THE "SIBLEY SCOUT" (1876)
A FAMOUS ARMY TALE
Meanwhile General Crook and his main column were in camp upon Goose
Creek at the head-waters of the Tongue River, at the east base of the
Big Horn Mountains and Cloud Peak, northern Wyoming. They had come
here from Fort Fetterman, in the southeast, and were impatiently
waiting for their wagon-train and for General Merritt.
The Gray Fox's northward march to meet General Terry had been stopped
by the Sioux in the Battle of the Rosebud, fought June 17. The Chief
Crazy Horse warriors had proved very strong. General Crook rather
believed that he did not have a force large enough to break through to
find the principal villages of Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse, or to join
General Terry, in the Rosebud country south of the Yellowstone River;
so with his wounded he had fallen back from southern Montana into
northern Wyoming. Here he waited for supplies and reinforcements.
Up to July 10 he did not know that General Custer and almost half the
Seventh Cavalry had been killed, to a man; but he felt that, with the
Sioux so bold, something was happening.
His column was composed of five troops of the Second Cavalry, ten
troops of the Third Cavalry, two companies of the Fourth Infantry, and
three companies of the Ninth Infantry: about one thousand soldiers.
The Sioux had attacked him; they were more than he expected; things did
not look good to the Gray Fox.
This waiting was vexatious as well as tiresome. General Crook was a
fighter; he never quit a trail and he liked to travel fast and light,
and strike the enemy. He knew that while he waited, the Sioux were
gaining strength and choosing positions. Finally, on the night of July
5, he determined to send out a scouting detachment, and see if he could
not locate the whereabouts of the nearest Sioux village.
Young Second Lieutenant Frederick William Sibley, born in Texas and
appointed to West Point from Georgia, was selected to command the
detachment. He was under twenty-five, had graduated from the Military
Academy in 1874 and been assigned to the Second Cavalry. But although
of only two years' service, he was no longer a "shave-tail"; he had the
name of being a fine, thorough officer and soldier. Everybody liked
Lieutenant Frederick Sibley, Troop E, Second Cavalry; many of the older
officers remembered his father, General C. C. Sibley, who after
thirty-six years in the uniform had died two years ago.
Lieutenant Sibley was directed to take twenty-five picked men, from his
regiment, and two scouts; reconnoiter northwestward along the base of
the Big Horn Mountains, and find the Sioux village if he could.
General Crook was exceedingly anxious to know where Chief Crazy Horse
lived when at home. The Battle of the Rosebud had been an unpleasant
surprise.
The two scouts were Frank Gruard and Baptiste Fourier. Scout Gruard
had been born in the Sandwich Islands. He had ridden pony express in
Montana. Chief Crazy Horse's Sioux had captured him, and had thought,
by reason of his dark skin and straight black hair, that he was a
Sioux, himself. So instead of abusing him, they rejoiced, and kept
him, in order that he might learn the Sioux language again.
He stayed with Chief Crazy Horse, until a chance of escape came. Then
he got away, and for a number of years he was one of the most valuable
scouts in the army. He knew Wyoming and Montana like a book, and could
read sign and weather as well as any Indian. And he was brave.
Baptiste Fourier was half French, half Sioux. He was called "Big Bat,"
to separate him from another Baptiste guide and trailer--"Little Bat,"
a half-Sioux boy at Fort Fetterman. "Little Bat" was now with General
Merritt's Fifth Cavalry.
Packer John Becker of the pack-mule outfit, a frontiersman who had been
a guide in the country, was added to the scouts. At the last moment
John F. Finerty, a plucky newspaper man who was reporting the campaign
for the Chicago _Times_, asked permission to go, also.
He had not heard about the proposed trip until that morning, July 6;
but he did not wish to miss any excitement, and therefore he applied at
once to General Crook. The general hesitated a minute. He well knew
that it was likely to be a dangerous scout, and that the Sioux were no
joke. At last he said shortly:
"All right, sir. But I warn you that you're liable to get into more
trouble than you bargain for."
That did not daunt the alert John Finerty. He already had fought side
by side with the troopers, and was looked upon as a soldier although
not in uniform. No man in the column was more popular. He hastened to
tell Lieutenant Sibley, his friend. Lieutenant Sibley was glad. Other
officers asked him what kind of an obituary they should write for him.
Captain E. E. Wells, of Troop E--the Sibley troop--only remarked,
without a smile:
"Orderly, bring Mr. Finerty a hundred rounds of Troop E ammunition."
This sounded like business, to Reporter Finerty.
They all rode out at noon; made thirteen miles and camped to rest the
horses for a night march. Scout Gruard thought that they would not
have to go far to find Indians. Two or three nights before he and Big
Bat had reconnoitered forward twenty miles and had seen several parties
of Sioux, only that distance from the main camp. Evidently General
Crook was being watched.
At sunset the little detachment started on. In the dusk Big Bat
imagined that he caught sight of a mounted Indian spy surveying them
from a shallow ravine. Frank Gruard dashed for the place; but the
object disappeared and he discovered nothing.
"Might have been an Indian, but we think maybe only an elk," he said.
Anyway, the mystery was not very comforting. The column were forbidden
to talk; they rode on, northward, through the long grass of the rich
bottoms; the two scouts led, Scout Gruard every now and again halting,
to scan about from the high points.
The full moon rose at eight o'clock, and the lonely land of sage and
grass and willows and pines and rocks stretched silvery; on the west
the snowy tips of the Big Horn Mountains glistened.
Nothing happened. About two o'clock in the morning Lieutenant Sibley
ordered camp. They were forty miles from General Crook, and near
ahead, over the next divide, lay the upper end of the Valley of the
Little Big Horn in the Rosebud country.
"We will find the Sioux villages in there, all right," promised Frank
Gruard. "And," he added again, "we won't have far to go, either."
Yes, that had been the place; but General Custer and his Seventh
Cavalry already had found the villages, and the Sioux were on the
outlook to keep back other soldiers while the villages moved elsewhere.
Young Lieutenant Sibley and his thirty men were advancing into a
hornets' nest.
They had camped at the Montana line. With dawn they proceeded on very
cautiously, through a broken country. They were approaching the
stronghold of the Sioux. By sunrise they were about to strike the
Little Big Horn, where it issues from the rough foothills bordering the
north end of the Big Horn Range. Any moment, now, they might discover
the Sioux, or, worse, the Sioux might discover them.
Scout Gruard motioned to Lieutenant Sibley to halt the column; he
himself rode up a rocky outcrop, left his horse, and climbed afoot to
the top; he lay flat, and crawled, and just peeking over he leveled his
field-glasses upon the country beyond.
The little column watched him keenly. What would he see! He certainly
saw something of great interest, for with his hand behind him he
beckoned to Baptiste, below. Baptiste hastened, and crawled to Frank's
side. They both gazed, through their glasses, between the boulders.
They turned; ran, crouching, for their horses; mounted, and back they
came at a tearing gallop.
"Be quick!" Scout Gruard rapped. "Follow me for your lives."
Everybody heard. Not another word was spoken. The soldiers who had
been easing their horses vaulted into the saddle. Away they all raced,
following Baptiste westward through the foothills. The route was
rough, but he fled straight across red sandstone ledges, some dropping
six and seven feet, in the arroyos and draws, until he rounded to
behind a bare bluff.
He, Baptiste and the lieutenant immediately left the men and horses and
climbed for a look at the back trail. Reporter Finerty soon overtook
them, to find out what was the matter--although he had no doubts about
it.
To this time only Frank and Baptiste knew, apparently. But when they
four had reached a view-point, and had their glasses out, the
lieutenant calmly asked:
"What did you see, Frank?"
"Only Sitting Bull's war-party! I could have told they'd be here
around the Little Big Horn, without our coming."
Sitting Bull's war-party! That meant Sioux, with a vengeance.
Lieutenant Sibley said nothing. Reporter Finerty caught his breath.
They focused their glasses upon their back trail, and upon the country
north.
They had no need of glasses. There they were--the Sioux, riding up the
valley. Little bunches of warriors appeared: advance scouts mounting
the high ground here and yonder, surveying before. Their figures, in
full war costume, were outlined against the sky. Down they rode, and
the others followed, until the low hills and the draws seemed to be
covered as the wide front cantered forward in a half circle extending
from the north into the east.
"Haven't seen us, I think," Scout Gruard remarked. "Don't act like it.
If they don't strike our trail, we may be all right."
The four among the boulders could only wait. The Sioux were closing
in. It was scarcely possible that they would miss the fresh trail of
the thirty-one horses. The advance warriors riding southward were
almost at the spot where the trail had turned in flight for the
foothills. Reporter Finerty heard his heart beat furiously. They all
stiffened. A few moments would tell the tale.
Aha! An Indian in a red blanket had reined his pony short, and was
staring at the ground. Now he began to trot in a small circle. A
signal! The Indians on right and left of him hastened in.
"Here's where we'd better look out," Scout Gruard sharply warned.
"That fellow has found our trail, and they'll be after us in five
minutes."
"What's the best thing to do, then?" coolly asked Lieutenant Sibley.
The scouts knew the country, and in a pinch their advice was good.
"Well, we've just one chance of escape. That is, to make into the
mountains and try to cross them. But we'll have to prepare for the
worst."
There was no escape into the open; the Sioux blocked the way. They had
the detachment pocketed against the mountains, fifty miles from help.
To attempt a running fight, or a stand, would result in a surround,
with the enemy pouring in a fire from every rise or else cutting off
the water supply.
"Very well," the lieutenant agreed.
They went down to where the troopers and Packer John Becker were
waiting and wondering.
Lieutenant Sibley spoke briefly. They had read bad news in his grave
young face.
"Men, the Indians have discovered us. We'll have to do some fighting.
If we can make an honorable escape, all together, we'll do it. But if
that proves impossible, let no man surrender. Die in your tracks, for
these Indians will show no mercy."
The bronzed countenances of a few of the men paled a trifle; but as
soldiers they were ready to do their best, obey orders and trust in
their leaders.
"All right, sir." That was all they said.
"Mount."
Away they trotted at a smart pace, Scout Gruard guiding, west by north,
directly for the nearest slope of the first range. Carbines thumped,
bridles jingled, leather squeaked, the horses' hoofs clattered on the
sandstone ledges. They emerged from the last of the reddish defiles
and proceeded to climb--up, up, up into the pines. The going was
steep, and the horses puffed and groaned.
Gazing back, they might see the Sioux a mile behind, and below, bunched
in council, and looking and gesturing. They appeared uncertain whether
to pursue.
Soon Frank turned into an old, narrow pony trail, pointing still
westward as if to cross the first range.
"This is an old Sioux hunting trail," he called, over his shoulder, to
the lieutenant and Reporter Finerty. "It leads clear to the snowy
range. If we can get there our chances are pretty fair."
The trail was good. They pushed on at a trot, never sparing the
horses. They began to feel more hopeful. The Sioux were out of sight;
there were no sounds of pursuit; was it possible that they had been let
off? As everybody knew, the Plains Indians rarely ventured far into
the mountains, except on quick forays against enemies who did not
expect them.
After five miles more, Scouts Gruard and Big Bat stopped. The column
had climbed almost to the top of the first range.
"Do you want to rest the horses, lieutenant?"
"Yes, if it's safe. What do you think?"
"Bat and I've about decided that those fellows have quit. We've given
them the slip. They're not likely to risk attacking us in the high
country. So you can take a breathing spell. We've a hard trip ahead."
"Dismount," Lieutenant Sibley ordered.
The word was welcome. The horses were badly winded, and the men were
hungry and thirsty, for they had had an early breakfast and the sun
beat down hotly.
Noon camp was made here in a little park, where amidst the surrounding
trees the grass grew long and the flowers nodded. The sweaty horses
were unsaddled and picketed short, to graze; coffee was set upon small
fires, to boil; sentries had been posted, and the other men were
permitted to stretch out, in the shade.
Everything seemed very peaceful, but--!
At any rate, they all might talk and laugh and sip their coffee and
doze, and believe that they had outwitted the Sioux. In about an hour
and a half they saddled up and rode on, still heading from the Sioux
and into the mountains.
Where they were going, nobody knew save Scouts Gruard and Big Bat.
Frank led, with Big Bat close behind him. Then came the lieutenant,
and Reporter Finerty, and in long single file the troopers, with Packer
John Becker closing the rear.
It was a splendid country, of clustered pines, scattered rocks and huge
ledges, sunny, flowery parks, cold streams in the valleys, and
tremendous, long slopes rising, before, to the white crest of the snowy
main range of the Big Horn Mountains.
In mid-afternoon they were leisurely winding through a park lying
between the front range and the main range. There was timber on the
left, or south-west; rocks and timber on the right; and timber before,
with the snow caps towering above.
Not a sound had been heard, to signal danger--when suddenly John Becker
spurred up along the file, from the rear.
"The Indians, lieutenant! Here they are!"
What! Yes! War bonnets were moving rapidly through the trees and high
rocks, quartering behind on the right. The troopers quickened, to
close their intervals--for the column had strung out. Every hand
dropped to its carbine butt.
"Keep well to the left, against that timber," shouted Scout Gruard.
"Bang-g-g!" He had been answered by a volley. There were Indians
among the rocks and trees, on the right, within two hundred yards. The
bullets whined and stung; wounded horses reared and plunged--Reporter
Finerty's mount stumbled to its knees.
"To the left, men! Quick!"
Half wheeling, they dashed for the edge of the timber, there; gained it
safely; under cover of the branches sprang to earth and faced about,
guns ready. Lieutenant Sibley took command.
"Give them a few shots, sergeant, till we can tie our horses."
At the carbine reports the Indians in sight, out in the park, dived for
shelter.
"Now tie your horses short, to the trees, men."
That was done.
"As skirmishers. Take intervals right and left. Keep under cover.
Fire carefully, only when you see a mark. Don't waste ammunition."
The skirmish line ran in a semi-circle, from south-east to northwest,
through the edge of the timber. There were many fallen trees, as if a
storm or a forest fire had swept through; that closed the way to the
horses, but furnished good breastworks.
The battle had opened in a hurry. The bullets from the Indians
pattered like hail, sending the bark flying, and drumming upon the bare
trunks of the breastworks. The heavy carbines stanchly replied.
Horses reared again, and screamed and fell, kicking. The Indians were
making certain of the cavalry mounts. That was the first job--to put
the enemy afoot.
The attackers were Sioux and Cheyennes both. How they had come in so
cunningly, was a mystery. Gruard thought it was an accident; they were
not the same Indians who had been sighted, below. But that cut no
figure.
The head chief wore white buckskin and an imposing war bonnet. He
might be glimpsed, now and then, as he darted about, placing his
warriors.
"White Antelope, that," asserted Gruard. "Eh, Bat?"
"Think so," Big Bat nodded.
"And he's a good one; among the best of the Cheyennes. Pass the word
to get him, when we can."
After that, every carbine sought for White Antelope. His time came
when he led a charge. The bullets seemed to mow him down, together
with his warriors. Whether he had been killed or not, was a question;
but he did not appear again.
The Indians tried no more charges across the park. However, they were
growing in strength. They were extending their line; the bullets and
yells arrived from east, north and west. The line had crossed the head
of the park and the foot, and was closing in on three sides. The
detachment were being out-flanked.
More than half the horses were down. The rifle fire never slackened.
Matters looked very serious. An Indian called to Gruard.
"Hello, Standing Bear! You are all dead. Do you think there are no
men but yours in this country!"
Civilian Finerty had many thoughts while he aimed, fired, and loaded.
He remembered the warning by General Crook. He rather wished that he
had stayed safe in the big camp. He almost wished that he had never
left Chicago. How far away Chicago seemed! There, people were walking
about the streets--the _Times_ presses were thundering out first
editions--and here, in the Big Horn Mountains of Montana he and half a
company of United States soldiers were fighting for their lives.
He did not so much mind meeting death, in a charge, or in the
excitement of open battle; but to be hemmed in, and helpless--to be
disabled, and captured, by Indians--!
"No surrender!"
That was the word being passed now.
"Every man save one shot for himself."
They grimly buckled to the task of holding out as long as they could.
By the volume of yells and the storms of bullets the force of the Sioux
and Cheyennes certainly had increased. One big charge from the three
sides, and the end would come.
Reporter Finerty felt a hand upon his shoulder. It was that of Private
Rufus, who had been his skirmish-line neighbor, and who had stolen to
him.
"The rest are retiring, sir. Lieutenant Sibley says for us to do the
same."
That was so. The line, except for half a dozen troopers, was
cautiously creeping back through the trees and logs. Lieutenant
Sibley, his lips set firmly, was still in position, to be the last.
"Take all your ammunition from your saddle-bags," he said quickly.
"We're going to abandon what horses we have left. The Indians are
getting all around us; our only chance, Gruard thinks, is to make back
through the timber while we can, on foot."
Scout Gruard and his partner, Big Bat, were waiting impatiently.
"If the grass wasn't wet from that last thunder storm the Indians would
have smoked us out long ago. It's drying fast. We can't hold our
position; even if we got a man through to Crook, he couldn't bring help
in time. There's nothing to gain by staying. Sibley hates to retreat,
but if he doesn't go now not a man can escape. As for horses, those
fellows have seized every pass on three sides, and they'll soon have
the fourth side. That's where they're working to. So, knowing Indians
and knowing the country, we put it up to him, for yes or no. He's
agreed."
It was planned to have the rear guard keep firing, until the horses had
been stripped of ammunition. One by one the men dodged back, among the
trees and rocks. The last man, and the lieutenant, came breathless;
the single file followed Gruard and Big Bat at a trot, afoot, and only
the few horses were left, as a blind. The horses were doomed, but
there was no other way.
The file had hastened for a mile, through the fallen timber, through an
icy cold stream, up a steep slope slippery with boulders and pine
needles, and had paused, to catch breath, when they heard, below and
behind, a series of brisk volleys and a chorus of wild yells; then,
spattering shots, and silence.
The Indians had charged. Escape had been made by not more than fifteen
minutes of grace! That had been a close call; Gruard and Big Bat had
known what they were talking about. No one could help but shiver at
the thought of having stayed down there, with the horses.
"They'll search a while. That means we're safe for a bit," panted
Frank. "Now come on. We'd better lose no time in putting more rocks
between them and us."
Even in the hurry some of the men chuckled over the game that had been
played on the enemy. The Sioux and the Cheyennes would be sorely
disappointed in their hope of scalps. They had made a water haul; had
killed the horses, and gained nothing.
It was a tough climb in a country where white man apparently had never
been before. Gruard and Big Bat did not slacken. The mountains
opposed with timber and rock and precipices. All the file gasped; the
air was heavy with thunderstorms; overcoats, blouses, everything was
thrown aside, except the rifles and the ammunition. The Indians might
follow, and might not; but distance was the only safety.
The two scouts led without another stop until midnight; then the little
company camped amidst the rocks on the very top of a peak. A terrific
storm of wind and hail swept over them, so that the falling trees
sounded like the crashes of artillery. The temperature almost reached
freezing; yet this was no time for complaining. They might have been
lying, colder still, among the horses.
At first daylight they stumbled on. Gruard and Big Bat saw no rest
until within touch of General Crook. The course turned southward,
along the crests of the mighty range. They arrived at a canyon so
steep that the tired troopers could not clamber down into it. Frank
found a sort of a trail by way of a valley, to a crossing of the river
at the canyon's bottom; and they needs must hustle madly, to cross and
get out before any Indians discovered them in the pocket.
The main camp was now twenty-five miles south-east, Gruard thought.
The plains were in sight through the gaps; but there would likely be
Indians down on those plains. Gruard and Big Bat guided up the
opposite side of the canyon. They had to cling like squirrels,
following a sheep trail not more than a foot wide, five hundred feet
above the stream, and two hundred feet below the rim.
But they got out. Gruard swung more eastward, toward the foothills.
Beyond the foothills lay the camp of the Crook column. Presently the
men were gasping for water. Everybody was pinched with hunger, for
there had been nothing to eat and nothing to drink, since they had
retreated just in time from the net.
It was decided to venture into a valley of the foothills, and find
water. They went slipping and sliding down the slope, carpeted with
the dried pine needles, and treacherous with loose gravel, and drank in
haste. But Frank was still suspicious. His senses were keen. He
instantly led them back into the first belt of timber, above; and on a
sudden, with a hiss of warning, he flung himself flat. Down they all
sprawled.
Just below, wellnigh at the very spot they had left, there were more
Indians: Sioux!
The Sioux were riding, arrayed for war, in open order, like scouts for
a larger party behind. If they struck the trail to the water and back,
that would mean another fight. It seemed horrible to be cut off,
again, when so near help; the location of the General Crook camp was
plain in view, off there twenty miles to the east.
But the brave soldiers had grown too desperate to care. They were
tired out, and determined to sell their lives dearly. Lieutenant
Sibley motioned.
He and the two scouts crawled to position on a little knoll; the others
followed, and took their posts. Reporter Finerty crept to his
commander's side.
"We're in hard luck again," young Lieutenant Sibley whispered. "But
we'll show those red scoundrels how white men can fight and die, if
necessary. Men," he said, "we have a good place; let every shot count
on an Indian."
Yes, the spot was a strong one, for defense. On one side there was a
stream, bounded by a lofty cliff, over-hanging. On the other side
there was an open slope, with no cover for the attackers. On the rear
there were a mass of boulders, handy in case of retreat. In front the
timber was very thin. And where the party lay, there were plenty of
rocks and trees, and considerable down timber, but not enough to be
dangerous from a fire.
The Sioux warriors kept on, riding slowly; on, and on, their eyes
searching the country. Hurrah! They did not stop; they had passed
outside the trail; they were on the flank of the main body; no warriors
followed; the scouts and soldiers and Civilian Finerty let down their
rifle hammers to half cock. There would be no fight.
It had been such a strain that now everybody except the two scouts went
to sleep, while Frank and Big Bat stayed on watch. At dusk Lieutenant
Sibley spoke with fresh energy:
"We'll strike out of the mountains and make a night march to the camp.
Might as well do it first as last. We've got to have something to eat;
but we can't hunt here, or we'd call in the Sioux by our shots."
They descended, through the gathering darkness; reached the plains, and
forded Big Goose Creek where snow-water ran breast high. Sergeant
Cornwell and Private Collins could not swim, would not try wading, and
had to be left in the bushes. The lieutenant promised to send back for
them. He dared not delay. Camp was still a dozen miles across the
plains.
The next six miles required four hours, to travel. The men were very
weak, and their boots were in tatters. At five o 'clock in the morning
they saw more Indians, and the Indians saw them.
"Let 'em come for us if they want us," the lieutenant growled. "We're
going on to camp, and we'll fight."
But the Indians hesitated, and stayed at a distance.
At half-past six they sighted two cavalry horses, saddled and grazing.
The horses belonged to troopers on a hunt, and foolishly bound for the
north, into the same kind of country where the detachment had been!
They very willingly changed their program and galloped for the camp,
with the news, and to get more mounts and supplies. The Sibley men
stopped short, to lie on the ground, and wait. They were about at the
end of their trail.
At eight o'clock the horses and supplies arrived. Sergeant Cornwell
and Private Collins were sent for. At ten o'clock on this Sunday
morning, July 9, the third day since they had ridden so jauntily out to
find the Sioux, they entered camp; but they were an entirely different
looking set of men.
The oldest Indian fighters in the one thousand of rank and file agreed
that it had been the narrowest escape on record, and achieved only by
the skill of Scouts Frank Gruard and Big Bat Pourier, the good sense of
Lieutenant Sibley, and the obedience of the men.
General Crook was away, on a hunt. Lieutenant-Colonel William B.
Royall of the Third Cavalry was temporarily in command. Lieutenant
Sibley wearily went to him, to report.
"We reached our objective in the Little Big Horn country, sir," he
said, "and found the Indians."
"Very good, sir," Colonel Royall approved. And he added, with a
twinkle in his eyes: "It looks as though you did! Or else they found
_you_."
Reporter Finerty went through the campaign with the Crook column; he
had many other adventures; but whatever they were, as long as he lived
his hair bristled when he gazed back, with a shudder, upon the most
perilous adventure of all: the "Sibley Scout."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Boys' Book of Frontier Fighters, by Edwin L. Sabin