peaceful issue. The infantry was in the advance, followed closely by
the artillery, while my command, the cavalry, was marching on the
flank. General Hancock, who was riding with his staff at the head of
the column, coming suddenly in view of the wild fantastic battle array,
which extended far to our right and left and not more than half a mile
in our front, hastily sent orders to the infantry, artillery, and
cavalry to form line of battle, evidently determined that if war was
intended we should be prepared. The cavalry, being the last to form on
the right, came into line on a gallop, and, without waiting to align
the ranks carefully, the command was given to “draw sabre.” As the
bright blades flashed from their scabbards into the morning sunlight,
and the infantry brought their muskets to a carry, a most beautiful
and wonderfully interesting sight was spread out before and around us,
presenting a contrast which, to a military eye, could but be striking.
Here in battle array, facing each other, were the representatives of
civilized and barbarous warfare. The one, with but few modifications,
stood clothed in the same rude style of dress, bearing the same
patterned shield and weapon that his ancestors had borne centuries
before; the other confronted him in the dress and supplied with the
implements of war which the most advanced stage of civilization had
pronounced the most perfect. Was the comparative superiority of these
two classes to be subjected to the mere test of war here? Such seemed
the prevailing impression on both sides. All was eager anxiety and
expectation. Neither side seemed to comprehend the object or intentions
of the other; each was waiting for the other to deliver the first blow.
A more beautiful battle-ground could not have been chosen. Not a bush
or even the slightest irregularity of ground intervened between the two
lines which now stood frowning and facing each other. Chiefs could be
seen riding along the line as if directing and exhorting their braves
to deeds of heroism.
After a few moments of painful suspense, General Hancock, accompanied
by General A. J. Smith and other officers, rode forward, and through
an interpreter invited the chiefs to meet us midway, for the purpose
of an interview. In response to this invitation Roman Nose, bearing
a white flag, accompanied by Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard, and
Medicine Wolf on the part of the Cheyennes, and Pawnee Killer, Bad
Wound, Tall Bear that Walks under the Ground, Left Hand, Little Bear,
and Little Bull on the part of the Sioux, rode forward to the middle of
the open space between the two lines. Here we shook hands with all of
the chiefs, most of them exhibiting unmistakable signs of gratification
at this apparently peaceful termination of our encounter. General
Hancock very naturally inquired the object of the hostile attitude
displayed before us, saying to the chiefs that if war was their object
we were ready then and there to participate. Their immediate answer
was that they did not desire war, but were peacefully disposed. They
were then told that we would continue our march toward the village, and
encamp near it, but would establish such regulations that none of the
soldiers would be permitted to approach or disturb them. An arrangement
was then effected by which the chiefs were to assemble at General
Hancock’s headquarters as soon as our camp was pitched. The interview
then terminated, and the Indians moved off in the direction of their
village, we following leisurely in rear.
A march of a few miles brought us in sight of the village, which was
situated in a beautiful grove on the banks of the stream up which we
had been marching. The village consisted of upwards of three hundred
lodges, a small fraction over half belonging to the Cheyennes, the
remainder to the Sioux. Like all Indian encampments, the ground chosen
was a most romantic spot, and at the same time fulfilled in every
respect the requirements of a good camping-ground; wood, water, and
grass were abundant. The village was placed on a wide, level plateau,
while on the north and west, at a short distance off, rose high bluffs,
which admirably served as a shelter against the cold winds which at
that season of the year prevail from these directions. Our tents were
pitched within half a mile of the village. Guards were placed between
to prevent intrusion upon our part. A few of the Indian ponies found
grazing near our camp were caught and returned to them, to show that
our intentions were at least neighborly. We had scarcely pitched our
tents when Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf, all
prominent chiefs of the Cheyennes, came into camp, with the information
that upon our approach their women and children had all fled from the
village, alarmed by the presence of so many soldiers, and imagining a
second Chivington massacre to be intended. General Hancock insisted
that they should all return, promising protection and good treatment
to all; that if the camp was abandoned he would hold it responsible.
The chiefs then stated their belief in their ability to recall the
fugitives, could they be furnished with horses to overtake them. This
was accordingly done, and two of them set out mounted on two of our
horses. An agreement was also entered into at the same time that one
of our interpreters, Ed. Gurrier, a half-breed Cheyenne who was in the
employ of the Government, should remain in the village and report every
two hours as to whether any Indians were leaving the village. This was
about seven o’clock in the evening. At half-past nine the half-breed
returned to headquarters, with the intelligence that all the chiefs and
warriors were saddling up to leave, under circumstances showing that
they had no intention of returning, such as packing up such articles as
could be carried with them, and cutting and destroying their lodges,
this last being done to obtain small pieces for temporary shelter.
I had retired to my tent, which was located some few hundred yards from
that of General Hancock, when a messenger from the latter awakened
me with the information that General Hancock desired my presence at
his tent. Imagining a movement on the part of the Indians, I made no
delay in responding to the summons. General Hancock briefly stated the
situation of affairs, and directed me to mount my command as quickly
and as silently as possible, surround the Indian village, and prevent
the departure of its inhabitants. Easily said, but not so easily done.
Under ordinary circumstances, silence not being necessary, I could have
returned to my camp, and by a few blasts from the trumpet placed every
soldier in his saddle almost as quickly as it has taken time to write
this sentence. No bugle calls must be sounded; we were to adopt some
of the stealth of the Indian--how successfully remains to be seen. By
this time every soldier, officers as well as men, was in his tent sound
asleep. How to awaken them and impart to each the necessary order?
First going to the tent of the adjutant and arousing him, I procured
an experienced assistant in my labors. Next the captains of companies
were awakened and orders imparted to them. They in turn transmitted
the order to the first sergeant, who similarly aroused the men. It
has often surprised me to observe the alacrity with which disciplined
soldiers, experienced in campaigning, will hasten to prepare themselves
for the march in an emergency like this. No questions are asked,
no time is wasted. A soldier’s toilet, on an Indian campaign, is a
simple affair, and requires little time for arranging. His clothes are
gathered up hurriedly, no matter how, so long as he retains possession
of them. The first object is to get his horse saddled and bridled, and
until this is done his own toilet is a matter of secondary importance,
and one button or hook must do the duty of half a dozen. When his
horse is ready for the mount the rider will be seen completing his own
equipment; stray buttons will receive attention, arms be overhauled,
spurs restrapped; then, if there still remain a few spare moments, the
homely black pipe is filled and lighted, and the soldier’s preparation
is completed.
The night was all that could be desired for the success of our
enterprise. The air was mild and pleasant; the moon, although nearly
full, kept almost constantly behind the clouds, as if to screen us in
our hazardous undertaking. I say hazardous, because there were none
of us who imagined for one moment that if the Indians discovered us
in our attempt to surround them and their village, we would escape
without a fight--a fight, too, in which the Indians, sheltered behind
the trunks of the stately forest trees under which their lodges were
pitched, would possess all the advantage. General Hancock, anticipating
that the Indians would discover our approach, and that a fight would
ensue, ordered the artillery and infantry under arms, to await the
result of our moonlight venture. My command was soon in the saddle,
and silently making its way toward the village. Instructions had been
given forbidding all conversation except in a whisper. Sabres were
so disposed of as to prevent clanging. Taking a camp-fire which we
could see in the village as our guiding point, we made a detour so as
to place the village between ourselves and the infantry. Occasionally
the moon would peep out from behind the clouds and enable us to catch
a hasty glance at the village. Here and there under the thick foliage
we could see the white, conical-shaped lodges. Were their inmates
slumbering, unaware of our close proximity, or were their dusky
defenders concealed, as well they might have been, along the banks
of the Pawnee, quietly awaiting our approach, and prepared to greet
us with their well-known war-whoop? These were questions that were
probably suggested to the mind of each individual of my command. If we
were discovered approaching in the stealthy, suspicious manner which
characterized our movements, the hour being midnight, it would require
a more confiding nature than that of the Indian to assign a friendly
or peaceful motive to our conduct. The same flashes of moonlight
which gave us hurried glimpses of the village enabled us to see our
own column of horsemen stretching its silent length far into the dim
darkness, and winding its course, like some huge anaconda about to
envelop its victim.
The method by which it was determined to establish a cordon of armed
troopers about the fated village, was to direct the march in a circle,
with the village in the centre, the commanding officer of each rear
troop halting his command at the proper point, and deploying his
men similarly to a line of skirmishers--the entire circle, when
thus formed, facing toward the village, and distant from it perhaps
a few hundred yards. No sooner was our line completely formed than
the moon, as if deeming darkness no longer essential to our success,
appeared from behind her screen and lighted up the entire scene. And
a beautiful scene it was. The great circle of troops, each individual
of which sat on his steed silent as a statue, the beautiful and in
some places dense foliage of the cotton trees sheltering and shading
the bleached, skin-clad lodges of the red man, while in the midst of
all murmured undisturbedly in its channel the little stream on whose
banks the village was located, all combined to produce an artistic
effect, as beautiful as it was interesting. But we were not there to
study artistic effects. The next step was to determine whether we had
captured an inhabited village, involving almost necessarily a fierce
conflict with its savage occupants, or whether the red man had again
proven too wily and crafty for his more civilized brothers.
Directing the entire line of troopers to remain mounted with carbines
held at the “advance,” I dismounted, and taking with me Gurrier, the
half-breed, Dr. Coates, one of our medical staff, and Lieutenant
Moylan, the adjutant, proceeded on our hands and knees toward the
village. The prevailing opinion was that the Indians were still
asleep. I desired to approach near enough to the lodges to enable the
half-breed to hail the village in the Indian tongue, and if possible
establish friendly relations at once. It became a question of prudence
with us, which we discussed in whispers as we proceeded on our “Tramp,
tramp, tramp, the boys are creeping,” how far from our horses and how
near to the village we dared to go. If so few of us were discovered
entering the village in this questionable manner, it was more than
probable that, like the returners of stolen property, we should be
suitably rewarded and no questions asked. The opinions of Gurrier, the
half-breed, were eagerly sought for and generally deferred to. His
wife, a full-blooded Cheyenne, was a resident of the village. This with
him was an additional reason for wishing a peaceful termination to our
efforts. When we had passed over two-thirds of the distance between
our horses and the village, it was deemed best to make our presence
known. Thus far not a sound had been heard to disturb the stillness of
the night. Gurrier called out at the top of his voice in the Cheyenne
tongue. The only response came from the throats of a score or more of
Indian dogs which set up a fierce barking. At the same time one or two
of our party asserted that they saw figures moving beneath the trees.
Gurrier repeated his summons, but with no better result than before.
A hurried consultation ensued. The presence of so many dogs in the
village was regarded by the half-breed as almost positive assurance
that the Indians were still there. Yet it was difficult to account for
their silence. Gurrier in a loud tone repeated who he was, and that our
mission was a friendly one. Still no answer. He then gave it as his
opinion that the Indians were on the alert, and were probably waiting
in the shadow of the trees for us to approach nearer, when they would
pounce upon us. This comforting opinion induced another conference. We
must ascertain the truth of the matter; our party could do this as well
as a large number, and to go back and send another party in our stead
could not be thought of.
Forward was the verdict. Each one grasped his revolver, resolved to
do his best, whether it was in running or fighting. I think most of
us would have preferred to take our own chances at running. We had
approached near enough to see that some of the lodges were detached
some distance from the main encampment. Selecting the nearest of these,
we directed our advance on it. While all of us were full of the spirit
of adventure, and were further encouraged with the idea that we were
in the discharge of our duty, there was scarcely one of us who would
not have felt more comfortable if we could have got back to our horses
without loss of pride. Yet nothing, under the circumstances, but a
positive order would have induced any one to withdraw. The doctor, who
was a great wag, even in moments of greatest danger, could not restrain
his propensities in this direction. When everything before us was
being weighed and discussed in the most serious manner, he remarked:
“General, this recalls to my mind those beautiful lines:
‘Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night--’
this night of all others.”
Cautiously approaching, on all fours, to within a few yards of the
nearest lodge, occasionally halting and listening to discover evidence
as to whether the village was deserted or not, we finally decided that
the Indians had fled before the arrival of the cavalry, and that none
but empty lodges were before us. This conclusion somewhat emboldened
as well as accelerated our progress. Arriving at the first lodge, one
of our party raised the curtain or mat which served as a door, and
the doctor and myself entered. The interior of the lodge was dimly
lighted by the decaying embers of a small fire built in the centre.
All around us were to be seen the usual adornments and articles which
constitute the household effects of an Indian family. Buffalo robes
were spread like carpets over the floor; head-mats, used to recline
upon, were arranged as if for the comfort of their owners; parfleches,
a sort of Indian bandbox, with their contents apparently undisturbed,
were to be found carefully stowed away under the edges or borders of
the lodge. These, with the door-mats, paint-bags, rawhide ropes, and
other articles of Indian equipment, were left as if the owners had only
absented themselves for a brief period. To complete the picture of an
Indian lodge, over the fire hung a camp-kettle, in which, by means of
the dim light of the fire, we could see what had been intended for the
supper of the late occupants of the lodge. The doctor, ever on the
alert to discover additional items of knowledge, whether pertaining to
history or science, snuffed the savory odors which arose from the dark
recesses of the mysterious kettle. Casting about the lodge for some
instrument to aid him in his pursuit of knowledge, he found a horn
spoon, with which he began his investigation of the contents, finally
succeeding in getting possession of a fragment which might have been
the half of a duck or rabbit, judging merely from its size. “Ah!” said
the doctor, in his most complacent manner, “here is the opportunity
I have long been waiting for. I have often desired to test and taste
of the Indian mode of cooking. What do you suppose this is?” holding
up the dripping morsel. Unable to obtain the desired information, the
doctor, whose naturally good appetite had been sensibly sharpened by
his recent exercise _à la quadrupède_, set to with a will and ate
heartily of the mysterious contents of the kettle. “What can this
be?” again inquired the doctor. He was only satisfied on one point,
that it was delicious--a dish fit for a king. Just then Gurrier, the
half-breed, entered the lodge. He could solve the mystery, having spent
years among the Indians. To him the doctor appealed for information.
Fishing out a huge piece, and attacking it with the voracity of a
hungry wolf, he was not long in determining what the doctor had supped
so heartily upon. His first words settled the mystery: “Why, this is
dog.” I will not attempt to repeat the few but emphatic words uttered
by the heartily disgusted member of the medical fraternity as he rushed
from the lodge.
Other members of our small party had entered other lodges, only to find
them, like the first, deserted. But little of the furniture belonging
to the lodges had been taken, showing how urgent and hasty had been
the flight of the owners. To aid in the examination of the village,
reinforcements were added to our party, and an exploration of each
lodge was determined upon. At the same time a messenger was despatched
to General Hancock, informing him of the flight of the Indians. Some
of the lodges were closed by having brush or timber piled up against
the entrance, as if to preserve the contents. Others had huge pieces
cut from their sides, these pieces evidently being carried away to
furnish temporary shelter to the fugitives. In most of the lodges the
fires were still burning. I had entered several without discovering
anything important. Finally, in company with the doctor, I arrived
at one, the interior of which was quite dark, the fire having almost
died out. Procuring a lighted fagot, I prepared to explore it, as I
had done the others; but no sooner had I entered the lodge than my
fagot failed me, leaving me in total darkness. Handing it out to the
doctor to be relighted, I began feeling my way about the interior of
the lodge. I had almost made the circuit when my hand came in contact
with a human foot; at the same time a voice unmistakably Indian, and
which evidently came from the owner of the foot, convinced me that I
was not alone. My first impression was that in their hasty flight the
Indians had gone off leaving this one asleep. My next, very naturally,
related to myself. I would have gladly placed myself on the outside
of the lodge, and there matured plans for interviewing its occupant;
but unfortunately to reach the entrance of the lodge I must either
pass over or around the owner of the before-mentioned foot and voice.
Could I have been convinced that among _its_ other possessions there
was neither tomahawk nor scalping-knife, pistol nor war-club, or any
similar article of the noble red man’s toilet, I would have risked an
attempt to escape through the low narrow opening of the lodge; but who
ever saw an Indian without one or all these interesting trinkets? Had
I made the attempt, I should have expected to encounter either the
keen edge of the scalping-knife or the blow of the tomahawk, and to
have engaged in a questionable struggle for life. This would not do. I
crouched in silence for a few moments, hoping the doctor would return
with the lighted fagot. I need not say that each succeeding moment
spent in the darkness of that lodge seemed like an age. I could hear a
slight movement on the part of my unknown neighbor, which did not add
to my comfort. Why does not the doctor return? At last I discovered
the approach of a light on the outside. When it neared the entrance I
called to the doctor and informed him that an Indian was in the lodge,
and that he had better have his weapons ready for a conflict. I had,
upon discovering the foot, drawn my hunting-knife from its scabbard,
and now stood waiting the _dénouement_. With his lighted fagot in one
hand and cocked revolver in the other, the doctor cautiously entered
the lodge. And there, directly between us, wrapped in a buffalo-robe,
lay the cause of my anxiety--a little Indian girl, probably ten years
old; not a full-blood, but a half-breed. She was terribly frightened
at finding herself in our hands, with none of her people near. Why was
she left behind in this manner? Gurrier, our half-breed interpreter,
was called in. His inquiries were soon answered. The little girl, who
at first was an object of our curiosity, became at once an object of
pity. The Indians, an unusual thing for them to do toward their own
blood, had wilfully deserted her; but this, alas! was the least of
their injuries to her. After being shamefully abandoned by the entire
village, a few of the young men of the tribe returned to the deserted
lodge, and upon the person of this little girl committed outrages, the
details of which are too sickening for these pages. She was carried to
the fort and placed under the care of kind hands and warm hearts, where
everything was done for her comfort that was possible. Other parties
in exploring the deserted village found an old, decrepit Indian of
the Sioux tribe, who also had been deserted, owing to his infirmities
and inability to travel with the tribe. He also was kindly cared for
by the authorities of the fort. Nothing was gleaned from our search
of the village which might indicate the direction of the flight.
General Hancock, on learning the situation of affairs, despatched some
companies of infantry to the deserted village, with orders to replace
the cavalry and protect the village and its contents from disturbance
until its final disposition could be determined upon. Starting my
command back to our camp near General Hancock’s headquarters, I
galloped on in advance to report the particulars to the General. It
was then decided that with eight troops of cavalry I should start in
pursuit of the Indians at early dawn on the following morning (April
15). There was no sleep for my command the remainder of the night, the
time being fully occupied in preparation for the march, neither the
extent nor direction of which was known.