Jack Stillwell and I were the only boys in the company, and naturally

gravitated toward each other. We were friends as soon as we met and

chums before we knew each other’s names. When the colonel asked for

volunteers to go to Fort Wallace for help, Jack was among the first to

announce himself. I wanted to go with him, but the colonel gave no heed

to my request; even Jack discouraged me, for he knew I was too

inexperienced. After Colonel Carpenter came to our relief Jack was not

with him, which made me and others feel very uneasy. The day after

Colonel Carpenter’s arrival we saw the mounted sentinel that had been

posted by Colonel Carpenter on a high eminence in the hills about three

miles from the island, signaling that a body of men was approaching,

which created a flutter of excitement, but there was a strong sensation

of security, mingled with a sense of dependence upon our black rescuers

permeating our emaciated party, after being cooped up, so to say, for so

long a period in dread and suspense. At least that was my sensation. I

remember watching that vedette, horse and rider turning around and

around, being the only moving object in that dim distance, indicating to

the anxious watchers that either friend or foe was in the vicinity. As

he showed no inclination to leave his post, it was soon evident he had

no fear of the approaching column, and that friends were coming. Not

long after a few horsemen were seen coming around the bend of the river

bed, and among them was my friend Jack Stillwell. Nearly all of us ran

to meet the party. Soon Jack jumped from his horse, and in his joy to

see so many of us alive again, he permitted his tears free flow down his

good honest cheeks. I kept up correspondence with him all these years

past. Last year he died.[38] He was a big-hearted, jovial fellow, brave

to a fault.

-----

Footnote 38:

Stillwell studied law, and ultimately became a judge in Texas. He was

a friend of Generals Miles and Custer—also of “Wild Bill” Hickok,

“Texas Jack” Omohundro, and other famous figures on the frontier; and

when he died, a couple of years ago, he was the subject of glowing

tributes from high and low alike.—C. T. B.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Carpenter and His “Brunettes.”[39]<br>The Fight on Beaver Creek

Carpenter had performed a very commendable thing in his march of over

one hundred miles in two days for the relief of Forsyth. And it is

marvelous that he had been able to find him in that vast expanse of

country. He received high praise for it, which he fully deserved; but

the battle which, with his black comrades, he fought three weeks later,

elicited still more praise. The fight was one of the prettiest and most

typical of any in our Indian campaigns; and I am fortunate in being able

to give it in General Carpenter’s own words, written especially for this

book, the notes appended being my own contribution.—C. T. B.

* * * * *

While on the forced march to relieve the party of scouts with Colonel

George A. Forsyth, surrounded by Indians on the Arickaree fork of the

Republican River, the troops under my command discovered a large trail

of the Indians who had been engaged in that fight on the south fork of

the Republican.

The scouts discovered that this trail left the valley of the stream a

short distance below and struck across country in the direction of the

Beaver Creek. After the relief of Forsyth, on my return to Fort Wallace

with the survivors and wounded, a report was made to General Sheridan,

then to the east of Fort Hayes, Kansas, of the probable whereabouts of

the Indians; and the Fifth Cavalry, which had just arrived from the East

by rail, was disembarked between Hayes and Wallace and ordered to move

north under Major Royall, and strike the savages, if possible, on the

Beaver. A day or two after the Fifth had left, Brevet-Major-General

Eugene A. Carr reported for duty to General Sheridan. Carr had been a

general officer of volunteers during the Civil War with an excellent

record, and now reverted to his rank in the regulars of Major in the

Fifth Cavalry.

Sheridan was anxious to have Carr join his regiment because of his

experience with Indians and his general reputation, and therefore sent

him to Fort Wallace with orders to have the two troops of cavalry there

go under my command and escort Carr and overtake the Fifth, if possible,

to enable him to join his regiment. The troops consisting of Troops H

and I, Tenth Cavalry, were officered by myself and Captain Graham,

Lieutenants Banzhaf, Amick, and Orleman, and were soon in readiness for

the duty required. We had returned from the relief of Forsyth Oct. 1st,

and we started with Carr at ten A.M. Oct. 14th.

I concluded to march north so as to strike the Beaver as soon as

possible, and then to follow down that creek with the expectation of

finding the Fifth Cavalry or of striking its trail. On the 15th I

reached the Beaver at about one P.M., and after proceeding some miles

down, went into bivouac. As we expected, we found a very large Indian

trail about two weeks old, over which over two thousand head of ponies

had been ridden or driven, going in the same direction.

The next day we continued our journey down the stream, finding plenty of

water, a fine bottom covered with grass and timber, and still observing

the Indian trail, which ran to a point about twenty miles east from the

place where we first struck the Beaver. At this locality the signs

showed that the Indians had encamped for the night. The ground was

covered for acres with old fire-places, pieces of wood, and the manure

of ponies; and a little distance off we found a dead Cheyenne, wrapped

in his robes, lying upon a scaffolding in a tree, a protection against

ravenous wolves. The trail then struck south toward Short Nose Creek,

the Indian name for a stream about twenty miles south of the Beaver. We

continued our course, however, on the Beaver, until we made about thirty

miles, and then stopped for the night.

As there was no pack outfit at Wallace, I was compelled to take wagons

to carry our supplies, and had eleven with me. The mules, dragging heavy

loads over rough country, were made to trot in order to keep up with the

cavalry column. We had now moved down the Beaver about forty-five miles

without finding anything about the Fifth, and it began to look as if

something had taken the regiment in another direction.

The next morning I sent Lieutenant Amick and ten men well mounted with

Sharp Grover, the famous scout, with orders to proceed as quickly as

possible across country to the Short Nose to look for signs of the Fifth

Cavalry and to keep a sharp lookout for Indians.

Grover, who, it will be remembered, had been with Forsyth, afterward

joined my command. He had married a Sioux woman and had lived for years

with the Indians before the outbreak of hostilities. He could speak

their language and knew their ways and customs, and was perfectly

trained in reading signs. It was interesting to see how he could read

what the tracks meant, as if they had been books. He could tell how long

since the tracks were made, whether they were made by horses or ponies,

shod or unshod, how many were ridden, how many were driven, whether it

was a war party or a party changing camp. If Indians stopped for the

night he could tell how many men or squaws were in the party, to what

tribe they belonged, from the shape of their moccasins, and many more

details. Like most of his ilk, Grover drank heavily on occasion. When

the Indians went on the war-path Grover could not stay longer with the

Sioux, as his life was not safe, and he entered the government employ,

where he rendered heroic and invaluable services. Later he was killed in

a row at Pond City, near Fort Wallace.

Amick and his party soon disappeared over the hills to our right and we

kept on down the stream, the general course of which was to the

northeast. I began to feel certain that the Fifth Cavalry had never

reached the Beaver, and that we would probably be attacked by the

Indians if this was the case. Under these circumstances I felt that it

would be wise to be cautious and on the lookout against surprise. The

road we passed over was very rough and the stream in most places ran

through deep-cut banks several feet high, with very few places suitable

for crossing.

As night came on a place was selected for a camp in a bend of the creek

where the wagons could be placed across, giving room inside to graze the

animals without fear of a stampede from howling savages. Amick returned

just before night, having scouted some miles beyond the Short Nose

without discovering any trace of the Fifth Cavalry. Grover told me that

as they passed across the divide between the Beaver and the Short Nose

he came across a single Indian pony track. This track was coming from a

direction to our rear, and showed that the pony was going at a rapid

gallop. Grover inferred from this that it was probably an Indian hunter

returning homeward who had most likely crossed our trail behind us,

discovered our presence in the country, and was riding as fast as

possible to carry the news to the Indian camps somewhere to our front

and not far off.

After a council over the situation General Carr came to the conclusion,

after having traveled some sixty miles down the Beaver without finding

the Fifth, that the regiment had never reached that stream and that

therefore he would give it up and start on our return in the morning.

About seven A.M. on the next day, Oct. 15th, Captain Graham expressed a

wish to make a scout for a short distance to the front, and rode forward

with two men. The command was ordered saddled up and everything made in

readiness to move. In view of the fact that the south side of the creek

was hilly and difficult and offered opportunities for ambuscades, I

determined to go back by the north side, which was comparatively open.

The afternoon before I had sent Lieutenant Orleman with a detachment to

dig down the sides of the creek and prepare a practicable passage for

the wagons and troops.

Graham had hardly ridden a thousand yards when twenty-five Indians

suddenly dashed over the hill to his rear, with the evident intention of

cutting him off. They were almost upon Graham before he discerned them,

but he instantly struck spurs into his horse and dashed for the creek,

the Indians firing a volley at short range upon the party. One of the

bullets passed through Graham’s hat, another through his coat, and a

third through his leggings without wounding him. One of the horses was

shot through the shoulder and fell. His rider succeeded in getting into

the creek and behind the bank along with the other soldiers, and they

commenced firing upon the Indians. Graham’s girth burst as his horse

sprang away at the first fire, but as his saddle gave way he seized his

horse’s mane and dragged himself forward on the animal. He then dashed

the horse over the bank of the creek, about ten feet to the bottom. He

fell from his horse in this jump, but the horse, fortunately, ran in our

direction.[40]

By this time I started out thirty men under Lieutenants Amick and

Orleman to cover the retreat of Graham’s men. As they charged toward the

hill the savages rushed from the creek to avoid being cut off, and were

hotly pursued by our men. Judging that the presence of these Indians

indicated that a large party could not be far off, I thought it best to

be prudent and sent a trumpeter to overtake Amick and tell him to

discontinue the pursuit and fall back slowly to camp. Without further

delay I now broke up the camp, crossed the creek with wagons and troops,

and, having dismounted the men, deployed them as riflemen to cover the

retreat of Amick.

In a few minutes the absent party made its appearance on the hills, with

bodies of Indians, numbering at least a hundred, skirmishing on our

flank and rear. They slowly fell back toward the creek, and when within

range the dismounted men on the banks opened fire on the advancing

savages, and under cover of this Amick crossed and joined the command,

while the Indians kept at a respectful distance.

The wagons were now placed in double column so as to make everything as

compact as possible.[41] H Troop was assigned on the flanks and advance,

deployed in open order. Troop I covered the rear in the same manner,

with one platoon under Graham as a reserve. These arrangements being

completed, we moved steadily up the creek bottom. As soon as this

movement commenced, a large body of Indians made their appearance and

charged toward us, taking advantage of ravines, trees, and bluffs to

fire from the south side of the creek. Some of the balls were well aimed

and came close.

I soon saw that if we continued down the creek bottom the enemy would

harass us immensely under cover of the timber and banks, and therefore

changed our course so as to leave the valley and take the higher ground

or divide. The Indians followed, showing about two hundred strong, and

acted boldly in their attacks on the rear and flanks. The men and

officers behaved very coolly, facing toward the enemy and driving them

back without stopping the progress of the column.

[Illustration:

Position of Wagons and Soldiers in Beaver Creek Fight

_T_, _Troopers Surrounding Wagons_; _H_, _Horses Inside the Inclosure_

Drawn by General Carpenter

]

At one point we passed near a deep ravine, and the enemy, quick to

observe cover of any kind, occupied it with quite a number of warriors

and opened up a serious fire. The reserve platoon under Graham charged

at the place as we were passing and, arriving at the edge of the ravine,

poured in a volley at close range on the savages. A number must have

been hurt and the Indians certainly lost no time in getting out of their

position. Afterward they were more cautious in occupying ground too

close to us. The flankers, under Banzhaf and Orleman, also repulsed the

Indians on several occasions.

One Indian carried a red flag with some white device upon it, and by his

movements the whole force seemed more or less governed. They were all

stripped to the waists, and were decorated by various ornaments hanging

from their heads and their shields, quivers, and bridles, so as to

glisten and shine in the sun at every turn of the ponies. Up to this

time five Indians were known to be killed at various points and quite a

number wounded.

At one P.M. the enemy seemed to stop the fight and apparently withdrew,

and I supposed that I had seen the last of them; but half an hour

afterward, hearing an exclamation, I looked back and saw the Indians

appearing again on the hills to our rear. On they came, one body after

another coming in sight until it was estimated by all present that at

least six hundred warriors were in view. Emboldened by their number they

rushed forward, directing themselves toward our front, flanks and rear,

making things look rather serious. I soon saw that we could not continue

the march and meet this force, but that we must select a position and

make a stand.

In the first attack in the morning I had offered the command to General

Carr, as the senior officer present, but he declined it, stating that he

considered himself simply as a passenger to be escorted, and I therefore

continued to direct the operations.[42]

I looked around and saw a small knoll or rise a short distance to the

front, from which the ground fell in every direction, and this point was

immediately selected. The teamsters were directed to take the trot, aim

for this place, and on arrival at the knoll immediately to form a

circular corral, half a circle on either side, with the mules facing

inward, affording a shelter within and something of a fortification. As

soon as we increased our pace the Indians evidently thought we were

running from them, and sent up a yell which made shivers run down the

backs of some of our recruits. We kept on, however, at a fast gait, and

the moment we struck the highest ground, the wagons were corralled with

six wagons one side, five wagons on the other, and the troops were

rushed inside at a gallop and dismounted. The horses were tied together

inside the corral with some men to watch them, and the rest were formed

outside the corral in open order.[43] This was done in about two minutes

and then the advance of the Indians was upon us.

[Illustration:

THE CHIEF MEDICINE MAN AT BEAVER CREEK

_Drawing by Will Crawford_

]

A fire commenced from our seven-shooter Spencers which sounded like the

fire of a line of infantry. The Indians charged up around the wagons,

firing rapidly and seriously wounded some of the men, but in a very

short time they were driven back in wild disorder, leaving the ground

covered with ponies, arms, and some bodies. Three dead warriors lay

within fifty feet of the wagons. One man who was killed here was carried

off by his comrades.

The chief Medicine Man, on a fine looking horse, rode out in front of

our line about two hundred yards off, after the retreat of the Indians,

to try to show that his medicine was good and the white man’s bullets

could not hurt him. I directed several men near me to aim carefully at

him. They fired and the Medicine Man went down, accompanied by a howl

from the more distant Indians. After the repulse the men rushed forward

from the wagons, seized and hauled in ten bodies of the Indians. The

savages, disheartened and surprised at this reception, withdrew out of

gunshot and assembled, apparently for council.[44]

The men carried corn sacks and made breastworks near the wagons and we

waited, expecting a renewal of the attack, for about an hour, when it

became evident that some of the Indians were withdrawing. The day was

very warm, we had been engaged about eight hours, and in the hot sun men

and animals were suffering very much from thirst. I made up my mind to

move for water, and keeping the wagons in double column, the horses

inside and the men dismounted on the outside, we marched for the Beaver.

A large party of Indians followed up to where their dead comrades lay

and set up a mournful howl over their remains. Their loss in this fight,

added to what they had suffered the month before in the conflict with

Forsyth, must have had a sobering effect.

We now proceeded to the creek without further interference, and

selecting a wide bottom encamped for the night, preparing some

rifle-pits to cover our outlying pickets and to enable them to receive

the enemy if an attack were made in the morning. We heard them around us

all night imitating coyotes, but they did not find a weak place and

refrained from molesting us. The next morning the Indians were gone and

we marched by the shortest route to Fort Wallace, arriving there on the

21st.

On our return journey we passed through Sheridan City, a frontier town

located at the then terminus of the Kansas Division of the Union Pacific

R. R. It was full of taverns, saloons, gambling houses and dens, and of

a rather tough lot of citizens and desperadoes. These people and others

crowded into the streets when we passed through, and when they saw the

troopers and their horses decorated with the spoils from the Indians

whose dead bodies we had captured, they knew that we had been in a

successful fight and they gave us a perfect ovation.

The savages suffered a considerable loss, but we escaped with a few men

wounded (some of them seriously) and none killed. General Carr found the

Fifth Cavalry had returned to the railroad, and through mistake they

never reached the Beaver. He took command of the regiment, marched again

and pursued the Indians over the Platte River, and followed them on a

long campaign.

* * * * *

This was one of the smartest and most successful Indian fights on

record. Carpenter’s tactics throughout had been admirable. General Carr

was much surprised and pleased at the conduct of these black troopers,

and on his return to Fort Wallace telegraphed to General Sheridan that

“the officers and troops behaved admirably.” General Sheridan published

a general order highly commending the commander, the officers and the

men for this brilliant and gallant affair. Carpenter was brevetted

colonel in the Regular Army (his fifth brevet), and afterward received a

medal of honor for this fight and the relief of Forsyth. Well did he

deserve them both.—C. T. B.

-----

Footnote 39:

Negro troops were often so styled by their white comrades in the

service.—C. T. B.

Footnote 40:

Luckily for Graham, just as he fell from his horse Amick’s men charged

the Indians, who thereupon retreated. One of the troopers caught the

horse and held him until the captain came running up. Carpenter’s

prompt action in instantly throwing Amick’s detachment on the savages

undoubtedly saved the lives of Graham and his men. As it was, it was a

fearfully narrow escape for them.—C. T. B.

Footnote 41:

Six wagons on one side, five on the other.—L.H.C.

Footnote 42:

General Carr, while he used a rifle efficiently during the whole of

the action, did not interfere with Carpenter’s arrangements; with rare

self-restraint he refrained even from offering suggestions. Although

he showed plenty of nerve and was entirely calm and collected

throughout the hot affair, he is reported to have said after the fight

that he thought he was in the tightest box in which he was ever caught

in his life, and that there was nothing left for them all to do but to

sell their lives as dearly as possible. He had never served on the

plains with negro troopers before, and had no knowledge as to how they

would behave against Indians—nobody had, for that matter.—C. T. B.

Footnote 43:

When there are many wagons, the corral is formed with the wagons close

together, axles touching, tongues and mules inward; but in this case

they had to form an open corral with about twenty feet between the

wagons. The horses, to the number of one hundred—the troops being

reduced to that number by illness, hard work, and other causes—were

forced inside the wagons in columns of four, each set of fours being

tied together, with horse-holders detailed to look after them. The

duty of the horse-holders was most important. They had always to be on

watch to prevent a stampede. If the troops had been deprived of their

horses on that open knoll their position would have been hopeless

indeed. The dismounted men were formed in front and rear and on both

sides of the corral, as Indian attacks must be expected from every

direction. The plan made by General Carpenter explains the situation

perfectly.—C. T. B.

Footnote 44:

Just after the first repulse of the Indians, Graham went to General

Carr very improperly (he had no business to communicate with him

except through Carpenter, his immediate commanding officer), and

suggested that he order the wagons abandoned, the teamsters mounted on

the mules, and the whole party to retreat in that fashion as fast as

possible. Carr, of course, referred the matter to Carpenter, who

promptly refused to sanction any such manœuver. To leave the wagons,

which afforded some protection on the hill, would be to enable six or

seven hundred Indians to surround the hundred troopers in his command

and invite annihilation. Carpenter assured Carr that as he had

defeated the Indians once, he was certain that he could do it again.

Carr wisely persisted in his determination not to interfere, and

Graham had his suggestion decisively negatived by Carpenter. Graham

deserved reprobation for his unmilitary action, _as well as for his

foolish suggestion_.—C.T.B.

CHAPTER NINE

A Further Discussion of the Beaver Creek Affair

When General Carpenter’s account of the fight on the Beaver Creek was

published serially, General Carr took exception to it in a public letter

to the editor of the periodical in which it appeared. I am permitted by

the editor to make extracts from this letter, which, with my own comment

and General Carpenter’s rejoinder, appear as follows:

I. General Carr’s Account

I do not think that General Sheridan sent orders for my escort to go

under command of Colonel Carpenter. I know that, after waiting with

General Sheridan at Fort Hayes for several days, he ordered me to go to

Fort Wallace, take an escort and go to find Royall, who had not been

heard from as expected.

While we were going over the “rough hills” Colonel Carpenter, and

perhaps some of the others, came up and remonstrated with me for

marching the command so hard; said they could not be responsible for its

effect on the horses, and when I insisted, asked me to take command and

be responsible. I said, “All right, I will take command; but you must

attend to the details. I will not appoint an adjutant and take the

office work” (detailing guards, stable duties, etc., etc.).

I had with me an officer of my regiment, Captain Kane, Fifth Cavalry,

and now wish I had appointed him adjutant and taken formal command.

Finding that the stream (Beaver Creek) was persistently hugging the

south side of the valley, on which we were traveling, creating bluffs

and ravines over which it was difficult to move the wagons, I determined

to cross to the north side, where the valley consisted of a gentle and

smooth slope.

I selected the camp in an “ox bow” bend of the creek, putting the tents

and wagons across the entrance, the guard at the bow and the animals

inside, selected a place for crossing, and ordered the banks to be cut

down to the bed of the creek, so that the wagons and animals could

cross.

In the Indian country I always had my commands up and under arms before

daylight, which is the most dangerous time; and next morning we were up,

had breakfast, the tents struck and the wagons packed, and were standing

’round the camp fire when Amick called out “Indians!”

I had intended to move camp across the creek and get fresh grass. Graham

had started on his trip, following a narrow path between the bluff and

the river bank. He was riding a fine horse called “Red Eye,” which had a

very deep chest and thin barrel. As he told me afterward, his saddle

began to slip back, but he waited to get down to fix it till he should

reach a more open place ahead at the mouth of a ravine, when _bang,

bang!_ came some shots. His horse dodged and jumped down the bank into

the creek, slipping the saddle farther back and kicking it clear, while

Graham landed on the shoulders of the horse and from there on the bed of

the creek. He turned back with his gun toward the bank, which protected

him while he fired, till I sent Lieutenant Amick with some skirmishers,

who covered his retreat. His two men jumped their horses down into and

up out of the creek and fell back, and when we got the men all in I

moved the command up to and over the crossing I had prepared and out to

the open slope on the north side of the valley. As we had not found

Royall but had found the Indians, or, rather, they had found us, it was

of no use to go farther down the Beaver, and I determined to move toward

home.

The Indians kept coming out from those bluffs, crossing the creek and

following us, and I arranged the wagons in two columns, with Carpenter’s

company in front and on the flanks, and Graham’s company in rear, where

I was also.

Some of the Indians got on our flanks as skirmishers, a few in front and

more in rear, while the main body got into two columns, about like the

two halves of a regiment in columns of four, marching steadily and

gradually, closing on us by increasing their gait. I estimated them at

seven hundred warriors; we had about one hundred colored soldiers. Their

chiefs were marching between the heads of their columns; they had a flag

and a bugle. I sent word to Carpenter to turn more toward the higher

ground, away from the timber along the creek, which Indians were using

for cover. Pretty soon he began to trot, and I had to send Captain Kane

to him with orders to go slower, for fear of a stampede. I was in the

rear near Graham’s troop. He was one of the bravest men I ever saw. He

would amuse himself with the Indians by concealing men in hollows,

taking away their horses till Indians came up for them to shoot at, then

charging up with their horses, mounting and bringing them off. Most of

the men were cool, but I saw one man loading and firing when the Indians

were a mile away. I called to him to stop, but he paid no attention,

seemed to be dazed, and I had to go up and lay my hand on him before he

obeyed my order. As the Indians got closer, one of the men dismounted to

shoot. When he tried to remount, his horse got scared and edged away

from him, and I rode up on the off-side, got hold of the rein, and let

his horse come against mine. Then he put his foot in the stirrup, made a

leap and got his leg over, when we both cantered off—just in time. He

lost his cap, and we lost a dog which was playing about between us and

the Indians, interested in the shooting till he got near enough to them

to be killed. These were our only losses.

As the main body of the Indians got closer and increased their gait to

the charge, the leading wagons turned toward each other and stopped. The

others turned their mules inside of those in front of them, lapping onto

and tying to the wagons, forming a corral in shape of a flat-iron, and

the horsemen rode inside, dismounted, tied their horses, and began to

fire at the Indians who were thronging around us. One Indian, on a

clay-bank pony and wearing a red blanket, with no arms, rode ’round and

’round us within fifty or one hundred yards, and seemed to bear a

charmed life. I shot at him several times, and Grover said he also shot

at him till he began to think the Indian had strong medicine which

protected him—Grover was a squaw man and had imbibed some of their

superstitions. He was shooting a Sharp’s carbine, and, taking it down to

reload, happened to notice that he had the sight set for five hundred

yards and had been shooting over the Indian’s head.

I had a Spencer carbine which had been sent me by the company for trial.

With it I shot down an Indian, who fell and lay within thirty yards of

the corral. He was not dead, and I afterward talked with him through

Grover. He said his name was Little Crow, and mentioned the name of his

father, whom Grover said he knew. He was young—about eighteen. I asked

him why they attacked us. He said because we came on their creek. He

told where their camp was, so that one week from that day, which was

Sunday, October 18th, 1868, I found them with my own regiment, the

Fifth, had a fight lasting two days and two nights, and drove them out

of Kansas.

While the fight was going on our soldiers showed great bravery. While

inside the wagon corral they would rush from one side to the other,

wherever the Indians appeared, so as to fire at them. Their officers did

not seem to keep them in their places, and, after it was over, I

reprimanded them for not commanding their men. After the Indians were

repulsed we went around and rearranged the wagons, got out sacks,

cracker-boxes, etc., fixed breastworks in anticipation of another

attack, and then sat down and ate our lunch.

It was two o’clock. Our soldiers wanted to scalp the dead Indians, of

whom about ten were lying too near the corral for their friends to carry

off. We prevented this till, while we were going around the corral

rearranging, the soldiers got the chance to scalp them. Two were lying

wounded when two soldiers approached them; one drew his bow and sent an

arrow through the thighs of one of the men. The arrow passed through the

fleshy part of one thigh and entered the other and stopped against the

bone. It had to be cut in two to extract it. Years after, at Fort

Leavenworth, a first sergeant showed me an arrow-head with the point

marred, and said he was that man.

The other wounded Indian had a pistol, and shot the other soldier in the

calf of his leg. These were the only men we had hurt. It was then that

there was some talk of abandoning the wagons and going direct for the

railroad. With the wagons, we had, of course, to go by routes over which

wheeled vehicles could travel. I do not recall whether Captain Graham

advocated this, but there would have been no impropriety in his stating

his views to me. Any officer can talk to his commander, and I had been

giving orders from time to time directly to him and his men. We sat

there eating our lunch and talking with each other and the wounded

Indian who lay in front of us, when he made a motion with his hand back

toward me. I asked Grover what he meant. He said, “He wants you to go

away; says his heart is bad.” This pleased me very much. I had been

watching the Indians, who had fallen back to some rising ground nearly a

mile off. They were moving about, pow-wowing, and, I supposed, preparing

for a new attack. They seemed to be diminishing in numbers, but I

thought they were trying to get around to some place where they would

have a better chance at us. I really did not expect to get out of that

fix. If those Indians had had sufficient resolution, being seven to one,

they ought to have used us up. When the wounded Indian made this motion,

I took it to mean that he knew they were giving up. He could see them as

well as we could, and knew better what they were doing. I suppose that

those who remained were the friends of the dead, waiting for us to go.

I gave orders to reload the wagons and move out. Some of the Indians

followed us for several miles, but did not again attack.

Colonel Carpenter did not offer the command to me at the first attack in

the morning, nor did I decline it. I was exercising the command all the

time. One of the articles of war provides that “when troops join and do

duty together the highest in rank of the line of the army shall command

the whole, and give the orders needful for the service,” and I could not

have avoided the responsibility.

The foregoing narrative shows that I was not a “passive spectator,” nor

did I “refrain from advice or suggestion,” nor from giving orders as

required.

I, no doubt, said that I was a guest, and did not interfere

unnecessarily; but my long experience on the plains and with Indians

rendered it incumbent on me to exercise my judgment.

EUGENE A. CARR,

Brevet Major-General and Congressional Medallist.

* * * * *

With reference to this letter from General Carr I beg to point out:

That General Carr in his letter practically admits in two places that he

was not in command. First, when he writes of Captain Kane, “I wish I had

appointed him adjutant and taken formal command.” Second, when he

writes: “I, no doubt, said that I was a guest, and did not interfere

unnecessarily.”

I do not see, therefore, that there is really any serious discrepancy

between the account of General Carpenter and that of General Carr. I

presume, if there is, I am more to blame than any one for the note to

which General Carr takes exception. The original wording of that note

was, possibly, not happy, and probably conveyed more than I intended. I

did not suppose that any one thought that General Carr sat around and

twiddled his thumbs while the fighting was going on. I have made changes

in the note, which appears in this book in its amended form.

It must not be forgotten that General Carpenter received his medal of

honor in part for this fight, and he certainly would not have received

it had he not been in command.

Here follows a communication from General Carpenter on the subject. This

discussion, I think, settles the matter in a way which I trust will be

satisfactory to the friends of both of these distinguished officers.

II. General Carpenter’s Reply

I was very much surprised in reading General Carr’s contention that he

was in command of the troops who constituted his escort to enable him to

join the Fifth Cavalry, and who were in the action on the Beaver in

October, 1868. The account I wrote is from my recollection, and from

letters written home at the time, and I repeated what I thought there

was no question about, and had no desire to ignore General Carr or any

one concerned.

The two troops of the Tenth Cavalry, a portion of the garrison at Fort

Wallace, under my command as the senior officer, were ordered to act as

escort for General Carr, then Major, Fifth Cavalry.

I am quite positive that General Carr was offered the command by me,

knowing him to be senior, and that he declined it. Many officers have

been escorted by troops without taking command of the escort although of

senior rank. As the troops were to escort this officer, of course he was

consulted about the direction of the march, the time for camping, and

concerning many other details of greater or less importance, but he

never took formal command. If he did not, then, it would be manifestly

improper for him to issue orders directly to subordinate officers or

men. The officers and men were mentioned in General Orders by General

Sheridan in 1868 for their gallantry and bravery in this action, and it

is stated that they were escorting General Carr.

Thirty-five years have passed since the affair, and I never heard of any

question about who commanded the troops engaged. This length of time

naturally accounts for some difference of memory, and no two narratives

may be expected altogether to agree. As mentioned before, Carr was

consulted frequently during the expedition and his wishes were carried

out, as was proper under the circumstances.

Some of the details mentioned by General Carr I do not remember, but I

certainly regarded myself as being in command of the troops during the

fight and gave directions as I have stated in accordance with my

recollection, and selected the ground on which the wagons were corralled

and the Indians repulsed.

I do not know of any officers being reprimanded, but when we returned to

Fort Wallace we were informed that General Carr had reported to General

Sheridan that “the officers and men had behaved admirably,”

I inclose a copy of General Field Orders, No. 4, Headquarters Department

of the Missouri, dated October 27, 1868, issued by order of General

Sheridan to commend the conduct of the troops engaged in the combat on

the Beaver, October 18, 1868:

Headquarters Department of the Missouri.

In the Field, Fort Hays, Kansas, October 27, 1868.

General Field Orders, No. 4.

The attention of the officers and soldiers of this department is

called to the engagement with hostile Indians on Beaver Creek,

Kansas, October 18, 1868, in which a detachment of cavalry

(escorting Brevet Major-Gen’l E. A. Carr, Major, Fifth Cavalry to

his Regiment) under the command of Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H.

Carpenter, Captain, Tenth Cavalry, consisting of Companies I, Tenth

Cavalry, under Capt. George W. Graham and 1st Lieut.-Major J. Amick,

and H, Tenth Cavalry, under 1st Lieut. Charles Banzhaf and 2d Lieut.

Louis H. Orleman, engaged about five hundred (500) Indians for

several hours, inflicting a loss on the savages of ten (10) killed

and many wounded, losing three (3) enlisted men wounded.

The major-general commanding desires to tender his thanks for the

gallantry and bravery displayed by this small command against so

large a body of Indians.

By command of Major-General Sheridan.

J. SCHUYLER CROSBY,

Brevet Lieut.-Col. A. D. C.

A. A. A. General.

It is expressly stated that the detachment of cavalry (escorting Brevet

Major-General Eugene A. Carr, Major, Fifth Cavalry, to his regiment) was

“_under the command of Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H. Carpenter, Captain,

Tenth Cavalry_.”

The records show, further, that Brevet Lieut.-Col. Louis H. Carpenter

was brevetted colonel for gallant and meritorious conduct in the

engagement with Indians on Beaver Creek, Kansas, October 18, 1868. This

appointment was made on the recommendation of General Sheridan, and was

undoubtedly conferred on this officer as being in command of the troops

during the fight. Others behaved gallantly and their conduct deserved

recognition, but this was the only brevet given at the time.

LOUIS H. CARPENTER.

CHAPTER TEN

The Battle of the Washita

I. Custer and the Famous Seventh Cavalry

A fighter of fighters and a soldier of soldiers was that _beau sabreur_

of the American Army, George Armstrong Custer, “Old Curly” to his men,

“The White Chief with the Yellow Hair,” or, more briefly, “Long Hair” to

the Indians. From Bull Run to Appomattox his career was fairly meteoric.

Second lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac at twenty-one, fresh from

West Point, a brigadier-general at twenty-three, a major-general at

twenty-four, and commander of the third cavalry division, which, in the

six months preceding the downfall of the Confederacy, had taken one

hundred and eleven guns, sixty-five battle-flags, and over ten thousand

prisoners of war, without losing a flag or gun, and without a failure to

capture whatever it went for—such was his record.[45]

I have heard my father tell of the impression made by the dashing young

soldier whose spirited horse ran away on Pennsylvania Avenue at the

Grand Review in Washington, in spite of the efforts of his rider—a

peerless horseman—to restrain him. Custer’s hat fell off, his long,

yellow curls floated back in the wind, making a dashing and romantic

picture. He was a man of superb physique and magnificent strength. I saw

him when I was a boy, and I have never forgotten him. His devoted wife,

in one of the three charming books in which she has told the deathless

romance of their married life on the frontier, relates how, on one

occasion, riding by her side, with his left arm he lifted her out of the

saddle high in the air, held her there for a moment or two, then gently

replaced her on her horse. No fatigue was too great for him to surmount,

no duty, however arduous, ever caused him to give back.[46]

Reams have been written about his unfortunate campaign upon the Little

Big Horn, in which he went down to such awful destruction, but little is

known of some of the exploits of his early career on the plains. After

the war, more fortunate than most of the younger general officers who

were forced to content themselves with captaincies or less, General

Custer was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the new Seventh Regular

Cavalry, a regiment which was born with him, lived with him, and a large

part of which died with him.

The officers of the regiment were a set of unusual men. Custer himself

was allowed considerable voice in the selection of them, and such a body

of officers had been rarely assembled in one command. Most of the

troopers were not at first of the high grade to which they afterward

attained. The best men, in the ranks at least, at the close of the Civil

War, had had enough of fighting. They wanted to get back to civil life

once more. Not frequently it was only the inferior soldiers who could be

induced to re-enlist from the volunteer into the regular regiments which

were being organized or reorganized.

There were in the ranks, however, a leaven of veterans who were soldiers

from love as well as from habit. With these as a nucleus, Custer and his

officers, by a judicious weeding out and a rigorous course of

discipline, soon gathered a body of troopers than which there were none

finer in the service of the United States, nor, in fact, in any other

service. Owing to the fact that the colonel, a distinguished general

officer in the war, was on detached service commanding a department, the

regiment was practically continuously under the command of Custer until

his death in 1876.

The duty that devolved upon it was the protection of the settlers in

Kansas. The job was no sinecure. In the last half of the year 1868

statistics, which do not pretend to be comprehensive, for they are only

facts reported officially to the headquarters of the Department of the

Missouri, show one hundred and fifty-seven people killed, fifty-seven

wounded, including forty-one scalped, fourteen women outraged and

murdered, one man, four women and twenty-four children taken into

captivity, one thousand six hundred and twenty-seven horses, mules and

cattle stolen, twenty-four ranches or settlements destroyed, eleven

stage coaches attacked, and four wagon trains annihilated. This with a

total loss to the Indians of eleven killed and one wounded. Truly there

was a reign of blood upon that frontier. Every man murdered was also

frightfully and disgustingly mutilated. This record takes no account of

soldiers who were killed.

In one instance ten troopers under Lieutenant Kidder, of the Second

Cavalry, with a message for Custer’s command, then in the field, were

overtaken and slaughtered to a man after a desperate defense. When

Custer came upon the scene of battle the bodies were so mutilated that

it was impossible to tell one from the other. The only distinguishing

mark upon any one of them was a shirt neckband made of a material of a

peculiar marking, which was yet a common article of wearing apparel at

that time. It was by this shirt collar that the body of Lieutenant

Kidder was subsequently identified by his mother and taken East for

burial.

As usual, there was strife between the Indian agents and the army. There

always has been, there always will be. The agents invariably declared

that there was peace in the land and sought to embarrass the army in its

efforts to protect the frontier. Popular indignation, however, at last

forced the government to act, and the campaign was long and arduous

during the latter part of the summer of 1868.

The success of the soldiers was not pronounced at first. The extent of

territory was great, the force available small, the Indians exceedingly

mobile, and the troopers had as yet scarcely learned the rules of the

game, so that it was a matter of extreme difficulty to get at any

considerable body of Indians and inflict a crushing blow. As we have

seen, General Forsyth’s command barely escaped annihilation in the great

battle of the Arickaree. Matters dragged on, however, with nothing

decisive happening until the summer and fall had slipped away and winter

was at hand. The Indians rarely did any fighting in the winter. It was

difficult and dangerous for horsemen to move on the exposed prairies in

the winter season, and hitherto fighting had been abandoned with the

advent of the cold. The Indians, during the winter, naturally tended

southward, seeking a less severe climate if it might be had, and from

November to April had been considered a closed season.

II. The March in the Blizzard

General Sheridan, however, who had command of the department, determined

to inaugurate a winter campaign in the hope that the Indians, who would

naturally congregate in large villages in secluded spots sheltered by

trees along the river banks, might be rounded up and defeated

decisively. The force at his disposal for these projected operations

consisted of eleven troops of the Seventh Cavalry, four companies of

infantry, and the Nineteenth Kansas Volunteer Cavalry, a regiment of

settlers and old soldiers which had been organized for the campaign.

The expedition was under command of Sheridan himself. The rendezvous was

at Camp Supply, in the Indian Territory, about one hundred miles south

of Fort Dodge, Kansas. No Indians—in any considerable body, that is—had

been seen by any of the scouts sent out, and no outrages were reported.

It was evident that the hostiles were lying snugly concealed somewhere

for the winter season. Sheridan determined to detach Custer and his

regiment from the command and send them scouting farther southward,

while with the rest of the force, so soon as it should be in condition

to march, he himself would explore the country in other directions.

Custer received his orders on the 22d of November, late at night.

Reveillé was sounded at four o’clock on the twenty-third. The

thermometer was below zero. There was a foot of snow upon the ground,

and it was still coming down furiously when Custer reported to Sheridan

that he was ready to move.

“What do you think of this?” asked Sheridan, alluding to the weather.

“It’s all right,” answered Custer, cheerfully; “we can move. The Indians

can’t.”

There was a hasty breakfast, coffee and hardtack, each trooper standing

by the head of his horse, and the column moved off. The undaunted band

of the regiment, surely made up of the most heroic and hardy musicians

that ever tooted horn or thumped sheepskin, in gallant style played them

out and into the terrible blizzard then raging, with the old marching

tune “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” which was more fancy than truth, for

there were no “girls” with that expedition, save one hard-featured old

campaigner, red-headed at that, who went along as the commanding

officer’s cook at her own earnest request.

No one can realize the force of a blizzard on the plains who has not, as

I have, experienced it. The guides almost immediately declared

themselves unable to lead the regiment. Every cavalry officer in the

field carries a pocket compass. Custer knew where he wanted to go. With

his own compass to show the way he led the regiment forward. The men

stumbled on through the awful snow and hurricane until two o’clock, when

they were stopped on the bank of Wolf Creek, fifteen miles from the

starting point. First caring for the exhausted horses, they made camp,

and as the wagons came up fires were soon burning, meals were prepared,

and some of the effects of the deadly cold were dissipated.

The next morning, November 24th, they marched down Wolf Creek. The snow

had stopped falling, but the temperature stood at seven degrees below

zero. The 25th they continued the march. Many another commander would

have been stopped by the fearful weather; but Custer was known as a man

who would press on as long as the mules could draw the wagons, and when

they could not he would abandon the wagons and live off the mules. He

kept on. On the twenty-sixth, Thanksgiving Day, arriving at the north

bank of the Canadian River, he despatched Major Elliott, the second in

command of the regiment, with three troops on a scouting expedition up

the river, which he proposed to cross with the balance of his men. There

was no Thanksgiving dinner awaiting them, and the remembrance of the

holiday spent under happier circumstances but aggravated their present

condition.

The river was frozen, but not sufficiently so to bear the regiment. They

had to break through the ice and find a ford in the icy water, and it

was after eleven o’clock in the morning before the whole command

succeeded in passing to the south side. Scarcely had they done so when

they noticed a horseman galloping at full speed toward them on the other

side. As soon as he came near they recognized him as Scout Corbin, one

of Elliott’s guides. He brought the startling news that Elliott had come

upon the trail of an Indian war party, at least one hundred and fifty

strong, and not twenty-four hours old, which led to the south side of

the river. The scout was given a fresh horse and ordered to return to

Elliott, who was directed to follow the trail cautiously until eight

o’clock at night, at which time he was to halt and wait for Custer, who

would leave the wagon train and follow him immediately.

Calling the officers to him, Custer briefly gave his orders for the

advance. The wagon train was to be left under the care of an officer and

eighty men. Each trooper was to take one day’s rations of coffee and

hardtack and one hundred rounds of ammunition upon his person, together

with a little forage for his horse, and the regiment was to push on at

the highest possible speed to join Elliott.

When it came to designate an officer to remain with the train, the

detail fell upon Captain Louis McLane Hamilton, whose turn it was to act

as officer of the day in camp. This young man bore two historic names.

McLane was the second in command of Light Horse Harry Lee’s famous

cavalry in the Revolution, and he was the grandson of the great

Alexander Hamilton. He demurred bitterly to being left in the rear in

command of the train under such circumstances. There was no help for it,

however, until Custer finally informed him that if he could get any one

to take his detail he could go.

It was discovered upon inquiry that one of the officers of the regiment

had become almost helpless from snow blindness, the glare of the ice and

snow being something terrible, especially upon an open prairie such as

they were then traversing. This officer was entirely unfit for active

campaigning, but such was his zeal to go forward that he concealed his

ailment until Hamilton’s scrutiny brought it forth. To him, therefore,

was committed the charge of the wagon train, much against his wish, and

Hamilton was allowed to go at the head of his troop.

III. The Trail in the Snow

It had grown somewhat warmer during the day. The top crust of the snow

became soft, and the horses sank through it to their knees. There was no

road or trail, of course, but the command advanced straight across the

open prairie toward the point where Corbin had indicated that Elliott

had picked up the trail. The several troops were successively placed in

the advance for the fatiguing and arduous labor of breaking up the road.

There was every desire to spare the horses, but they were nevertheless

urged to the last limit to overtake Elliott. Under such circumstances it

was problematical whether they would find him alive; for the Indians,

who were believed to be in great force, might discover him, ambush him,

attack him, and wipe him out as Fetterman had been annihilated, or as

Forsyth had been overwhelmed.

During the afternoon Custer and his command struck Elliott’s trail, but

it was not until nine o’clock at night that they overtook him. They

found him encamped on the banks of a little stream and thoroughly

concealed in the timber. With relief the regiment halted, and taking

advantage of the deep ravine through which the creek ran, they managed

to build a few fires, which, being well screened, were invisible a short

distance away. Over the fires the men made coffee, which, with the

hardtack, constituted their only meal since morning—a Thanksgiving

dinner indeed.

Elliott had followed the trail, which was still well defined, until

eight o’clock, and then had halted in accordance with the orders of

Custer, and had waited for his commander. A hasty council was held and

some were for taking up the advance at once. But it was pointed out that

the moon would rise in one hour and by waiting they would have the

benefit of the moonlight in following the Indian trail. Besides, the

short rest would do the command good. Saddles were taken off, the horses

rubbed down and sparingly fed from the scanty supply of forage. At ten

the march was once more resumed in this order:

First of all, riding some distance ahead of the main body, were two

Osage Indian scouts. One of these was Little Beaver, who was chief of a

small band of Indian auxiliaries which had volunteered for the campaign.

Next to them came other Indians, several famous frontiersmen, California

Joe and Scout Corbin, and a hideous half Negro, half Indian interpreter

whose name was Romero, but whom the soldiers facetiously dubbed Romeo,

because he was so ugly; then General Custer and his staff, and then,

some distance in rear, the successive troops of the regiment in a column

of fours. About three miles from their camping place Little Beaver came

back to Custer in considerable agitation and declared that he smelled

fire. Nobody else smelled anything, but at his insistence the command

was halted, and he and one of his men went forward with Custer and one

or two of the scouts until they had gone a mile from the halting place.

Sure enough, after surmounting a little hill, they saw ahead of them and

some distance away the embers of a fire. The advance party halted.

Little Beaver and the other Indians snaked their course over the ground,

taking advantage of every cover to learn what they could. With beating

hearts the general and the others watched them. Would they stumble upon

the foemen then and there? They waited, concealed beneath the hillock,

until Little Beaver returned to tell them that the fire had evidently

been kindled by the boys guarding the herds of ponies during the day. At

any rate it had almost gone out, no one was there, and the way was safe

for the present, although the main camp was probably not far distant.

Orders were sent back to the regiment to advance but to keep its present

distance behind Custer and the scouts. The command proceeded with the

utmost caution, with an excitement in their veins at the stealthy

approach with its possible consequences which made them almost

insensible to the frightful cold. About half after twelve o’clock on the

morning of the twenty-seventh, Custer saw the leading Indian suddenly

sink down behind a hill and wave his hand quickly backward. The whole

party dismounted, and the commanding officer with one of his scouts

crawled to the hill where the Indian lay. Whispering a word or two,

Little Beaver pointed straight in front of him.

Half a mile away a huge black blotch was tremulously moving on the snow

in the moonlight. Experienced eyes recognized a herd of ponies. Where

the ponies were there were the Indians also. Custer watched the scene

for a moment, and upon the still air—the wind had died and the night

though bitter cold was intensely quiet—he heard the sound of a bell,

evidently tied to the neck of the leader of the herd. Dogs barked, and

as they waited they marked the thin, shrill cry of a little child. It

was an Indian camp beyond peradventure. Beyond it, among the bare and

leafless trees, gleamed in the moonlight the ice-bound shores of a

half-frozen river—the Washita.

The general, as tender-hearted a man as ever lived, and as kindly for

all his fights, tells us how strangely that infant’s cry heard on that

bitter winter night moved him, appealed to him. It filled his mind with

natural regret that war had to be waged and an attack delivered upon a

camp in which there were women and children; but the stern necessities

of the case permitted no other course.

[Illustration:

_Copyright by D. F. Barry_

]

MAJ. JOEL H. ELLIOTT[47] CAPT. LOUIS McL. HAMILTON[47]

CAPT. JAMES M. BELL CAPT. J. W. BENTEEN

SOME OFFICERS OF THE SEVENTH CAVALRY IN THE WASHITA EXPEDITION

The band of Indians under his gaze was that of Black Kettle,[48] Head

Chief of the Cheyennes since the death of Roman Nose, one of the most

ferocious and brutal of the Plains Indians. The blood of scores was upon

his hands and upon the hands of his followers as well. Torture, infamy,

treachery, shame beyond estimation, had stained that band. Even then in

the camp there were helpless captives, poor women whose fate cannot be

described or dwelt upon.

When Custer had satisfied himself at last that he had found the camp for

which he had been searching—which appeared to be a very large one from

the number of lodges which they thought they could make out in the

distance—leaving the scouts to observe the Indians, he tramped back

through the snow to the command, and by messengers summoned the officers

about him. Taking off their sabers for the moment, so that their

clanking would not betray them, the officers crept to the crest of the

hill and made themselves as familiar with the situation as they could by

such inspection.

There Custer gave them their final orders. The regiment was divided into

four squadrons; Major Elliott, with three troops, G, H, and M, was

ordered to circle cautiously to the left and get in the rear of the

Indian camp. Captain Thompson, with troops B and F, was directed to make

a long detour to the right and join Elliott. Captain Myers, with troops

E and I, was commanded to move a shorter distance to the right and take

position on the left of Thompson, while Custer himself, with the four

remaining troops—Captain Hamilton commanding one squadron, comprising

troops A and C, Captain West, another, of troops D and K, with the

Osages and scouts and forty sharp-shooters under Adjutant Cook—was to

approach the village from the point where they then stood.

Not a sound was to be made, not a shot fired, not a signal given. The

attack would be delivered at dawn. When they heard the bugler sounding

the charge in the still air of the morning they were to rush in

immediately. In order not to impede their movements the men were

directed to remove their overcoats and leave them in care of the guard

in the rear before the attack was delivered. Then, after hearty

handshakes and whispered salutations, the officers assembled their

several squadrons and silently started out upon the long detours

necessary to enable them to reach their designated positions.

The Indian village was located in the valley of a small river in the

Indian Territory, an affluent of the Canadian called the Washita. It was

in a deep depression, below the surrounding country, and was well

sheltered by trees on the banks of the stream, here easily fordable. By

the time all preparations had been made in Custer’s own detachment it

still wanted some four hours to dawn. The troops with Custer had nothing

to do but wait where they were, and a weary, freezing wait it was. So

insistent was the general that there should be no noise that he refused

to allow the men even to beat their breasts to keep up circulation, or

to stamp their feet to ward off the numbing cold. Conversation was

forbidden. They were dealing with a warrior who was the most watchful of

foemen, with men who could detect an enemy, as the Osage had the fire a

mile away, seemingly by instinct. They must take every precaution. The

men dismounted and stood uncomplainingly by the side of their horses.

Some of them wrapped themselves in their overcoats, and attaching their

bridle reins to their wrists, lay down on the ground and actually went

to sleep.

About an hour before dawn Custer despatched the last squadron under

Captain Myers, who had but a short distance to go, and then, as the

first pale grayness of the morning began to steal over the eastern hills

and mingle with the moonlight, he gave orders to call the troops to

attention. The first sergeants went through the ranks and by a touch of

the hand woke the sleeping men. Stiff and numb with the cold, they

staggered to their feet, took off their overcoats, left them under the

care of a small guard, and mounted their horses. Their sabers had been

left behind and they were armed with revolvers and Spencer carbines. The

officers quickly formed up their troops and with whispered words placed

themselves at the head.

The troops were deployed in line, Hamilton’s squadron to the right,

West’s to the left. Cook’s sharp-shooters were about forty yards in

advance of the left, dismounted, their horses being left with the guard.

Some distance in front of all the rest rode Custer. Following him was

his bugler. Next to the bugler was the indomitable regimental band. The

orders were, in Hamilton’s last words, “Now men, keep cool; fire low,

and not too rapidly.”

The Osages had been somewhat doubtful as to the issue of the attack.

They had made medicine, war-painted themselves and arrayed themselves

for battle, but with a great deal of trepidation. They expected the

white soldiers would be beaten, and they reasoned that in that case

their allies would endeavor to purchase their own salvation by

surrendering the Osages to the vengeance of their enemies. They

determined to take such a position as would enable them to be governed

by circumstances in their movements—so they could either fight or fly.

They knew the reverence with which the soldiers regarded their flag.

Never having been in action with the white man, they concluded that the

flag would be kept in a place of safety and if they stood religiously

close to the banner they would be in a good position to attack or

retreat as circumstances required. Consequently, they rallied on the

flag. For once the red man’s reasoning led him into trouble, for, as it

happened, and as it was to be expected, the flag was in the thick of the

fight, and, to give them credit, after they saw their mistake and saw no

means of rectifying it, the Osages fought as bravely and as efficiently

as the rest.

The command went silently down the hill, making for the center of the

valley and the trees where lay the Indian camp. The excitement of the

situation was intense. Nobody knew just what he was about to encounter.

No one could tell whether the other troops had succeeded in getting

within supporting distance or not. But Custer knew his officers, and he,

rightly in this instance—alas, that it might not have been so in other

cases!—depended upon them. Nearer and nearer the line approached the

village. Clearer and clearer came the light from the pale sky. Little,

hazy clouds of smoke floated above the tepees under the trees, but aside

from that there was yet no evidence of life among them.

However cautiously it was conducted the advance of such a body of men

over the snow made a great deal of noise. They had come so near the camp

that they could not hope to remain undiscovered another moment. At the

instant Custer was about to give the signal a rifle shot was heard on

the other side of the camp. At first it was thought to be an accidental

discharge from one of the other attacking parties. It was afterward

learned that shot was fired by Black Kettle himself, who had heard the

noise of the advancing troops, for every squadron had reached its

appointed place, and practically at the same time they commenced their

advance upon the devoted town. So soon as the crack of the rifle broke

upon the still air the bugle sounded the charge.

With the first notes Custer turned to the band. Each trumpeter had his

trumpet to his lips, each drummer his drum-sticks in the air.

“Play!” he shouted, and for the first time in action the stirring notes

of the tune now peculiar to the Seventh Cavalry as its battle

music—“Garry Owen”—broke on the air. Three answering bugle calls rang

out from the different squadrons on all sides of the village. The

cavalry charged, the dismounted soldiers advanced on the run. They all

cheered.

IV. The Attack in the Morning

The village was strung along the banks of the creek and the troopers

fell upon it like a storm. The Indians, completely surprised,

nevertheless did not lose a moment. They poured out of the lodges, and

seeking the shelter of the trees or standing knee-deep in the icy water

of the river, with the banks acting as rifle-pits, returned the fire of

the white men. A few of them succeeded in breaking away, but most of

them had to fight where they were, and right well they fought.

Brave Captain Hamilton, who had sought the detail with such zeal, was

shot from his horse and instantly killed. Captain Barnitz received a

wound through the breast under his heart. Here and there others fell.

Strict orders had been given to spare the women and children. Most of

the squaws and children remained hidden in the tepees. Others took part

in the defense. The various troops scattered throughout the village and

the fighting was hand-to-hand of a most vigorous character. Captain

Benteen, galloping forward, was approached by an Indian boy about

fourteen years of age on horseback. The boy was armed with a revolver.

As the captain drew near he called out to the lad that his life would be

safe if he would throw away his weapon. Fearing he could not understand

him he made peace signs to him. For reply the boy leveled his weapon and

shot at the captain. The bullet missed him. The Indian fired a second

time and the bullet cut through the sleeve of Benteen’s coat. The

captain was still making signs of amity and friendship when the boy

fired a third time and hit his horse. As he raised the pistol to fire a

fourth time the officer was forced to shoot him dead.

One squaw seized a little white boy, a captive, and broke for the river.

She got into hiding in some underbrush where she might have remained

unmolested, but such was her malignity that she busied herself by taking

pot-shots at the galloping troops with her revolver. They captured her

when her revolver was empty and then discovered that she had been

fighting them in spite of a broken leg.

The Indians rallied in certain places favorable for defense. In their

desperation seventeen braves threw themselves into a little depression

in the ground and refused to surrender, fighting until all were killed.

In a ravine running from the river thirty-eight made a heroic defense

until they were all shot. In all, one hundred and three were killed,

including Black Kettle, the chief.

The furious fighting had lasted one hour. The village was now in

possession of the troops. A number of officers and men had been wounded

and a temporary hospital was established in the middle of the village.

Details were sent through the lodges to rout out the squaws and

children, and a roll-call was ordered.

Custer was dismayed to find that Major Elliott and fourteen men,

including Sergeant-Major Kennedy and three corporals, were missing.

Where they had gone to no one at first could imagine. Finally a trooper

stated that a number of Indians had escaped in the gap between Elliott

and Thompson, and that he had seen Elliott with a few troopers break

away in pursuit of them. An order was given for a troop to search for

them, but before it could get away Indians were perceived in a heavy

force on the bluffs directly in front of the command. Custer had

succeeded in killing practically the whole of Black Kettle’s band, and

as the Indians who had escaped had been forced to run for their lives,

naked as they came from the lodges, he could not understand the

appearance, just out of range of his men, of this portentous and

constantly increasing force arrayed in full war panoply.

Inquiry among the captives disclosed the fact that the valley had been

chosen as the winter headquarters for the principal bands of the Kiowas,

Arapahoes, Cheyennes, “Dog Soldiers,”[49] Comanches, and even a

wandering band of Apaches. There were at least two thousand warriors in

this assemblage. At that moment the men who had been guarding the

overcoats and the lead horses came running in saying that they had been

driven off by a heavy force of Indians. The situation was indeed

critical.

Something had to be done at once. Custer dismounted his men, threw them

out in a half circle about the camp, and prepared for battle. The

Indians did not delay in delivering it. Led by Little Raven, an

Arapahoe, and Satanta,[50] a famous Kiowa, and Black Kettle’s successor,

Little Rock, they at once attacked. A fierce battle was on and Custer’s

ammunition was running low. The troops were now fighting for their

lives. They had not expected anything of this kind. Fortunately, at this

critical juncture a four-mule wagon came dashing through the Indian

line. The Indians, being occupied in fighting, did not observe it until

it was right upon them. Driving the wagon was Major Bell, the

quartermaster, from the train. With him was a small escort. He had

loaded the wagon with ammunition and galloped toward the sound of the

fighting. With the fresh supplies, therefore, the troops at last made a

bold charge which drove the Indians headlong down the valley, during

which Little Rock, striving to rally his braves, was killed.

Custer now set fire to the lodges, totally destroying them and their

contents. What to do with the ponies of the herd which had been captured

in spite of the efforts of the squaws to run off with them, was a

problem. It was impossible, under the circumstances, to drive them back

to the camp. To turn them loose would have allowed them to fall into the

hands of other Indians for use in future warfare. They had to be shot.

It was a most unpleasant and repulsive duty for the soldiers, but there

was no alternative. The whole herd was slaughtered. It took an hour and

a half to kill them, and those engaged in the work said they had never

done anything so harrowing and distressing.

By this time it was late in the afternoon. The Indians from the other

villages, finding they were pursued but a short distance, had

reassembled and once more prepared for attack. It was necessary for

Custer to retreat at once. He put every available man on horseback,

threw out skirmishing parties, the colors were brought up, the

indefatigable band started playing, and the party advanced gaily up the

valley toward the Indians. As he hoped and planned, they immediately

reasoned that he would not advance with such confidence against such an

overwhelming force, unless he was supported by heavy reinforcements to

his command. After a short resistance they broke and fled.

It was night by this time, and Custer lost no time in getting out of the

valley. The weather was still frightfully cold, and his men were without

their overcoats, for they had, of course, not recovered them, and were

almost perishing. They got back in safety, however, to Camp Supply,

having accomplished the object of their expedition in dealing a decisive

blow to the Indians. More than that, they had shown the Indians, who

trusted for immunity to the season, that winter and summer were alike to

the American soldier.

The Indian loss was one hundred and three killed in the village,

including Black Kettle; an unknown number, believed to be large, killed

and wounded during the all-day fighting, including Little Rock; the

capture of fifty-three squaws and children; eight hundred and

seventy-five ponies, eleven hundred and twenty-three buffalo robes and

skins; the destruction of over five hundred pounds of powder and one

thousand pounds of lead; four thousand arrows, seven hundred pounds of

tobacco, besides rifles, pistols, saddle-bows, lariats, immense

quantities of dried beef, and other winter provisions; in short, the

complete destruction of the village and the annihilation of the band.

The losses of the regiment in the engagements were one officer and

fourteen men missing (Elliott and his party), one officer and five men

killed, three officers and eleven men wounded. General Sheridan called

the affair the most complete and satisfactory battle ever waged against

the Indians to that time.

Custer had marched through that blizzard and over the snow-clad plains

to victory. His stealthy approach, the skill with which he had

surrounded the village, the strength with which the attack had been

delivered, and the battle which he had fought with the unexpected Indian

force, the ruse by which he had extricated himself, and, last but not

least, Bell’s gallant dash with the ammunition wagon, were all given the

highest praise. And well they merited it.

One or two incidents of the battle are worthy of especial mention. When

the troops obtained possession of the village, they found the dead body

of a white woman. The fact that she still had some vestige of civilized

clothing upon her, quite new, proved that she had been but recently

captured. She had been shot dead by the Indians at the moment of attack

to prevent her rescue; and there was also the body of a little white

child, who had been killed by those who had him in charge, lest he

should be returned to his family again.

The squaws, of course, were in great terror. They thought they would be

instantly put to death when they were routed from their tepees. Black

Kettle’s sister, Mah-wis-sa, who seemed to be the leading woman of the

village, made a long oration to Custer, telling him that she was a good

Indian, and that she had tried to restrain Black Kettle in his nefarious

career—which was all a lie, of course. She wound up by bringing the

comeliest of the young Indian maidens to Custer, and, after solemnly

placing the hand of the girl in that of the General, mumbled some kind

of a gibberish over the two. The General observed Romeo standing near

with a broad grin upon his face, and asked him what Mah-wis-sa was

doing. He was told that she was marrying him to the beauty of the tribe

to propitiate him. That marriage did not stand.

V. The Fate of Elliott and his Men

The fate of Elliott’s detachment remained a mystery. His comrades hoped

that he had escaped, but as the days passed and he did not return to the

regiment, and as nothing was heard from him, they abandoned hope in

despair. This was not, by any means, the end of the winter campaigning;

and some time after, Custer and his men, this time heavily reinforced,

again marched up the valley of the Washita. A short distance from the

place where Black Kettle’s band had been annihilated they found the

remains of Elliott and his men. The evidence of the field and what was

afterward learned from Indian captives told the sad story.

Pursuing the fleeing Indians, Elliott and his party suddenly ran into

the midst of a horde of braves coming down the valley to help Black

Kettle and the men who had been engaged with Custer. To fly was

impossible. They dismounted from their horses, formed themselves in a

semicircle a few feet in diameter, stood back to back, as it were, and

fought until they died. There were evidences of a terrible conflict all

around them. Right dearly had they sold their lives.

The last survivor of that gallant little band had been Sergeant-Major

Kennedy, the finest soldier in the regiment. He was not wounded, it

appeared, but had expended all his ammunition for both rifle and

revolver. Being an officer, he wore a sword. Seeing him, as they

supposed, helpless, the Indians resolved to take him alive for the

purpose of torturing him. There was not a soldier who knew of the habits

of the Indians who would not chose death to captivity any time. The

brave Kennedy stood alone in the midst of the bodies of his comrades,

fronting death, sword in hand. I like to think of the courage of that

heroic man in the midst of that savage, ravening assemblage.

With wily treachery the Indians made peace signs, and walked toward him

with hands outstretched, saying: “How, How!” Kennedy, who knew the true

value of such proceedings, waited until the chief of the band approached

him nearly, then thrust his sword up to the hilt into the Indian’s

breast. When they found Kennedy’s body he had been pierced by no less

than twenty bullets. The other troopers had received one or two bullet

wounds each. They were all stripped, scalped, and mutilated.[51]

There was a great outcry when this battle became known, and Custer was

accused of slaughtering helpless, inoffensive, gentle Indians! Unmerited

obloquy was heaped upon him, but those who lived near enough to feel the

effects of the Red Scourge realized that he had done for the settlers

the best thing that could be done. People who knew, and his superior

officers, not only sustained but commended him.

Custer again, in command of a much larger force, surprised a more

populous village later in this same winter. It was completely in his

power. He could have wiped it from the face of the earth, although it

contained a force of Indians nearly equal to his own; but he stayed his

hand, and said he would spare the savages if they would deliver to him

two wretched women, one a young bride, the other a young girl, whom they

held in captivity and for whose deliverance the campaign had been

undertaken. By masterly skill Custer captured Satanta the Infamous, and

held him until the captives were given up. With the expedition was the

brother of one of the captives. Custer tells, in his simple, terse

manner, with what feelings that whole army watched the poor women

brought into camp, and how the boy, the last of his family, stood

trembling by the general’s side until he recognized, in one of the

wrecks of humanity which the Indians handed over, the sister whom he was

seeking.[52] The red-headed cook, referred to above, was with the army

again, and proved herself, in her rude way, an angel of mercy and

tenderness to these, her wretched sisters.

-----

Footnote 45:

This statement has been called in question. The facts are taken from

Custer’s farewell order to his division, April 19, 1865, as published

in Captain Frederick Whittaker’s “Complete Life of General George A.

Custer,” Sheldon & Co., New York, 1876. There is no possible doubt as

to the correctness of the statement.

Footnote 46:

It is interesting, in view of his great services to his country, to

learn that the first American ancestor of the Custer family was a

Hessian officer who was captured at Saratoga in 1777.

Footnote 47:

Killed in the Battle

Footnote 48:

Mo-ke-ta-va-ta.—Letter from Mr. W. H. Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of

American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institution.

Footnote 49:

Dog Soldiers were bands of especially ruthless Indians who could not

brook even tribal restraint. They included members of different tribes

and were unusually formidable. Possibly they got their name from a

perversion of Cheyennes, _i.e._ Chiens-dogs. Another account describes

them as a sort of mercenary police at the service of a chief of a

tribe, with which he enforced his commands upon the recalcitrant and

generally kept order. In any case they were men of exceptional courage

and bravery.

Footnote 50:

A corruption of Set-t’á-iñt-e, “White Bear.”—Letter from Mr. W. H.

Holmes, Chief of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian

Institution.

Footnote 51:

“Our Wild Indians,” Colonel Richard I. Dodge, U.S.A.

Footnote 52:

“... and at the last the brief reference to that episode when he

(Custer) let glory of battle go, to save two white women!

“Has any one told you that the long line of soldiers and officers

drawn up to witness the return of the two captives wept like women,

and were not ashamed when the poor creatures came into the lines? Will

you not write that story up some day, Dr. Brady? I will give you some

addresses of officers who were eye-witnesses. They cannot seem to put

such a picture before the public, but they do talk well.”—Private

letter to me from the wife of an officer present on the occasion

noted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Carr and Tall Bull at Summit Springs

I. A Brilliant Little Fight

General Eugene A. Carr, in command of the Fifth Cavalry, did some

brilliant skirmishing and fighting in 1868–9 western Kansas and

Colorado. His most notable exploit was the surprise of Tall Bull’s camp.

Next to Black Kettle, Tall Bull was probably the most vicious and

diabolical of the Indian raiders in these two states.

Carr, with five troops of the Fifth Cavalry and with W. F. Cody (Buffalo

Bill) as chief guide, learning where Tall Bull’s camp was, marched one

hundred and fifty miles in four days in pursuit of him. Halting when he

believed he had reached the vicinity of the camp, he sent Buffalo Bill

with some of his Pawnee Indian auxiliaries to find out exactly where the

Indians were located.

Cody, having discovered the location of the village, returned to General

Carr and advised him to take a wider detour, keeping his forces

concealed among the hills, so that he could approach the Indians from

the north, a direction from which they would not be expecting attack,

and whence they might be the more easily surprised. The advice was

followed, the command made its encircling march without detection, and

formed up in line of troops, each troop two abreast, in the ravines

about twelve hundred yards from the village.

They were between the Indians and the Platte River. The camp was located

at Summit Springs, Colorado. Every preparation having been made, Carr

ordered the bugler to sound the charge. The man was so excited that he

was unable to produce a note. Twice Carr gave the command. Finally,

Quartermaster Hayes snatched the bugle from the agitated musician and

sounded the charge himself, and the whole regiment rushed out into the

open.

The Indians made for their ponies and advanced to meet the charge. The

rush of the soldiers was too threatening, however. After a hasty fire

they broke and fled on their horses, the whole party, soldiers and

Indian scouts, following after at full speed through the village. The

attack was a complete success. Fifty-two Indians were killed, two

hundred and seventy-four horses and one hundred and forty-five mules

were captured. The soldiers had one man wounded, with no other

casualties.

In the camp were found the bodies of two unfortunate white women, who

had been captured. Swift as had been the dash of the soldiers, the

Indians had taken time to brain one of the women with a war-club, while

the second was shot in the breast and left for dead. She was given every

possible attention by the soldiers, who took her back to Fort Sedgwick,

and her life was eventually spared. Her sufferings and treatment had

been beyond description. Fifteen hundred dollars in money—in gold,

silver, and greenbacks—strange to say, had been found in the camp. This

sum the soldiers, by permission of the general, donated to the poor

woman, as an expression of their sympathy for her.

According to some accounts, Tall Bull, who was chief of the camp, and

one of the head chiefs of the Sioux, was killed in this attack. Buffalo

Bill tells another story.[53] The day after the fight the various

companies of the Fifth Cavalry—which had remained in the camp all the

ensuing day and night, at the insistence of the plucky commander, in

spite of the pleas of some of the officers, who, fearing an attack in

force, suggested retiring immediately—separated in order the more

effectively to pursue the flying Indians. Several days after the

surprise the detachment for which Cody was guide was attacked by several

hundred Indians. The soldiers fought them off, killing a number. The

chief of this party was believed by Cody to be Tall Bull.

Buffalo Bill crept through a ravine for several hundred feet, unobserved

by the Indians, until he reached an opening whence he had the savages in

range. Watching his opportunity as the Indians were careering wildly

over the prairie, he drew a bead on the chief and shot him dead. Whether

that was Tall Bull or not, one fact is clear—that he was killed either

then or before, for he was certainly dead thereafter.

When the troops were following the Indian trails on the march to Summit

Springs, at every place where the Indians had camped they found marks of

white women’s shoes. It was this knowledge that gave additional

determination and fire to their magnificent attack.

General Carr deservedly gained great reputation for his dash and daring.

* * * * *

Here I include a letter describing this battle from the standpoint of a

soldier, which is a most interesting contribution to the story of the

affair:

II. Account of the Battle of Summit Springs

Written by J. E. Welch to his comrade, Colonel Henry O. Clark, of

Vermont.[54]

The next spring, 1869, I heard that General Eugene A. Carr, commanding a

detachment of the Fifth U. S. Cavalry, was organizing an expedition to

go after a large band of Indians (Sioux and Cheyennes) who had been

raiding and murdering through Colorado, New Mexico, and Kansas. Some

other fellows and myself went to Fort McPherson and offered our services

as volunteers to serve without pay. The general could not accept our

services, but he said we could go along and act with the scouts—so along

we went.

The expedition consisted of about four hundred cavalry, one hundred and

fifty Pawnee scouts, under Colonel Frank North, and about twenty

civilians. Buffalo Bill was the guide. He struck out for the Republican

River, and the first night after we got there the hostiles tried to

stampede our horses; they came near accomplishing their object, too, but

they only succeeded in wounding a teamster and killing a mule. Next day

we found the trail of their main body and followed it, but soon found

that we could not gain an inch on them; we kept on, however, until we

came to a place where the trail divided. The trail to the right was very

plain, while the one to the left was scattered and so dim it was evident

to the most inexperienced man in the command that the trail they

intended us to follow was the one to the right. So General Carr detached

two troops of cavalry and some Indians, under Major Royall, caused them

to make as big a show as possible and take the decoy trail, while the

main body was kept back in a low place for a day in order that any

hostile scouts who might be watching us would think the whole command

had gone on the decoy trail. Next day we started on the dim trail, and

before night we became satisfied that we were on the trail of the main

body of the hostiles. Major Royall followed the decoy trail until it

scattered, then turning the head of his column to the left he

intercepted and rejoined the command. We now found that we were gaining

on the game we were after. They evidently thought they had fooled us,

and were taking their time.

On the tenth of July we marched sixty-five miles, passing three of their

camps. On the eleventh we were on the march before daylight. The trail

was hot, the Indians making for the Platte. Every one knew that if they

succeeded in crossing the river the game was up. By noon we had marched

thirty-five miles, at which time Buffalo Bill, who had been far in

advance of the command all day, was seen approaching as fast as his

tired horse could come. As soon as he reached the column he called for a

fresh horse, and while transferring his saddle told General Carr that he

had encountered two bucks who were hunting and that the Indian camp was

about twelve miles ahead.

[Illustration]

GEN. GEORGE CROOK GEN. EUGENE A. CARR

GEN. ELWELL S. OTIS GEN. HENRY B. CARRINGTON

GROUP OF DISTINGUISHED GENERAL OFFICERS

The general, knowing the bucks who had been run off by Cody would make

every effort to reach their camp ahead of us in order to give the alarm,

gave the command “Trot.” Both horses and men seemed to brighten up, and

we put real estate behind us at a rapid rate. When within a mile of the

hostile camp a halt was called to let the Pawnees unsaddle, as they

flatly refused to go into action with saddles on their horses. They

began daubing their faces with paint and throwing off their clothing.

They were made to retain enough of the latter to enable us to

distinguish them from the hostiles. After this short delay we moved

forward at a sharp trot, and in a few moments we were looking down at

“Tall Bull’s” camp in a small valley below us. In a moment the camp was

alive with Indians running in every direction.

General Carr, taking in the situation at a glance, gave utterance to a

few words of command, winding up his remarks with the order, given loud

and clear and sharp:

“Charge!”

Every horse leaped forward at the word, and in a twinkling we were among

them and the fight was on. It did not last long. There was rapid firing

for about five minutes, when all was over except an occasional shot as

some fellow would find an Indian who had failed to secure a horse and

escape.

The result of the fight was about as following: no white men killed,

four or five horses killed, about one hundred and eighty-eight dead

Indians, forty of whom were squaws and children;[55] one hundred and

five lodges captured, many rifles, five tons of dried buffalo meat baled

for winter use, a very ample supply of ammunition, consisting of powder,

lead, etc., and a greater number and variety of brass kettles than I

ever saw before.

Of their live stock we captured five hundred and sixty head of ponies

and mules.

To pursue those who had fled was out of the question, our horses being

too badly done up. As we charged the camp, we saw a white woman run from

among the Indians, one of whom fired at her as she ran. We shouted to

her to lie down, which she did, our horses leaping over her without a

hoof touching her. She was wounded in her side, but not fatally. Almost

at the same moment we saw an Indian seize another white woman by the

hair and brain her with a tomahawk. Some of us rode straight for that

Indian, and there was not a bone left in his dead carcass that was not

broken by a bullet. I dismounted in the midst of the hubbub to see if I

could help the woman, but the poor creature was dead. (She had the

appearance of being far gone in pregnancy.) I mounted my horse again

with a very good stomach for a fight.

After firing a few shots, I happened to see a Red mounted on a large

paint pony making off by himself, and driving four fine mules ahead of

him. I gave chase and gained on him rapidly, which he soon perceived,

dropping his mules and doing the best he could to get away. But it was

no use. “Sam,” my horse, was Kentucky bred, and walked right up on him.

When I was within seventy-five or one hundred yards of him he wheeled

his horse and fired, the bullet passing through the calf of my leg and

into my horse. The Indian threw his gun away and rode at me like a man,

discharging arrows as he came. The third arrow split my left ear right

up to my head. It was then my turn, and I shot him through the head.

This Indian’s name was “Pretty Bear.” He was chief of a band of

Cheyennes. The Pawnees knew him and were anxious to secure his scalp,

which I was glad to give them as I soon became disgusted with the

ghastly trophy. “Pretty Bear” had on his person the badge of a Royal

Arch Mason, with West Springfield, Ill., engraved on it. I sent the

badge to the postmaster at Springfield with a statement as to how it

came into my possession. “Pretty Bear” had five or six scalps on the

trail of his shield, one of which was that of a woman. The hair was

brown, very long, and silken.

“Tall Bull,” the Sioux chief, was killed by Lieutenant Mason, who rode

up to him and shot him through the heart with a derringer. After I had

taken the scalp of “Pretty Bear” I found that Sam was shot through the

bowels. I unsaddled him and turned him loose to die, but he followed me

like a dog and would put his head against me and push, groaning like a

person. I was forced to shoot him to end his misery. I had to try two or

three times before I could do it. At first to save my life I could not

do it. He kept looking at me with his great brown eyes. When I did fire

he never knew what hurt him. He was a splendid horse, and could do his

mile in 1.57.

My wounds being slight, I rustled around and soon managed to catch a

small mule, which I mounted bareback, intending to scout around a

little. I did not carry out my intention, however. The brevet horse ran

into the middle of the Indian camp, threw me into a big black mud-hole,

my boot was full of blood, my ear had bled all over one side of me, so

that when I crawled out of that mud-hole I was just too sweet for

anything. By this time the fight was over. A friend of mine, Bill

Steele, went with me to the spring that ran into the mud-hole, where he

washed me as well as he could, bandaged my leg, sewed my ear together

with an awl and some linen thread. He made a good job of it, and I was

all right except that my leg was a little sore and stiff.

After the fight we found we had one hundred and seventeen prisoners,

four squaws, and fifteen children. They were turned over to the Pawnees.

The Pawnees did not fight well. They skulked and killed the women and

children. I have never seen Indians face the music like white men. We

camped where we were that night. Men were coming into camp all night. In

fact, they did not reach the scene of action until about ten o’clock

next day. They were fellows who had been left along the trail by reason

of their horses giving out.

Our first duty next day was to bury the poor woman they had so foully

murdered the day before. Not having a coffin, we wrapped her in a

buffalo robe. General Carr read the funeral service and the cavalry

sounded the funeral dirge, and as the soft, mournful notes died away

many a cheek was wet that had long been a stranger to tears. The other

woman was found to be all right with the exception of a wound in the

side. She was a German, unable to speak English. Both of the women had

been beaten and outraged in every conceivable manner. Their condition

was pitiful beyond any power of mine to portray.

The Indian camp and everything pertaining thereto was destroyed, after

which we took up our line of march for Fort Sedgwick, where we arrived

in due time without any mishap.

I think it just as impossible to make a civilized man of the Indian as

it would be to make a shepherd dog of a wolf, or a manly man of a dude.

They do not in my opinion possess a single trait that elevates a man

above a brute. They are treacherous, cowardly, and ungrateful, Cooper to

the contrary notwithstanding. I knew a Greek in Arizona who came to the

country with camels for the government. After the camels died he married

an Apache squaw, learned the language, and was employed by the United

States government as an interpreter. This man told me that in the Apache

dialect there was no word, or combination of words, whereby they could

convey the idea that we do by using the word _Gratitude_. What do you

think of that?

Well, old man, I have been writing half the night, and have only got as

far as the 11th of July ’69. I am discouraged, and right here I quit you

like a steer in the road. How long am I to wait for that picture? I am

curious to see how much of a change old dad Time has wrought in you. He

has played h—l with me.

As ever,

J. E. WELCH.

P. S. The photo has come. I could have known you anywhere. You have

changed a little—for the better, I think.

J. E. W.

-----

Footnote 53:

I have written several times to General Carr, asking information as to

this and other points, but have not received any.—C. T. B.

Footnote 54:

This letter, which is dated Edith, Coke County, Texas; June 16, 1891,

was furnished me for publication by Dr. T. E. Oertel. I am informed

that the writer has since died.—C. T. B.

Footnote 55:

These figures, which are evidently from memory, are certainly in

error.—C. T. B.