sheriff was given him under the supposition that he would
readily affiliate with the roughs. Lyons, Stinson, and Forbes, who were
also deputies, supposed him to be as bad as they were.
On my trip east in 1863, the Overland coach in which I had taken
passage was detained a night by snow at Hook’s Station in Nebraska.
Ascertaining that I was from Bannack, a young man at the station asked
me many questions about Hayes Lyons, telling me that he had heard that
he narrowly escaped hanging the previous summer. I narrated to him the
circumstances attending the murder of Dillingham and the trial.
“He is my brother,” said the young man, and invited me to go with him
and see his mother and sister. I learned that Hayes had been well
brought up, but was the victim of evil associations. His mother wept
while deploring his criminal career, which she ascribed to bad company.
CHEYENNES AND SIOUX
GENERAL GEORGE A. CUSTER
1867
From “My Life on the Plains.” Reprinted by permission of the
publishers, J. D. Sheldon Company, New York.[22]
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.
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.