Yet the troopers suffered great loss as the afternoon wore on. Their

ammunition began to run low, and the contracting, whirling circle of

Indians drove them closer and closer together. The remaining horses of

the other three troops were at last stampeded, and with them went all of

the reserve ammunition. The situation had evidently become so serious

that Custer, in the vain hope that Reno would understand his peril at

last, fired the two volleys which have been referred to. It appears at

this time that he must have endeavored to send a message to Reno, for

the body of a solitary soldier, Sergeant Butler, was found after the

battle at a point half way between Custer’s and Reno’s commands. A

little heap of cartridges lay near his body, evidencing that he had sold

his life dearly. The Indians were acute enough—so they say, and probably

with truth—to pick out the officers with Custer, and the mortality among

them was fearful. It was evident to all on the hill, as the afternoon

drew toward its close, that they were doomed. It was hardly possible

that a counterattack by Reno would save them now, and there were no

evidences whatever that he was anywhere in the vicinity.

“Where, in God’s name,” they must have asked themselves in their

despair, “can Reno be?”

One of the Crow scouts has said—although his account is generally

disbelieved—that he went at last to Custer, as yet unharmed, and told

him that he thought he could get him away, and that Custer, of course,

refused to leave the field. The Crow altered his appearance by draping a

blanket about him so as to look as much like a Sioux as possible, and in

the confusion of the fight got away safely.[86] He was the only human

survivor of the field.[87] What occurred after is a matter of

conjecture, based upon the contradictory and inadequate testimony of the

Indians themselves.

Gall and Crazy Horse now determined to end the affair. Massing their

warriors in the ravine, they fell on both flanks at the same time that

Crow King and Rain-in-the-Face led a direct charge against the front of

the thinned and weakened line. They swept over the little band of men,

probably now out of ammunition, in a red wave of destruction. There was

a fierce hand-to-hand struggle with clubbed guns, war-clubs, and

tomahawks, and all was over. Some twenty or thirty men, without their

officers, who had probably all been killed where they stood, for their

bodies were found grouped around that of Custer on the highest hill,

endeavored to break through on the right. They were slaughtered to a man

before they reached the river. A few scattered bodies, here and there in

different parts of the field, indicated that separate men had made

futile dashes for freedom. But the bulk of the command was found just

where it had fought, with _the troopers in line, their officers in

position_! They had been beaten and killed. Not an officer or man lived

to tell the story, but they had not been disgraced.

There, the second day afterward, Terry, with Gibbon, having relieved

Reno’s men, found them on the hills which they had immortalized by their

desperate valor. They had been stripped and most of them mutilated.

Custer’s body was shot in two places, in the side and in the temple. It

was not scalped or mutilated. Colonel Dodge, an authority on Indian

customs, declares that if Custer’s body was neither scalped nor

mutilated, he is convinced that the general committed suicide. None of

the officers with whom I have communicated who inspected the body is

willing to indorse this statement; on the contrary. Therefore, I am sure

Colonel Dodge must be in error. The Indians give no particular

information as to Custer’s death. All that is known is that his body was

there with those of his brave men.

With Custer in that fight perished many gallant souls. His brother,

Captain Tom Custer, was the only man in the United States Army who held

two medals for capturing two flags with his own hands in the Civil War.

Rain-in-the-Face had accomplished his terrible revenge, for after the

battle he had cut open the breast of the brave young soldier and had

eaten his heart. Calhoun, of L Troop, was Custer’s brother-in-law. With

him was young Crittenden, a lieutenant of infantry, who had sought an

assignment with Custer for this campaign. Smith was the captain of E,

the Gray Horse Troop. At the storming of Fort Fisher, after two

color-bearers had been killed, he had led his regiment to the attack,

colors in hand. His shoulder had been smashed by a musket ball in that

attack. He could never afterward put on his coat without assistance.

With him was young Sturgis. Yates, a veteran of the Civil War, was

captain of F, the Bandbox Troop; and with him was Riley, the youngest

lieutenant there. Keogh, of I Troop, the oldest soldier of them all, and

not the least brave, had been an officer of the Papal Zouaves in early

life. He had a gallant record in the Civil War, too. With him was

Porter, and with the others who had done their parts were Cook, the

adjutant, and Lord, the doctor.

Others worthy of note fell on that fatal field: Mark Kellogg, a

newspaper correspondent; Charlie Reynolds, the famous scout; Boston

Custer, the General’s brother, who was civilian forage-master of the

regiment, and Autie Reed, the General’s nephew—a mere boy, who wanted to

see something of life in the West and who had welcomed with joy his

opportunity to make the campaign. Well, he saw it, poor fellow! Indeed,

the Custer family was almost wiped out on that fatal Sunday.

Premonitions of disaster, such as loving women may feel, were in the air

that afternoon. Back at Fort Abraham Lincoln, the devoted wife tells how

the women of the garrison assembled in her quarters in an agony of

apprehension. There were words of prayer. Some one at the piano started

“Nearer My God to Thee,” and the women tried to sing it, but they could

not finish it. It was not until the 5th of July that they received the

news that at that very hour their loved ones were dying on the hill.

[Illustration:

_Courtesy of The Century Co._

]

LIEUT. H. M. ADJ. W. W. COOK[88] LIEUT. J. J.

HARRINGTON[88] CRITTENDEN[89]

LIEUT. J. E. PORTER[88] LIEUT. J. STURGIS[88] LIEUT. DONALD

McINTOSH[90]

LIEUT. W. VAN W. LIEUT. BENJ. HODGSON[90]

RILEY[88]

OFFICERS OF THE SEVENTH CAVALRY

All killed at the Little Big Horn

V. After the Battle

On the morning of the 27th of June Terry and Gibbon rescued Reno. The

next day the surviving troops of the regiment, with some individuals

from the other command, marched to the scene of Custer’s defeat to

identify and bury the dead. The bodies upon the dry grass had all been

stripped and left, white and ghastly save for the red stains of wounds.

The bodies of Doctor Lord, Lieutenants Porter, Harrington, and Sturgis,

with those of a number of men, were not recovered. What became of them

is not known to this day. They may have been captured alive and taken by

the Indians to the village, and there tortured to death and their bodies

disposed of. This, however, is unlikely. The Indians positively deny

that they took any prisoners, and it is probable that they did not.

There are quicksands near the bed of the Little Big Horn, and possibly

those bodies were engulfed in them. But all this is only surmise. No one

can tell anything about it, except that they were undeniably killed. And

we may be certain they died as brave men should.

They buried two hundred and twelve bodies on the hill, and the total

losses of the regiment in the two days of fighting were two hundred and

sixty-five killed and fifty-two wounded—over fifty per cent. The losses

of the Indians were never ascertained. They did not, however, begin to

equal those of the soldiers. It is grossly unfair to speak of the battle

as the “Custer Massacre,” as is often done. Custer attacked the Indians,

and they fought him until all the white men were killed. There was no

massacre about it.

The cause of the disaster must, first of all, be laid to Custer’s

disobedience of orders. In spite of that, however, I think it is

probable that he might have won the battle, or at least made good his

defense until relieved by Terry and Gibbon, although sustaining heavy

loss, had it not been for three happenings. The first was the vastly

greater number of Indians in the field than any one expected to

encounter. The next, and to me this is absolutely decisive, was Reno’s

failure to press his attack. If he had gone in with the dashing

gallantry which was expected of him, while it is certain that he could

not alone have whipped the Indians, yet he could have so disorganized

them as to have maintained his position in the valley in the midst of

the village without the greatest difficulty, until Custer could fall

upon the rear of those attacking him, and Benteen, with the pack train,

could reinforce them both. The Indians say that they were demoralized

for the time being by Reno’s sudden appearance, and that the squaws were

packing up getting ready for flight when the weakness of Reno’s advance

encouraged them to try to overwhelm him. Custer had a right to expect

that Reno would do his duty as a soldier and take a bold course—which

was, as usual, the only safe course.

Colonel Godfrey, in his account, suggests still a third cause. The

carbines of the troopers did not work well. When they became clogged and

dirty from rapid firing, the ejectors would not throw out the shells,

and the men frequently had to stop and pick out the shells with a knife.

The chambers of the carbines at that time were cylindrical, and the

easily accumulated dirt on the cartridges clogged them so that the

ejectors would not work properly. The chambers were afterward made

conical, with good results. The Indians had no such trouble. Their

weapons were newer and better than those of the soldiers. If the

indifferent weapons of the troopers failed them, their annihilation in

any event would have been certain.[91]

I have censured Custer somewhat severely in this article, and it is a

pleasure to me to close it with a quotation from Captain Whittaker’s

life of his old commander. In this quotation Lawrence Barrett, the

eminent actor, who was an old and intimate friend of Custer, has

summarized the character of the brave captain in exquisitely apposite

language; and, in his words, I say good-by to the gallant soldier whose

errors were atoned for by an heroic death in the high places of the

field:

“His career may be thus briefly given: He was born in obscurity; he rose

to eminence; denied social advantages in his youth, his untiring

industry supplied them; the obstacles to his advancement became the

steppingstones to his fortunes; free to choose for good or evil, he

chose rightly; truth was his striking characteristic ... his acts found

his severest critic in his own breast; he was a good son, a good

brother, a good and affectionate husband, a Christian soldier, a

steadfast friend. Entering the army a cadet in early youth, he became a

general while still on the threshold of manhood; with ability undenied,

with valor proved on many a hard-fought field, he acquired the affection

of the nation; and he died in action at the age of thirty-seven, died as

he would have wished to die, no lingering disease preying upon that iron

frame. At the head of his command, the messenger of death awaited him;

from the field of battle where he had so often ‘directed the storm,’ his

gallant spirit took its flight. Cut off from aid, abandoned in the midst

of incredible odds ... the noble Custer fell, bequeathing to the nation

his sword; to his comrades an example; to his friends a memory, and to

his beloved a Hero’s name.”

* * * * *

NOTE.—The question concerning Custer’s conduct is so important a one

that I have included in Appendix A the opinions, pro and con, of several

officers with whom I have corresponded; and in which I have indicated

some other sources of information by which the reader may settle the

debatable question for himself.

-----

Footnote 78:

Charles A. Eastman, M. D., a full-blooded Sioux, a graduate of

Dartmouth and the Boston University School of Medicine, who has

published an interesting account of the battle from his investigations

among the Sioux. See _The Chautauquan_, Vol. XXXI., No. 4, July, 1900.

Footnote 79:

Killed with Custer at the Little Big Horn

Footnote 80:

General G. A. Forsyth.

Footnote 81:

The unanimous testimony of the Indians who have discussed the battle

subsequently is that they were panic-stricken by Reno’s approach, and

would have fled if his attack had been pressed home. This is about the

only statement upon which the Indians all agree.

Footnote 82:

This statement is elsewhere denied.

Footnote 83:

DeRudio and one other man joined the command on the night of June

26th; the others succeeded in crossing the river to Reno’s position

late in the afternoon.

Footnote 84:

“The splendid officers of the Seventh, who had followed Custer so

faithfully, begged Major Reno to let them try to join the general.

They cried like women, they swore, they showed their contempt of that

coward, but the discipline of their lives as soldiers prevented them

disobeying until it was too late. You know Colonel Weir and Lieutenant

Edgerly tried.”—Private letter to me from the wife of an officer who

was killed in the battle.

Footnote 85:

Not the Reno’s Creek referred to above, down which Reno marched to the

Little Big Horn. This Reno’s Creek may be seen in the largest map

between Reno’s final position and the Custer Hill, where the general’s

battalion was overwhelmed.

Footnote 86:

It is believed that this man, who was named Curley, secreted himself

in a ravine, before the fighting began, and stole away at nightfall.

Footnote 87:

Captain Keogh’s horse “Comanche,” badly wounded, was found on the

field the second day after the battle. His life was saved, and for

many years he was the particular pet of the regiment.

Footnote 88:

Killed with Custer.

Footnote 89:

20th Infantry, attached to Custer’s command. Killed.

Footnote 90:

Killed with Reno.

Footnote 91:

It is possible that if Custer had kept the regiment together, he would

have won the battle; but this is by no means certain, and authorities

differ. I think he would have been forced eventually on the defensive.

CHAPTER SIX

One of the Last Men to See Custer Alive

Mr. Theodore W. Goldin, of Janesville, Wisconsin, formerly a trooper of

the Seventh Cavalry, now Chairman of the Republican State Central

Committee of Wisconsin, was the last, or perhaps the next to the last,

man to see Custer alive. He has prepared an account of his personal

experiences in the battle, which is one of the most interesting of the

contributions that have been made to this volume. His description of the

death of Hodgson is splendidly dramatic, as is his story of the brief

conversations between Custer and Keogh, Reno and Weir, and Benteen and

Wallace.

What a magnificent picture is that presented by Hodgson, determined to

retreat no longer, facing about, drawing his revolver, and dying at

last, face to the foe, weapon in hand! Mr. Goldin contradicts the

popular impression, as repeated by Colonel Godfrey and others, that Reno

threw away his pistols in his “charge.”

Milwaukee, Wis., August 11, 1904.

My Dear Sir:—

I am in receipt of your letters of July 28th and August 2d, asking

me for a few reminiscences of personal experiences and touching on

my acquaintance and knowledge of Gen. Custer and his last fight.

The years that have elapsed since that stirring event may have

somewhat dimmed my recollections, and the time at my disposal at

this time is so very limited, that what I may say must, of

necessity, be somewhat fragmentary. Your articles on this subject,

as well as the entire series, have been read with great interest,

and I am very much pleased to know they are to be published in book

form.

In reply to your request, I will say that I had known Gen. Custer

from the time I joined the regiment in 1873 up to the time of his

tragic death, and had campaigned with him and with the regiment with

the exception of the year 1875, when the troop to which I was

attached was stationed in the South.

Early in the spring of ’76, we received word that an expedition was

being organized against the Sioux, and that three large columns were

to take the field, and a few weeks later our marching orders came,

and our battalion changed station from near Shreveport, La., to Fort

Lincoln, D. T.

At the time of our arrival Gen. Custer was in Washington before some

investigating committee, and only joined the regiment a few days

before our column took the field, he having been ordered under

arrest at Chicago while en-route from Washington.

I will not take the time or space to touch on our march from Fort

Lincoln to the Yellowstone, which we struck near the mouth of the

Powder River. Here we remained a few days while outfitting our pack

train, as it had been determined that we would abandon our wagons

here and establish a supply camp. Maj. Reno had left us a few days

before on a scout, expecting to rejoin us near the mouth of the

Tongue River on June 17th.

After arranging to leave our wagon train and some dismounted

recruits and the regimental band at the Powder River, we moved camp

to the mouth of the Tongue, where we lay on the 17th of June, the

day on which Gen. Crook had his big fight with the Indians on the

Rosebud. During the day we watched every distant dust cloud that

whirled across the river bottom, hoping that it meant the approach

of Maj. Reno’s command, but as nothing was heard from him, we broke

camp on the morning of the 18th and moved up the valley, where we

effected a junction with Reno soon after noon. During the previous

days we could not help but note the fact that Gen. Custer seemed

moody and discontented, and, entirely different from his usual

habit, appeared nervous and excited to some extent.

When Reno came in with his report he became a changed man. His

old-time energy and snap were made apparent by the manner in which

he hustled the command into marching order and took the trail for

the Rosebud, where Gen. Terry on our supply steamer the “Far West”

had already preceded us in the hope of striking the command of Gen.

Gibbon, who was known to be somewhere in that vicinity. Our march

was prolonged far into the night, but we finally struck the

Yellowstone and went into camp, assured that if the steamer was

below us we were bound to intercept it.

The following morning we were in the saddle early, and soon after

noon we sighted the wagon train of Gen. Gibbon’s command moving

slowly up the river and a few moments later the “Far West” steamed

into sight. Couriers were sent out to advise them of the fact that

Reno had discovered the trail of a considerable body of Indians, and

in a short time we were in camp near the mouth of the Rosebud and a

council of war was held at which we understood that Reno’s report

was discussed in detail.

The following day arrangements were made for a vigorous campaign. A

final council was held on the steamer on the night of the 21st, as I

now recollect it, at which time Gen. Custer received his final

orders, substantially as you have stated them. At this council, and

just about the time it was breaking up, the question was asked Gen.

Gibbon as to what time he could reach the mouth of the Little Big

Horn River, and he replied,

“Not before noon of the 26th.”

At this conference it was reported that Custer had been offered the

battalion of the Second Cavalry and the artillery which had been

brought up on the steamer, but declined both, claiming that he knew

his command so well that he preferred to trust himself with them

alone, and that he feared the artillery might delay his march when

nearly in presence of the enemy. Many of the officers and men felt

that it was but a part of a preconceived scheme to secure an

independent command, such as he had been used to having for years,

but be that as it may his request was granted.

On the afternoon of June 22d we passed in review before Gen. Terry

and Gen. Gibbon, and soon struck the trail described by Maj. Reno.

From that time until Reno struck the Indian village we did not

deviate from it except when it became necessary to find a

satisfactory camping ground. No attempt was made to scout the

country as we had been directed to do, nor was any attempt made to

send a courier across to Gen. Gibbon, although a man named Herndon,

a scout, had been attached to our command for that purpose.

Our marches were long and our movements very rapid until the night

of the 24th, when we moved off the trail some distance and

apparently settled down for the night. But this was only a ruse to

mislead the Indians, as we had received orders not to unpack our

saddles and to be prepared for a night march.

From the hour we left the Rosebud Gen. Custer acted in many respects

like another man, his old-time restless energy had returned, and he

seemed to think of nothing but to reach and strike the Indians. In

this connection it might be well to say that the trail we were

following led from the direction of the Missouri River and

indicated, according to the estimate of Bloody Knife and some of our

Crow scouts, a band of from a thousand to twelve hundred Indians,

whom we afterward learned came from the Missouri River agencies and

consisted almost entirely of warriors.

About eleven o’clock we received word to saddle up and lead into

line. In the meantime a scouting party of Crows and Rees, with some

of our officers, Lieut. Varnum and, I think, Lieut. Hare, had pushed

on ahead of us to scout the trail across the divide and seek to

locate the Indians if possible. Leaving our bivouac, we again struck

the trail and pushed forward, seeking to cross the divide and get

into the shelter of the foot-hills along the Little Big Horn before

daybreak the following morning. Owing to the roughness of the

country and the difficulty in scouting the trail, we were unable to

do this, and daybreak found us in a ravine at the foot of a range of

high bluffs, just how far from the river we did not know.

Some time during the night it was said Gen. Custer had pushed ahead

and joined the scouts, and that just after daybreak they told him

they had located the village in the valley of the Little Big Horn,

but Gen. Custer replied that he did not believe them. In the

meantime it became apparent that our presence in the country was

known, as, during the night a box of ammunition[92] had been lost

and a detachment sent back to recover it came across some Indians

trying to open the box. On this being reported to Gen. Custer, he

seemed to decide on an immediate advance.

In the talk, just about the time the division was made in the

command, Mitch Bowyer, a half-breed Crow interpreter, said to Gen.

Custer that he would find more Indians in that valley than he could

handle with his command. Custer replied that if he (Bowyer) was

afraid to go he could stay behind. Bowyer replied that he was not

afraid to go wherever Custer did, or something to that effect, but

that if they went in there neither of them would come out alive.

Just before the advance was made I was detailed by Lieut. McIntosh

to report to Gen. Custer for duty as orderly, and at once did so.

The general directed me to ride with Lieut. Cook, our regimental

adjutant, and perform any duties he might assign to me.

[Illustration:

_Copyright by D. F. Barry_

SITTING BULL

Chief Medicine Man of the Sioux Nation

]

During our brief halt the men had thrown themselves on the ground

and were most of them asleep, while the horses were grazing among

the sage brush. Gen. Custer ordered the advance, saying that the

company in each battalion first ready should have the right of the

line, and in a few minutes we were all in the saddle. During the

halt it had been ordered that Benteen with his battalion should move

off to the left, scouting the country in that direction, driving

before him any Indians he might discover, and sending word to the

command of anything he might find. Reno was to follow the trail,

while Gen. Custer with the five troops under him struck off to the

right, leaving McDougall with the pack train to follow as best he

could.

We immediately took up the line of march in accordance with these

orders, and after probably a half hour’s hard ride the impassibility

of some of the hills and ravines forced the column under Gen. Custer

to veer off to the left and we soon came up with the command of Maj.

Reno, which was pushing ahead on the trail as fast as the roughness

of the ascent would permit. After a hard climb we reached the top of

the ridge, where we saw before us a rolling plateau sloping off

toward the foot-hills of the river, which was perhaps some five or

six miles away.

As our command dashed over the divide we could see Reno some

distance in front of us, moving rapidly down the trail, while

several miles to our left was the command of Col. Benteen, scouting

the bluffs as he had been ordered. For some distance we followed the

general course of Reno’s advance, but were some distance in his rear

and to his right.

To those of us who were near him it seemed that Custer was chafing

at the apparent slowness of our advance, as he would at times dash

ahead of the column and then rein in and await our approach and

again off he would go. Just about this time we discovered a huge

dust cloud moving down the river valley, but could not determine the

nature of it. As soon as this was discovered Custer rode over toward

the river accompanied only by his orderly trumpeter, and stopped for

a moment on the top of a high pinnacle, where we saw him wave his

hat, apparently in salutation to some one in the distance, and then

come dashing back toward the head of the column which was headed by

Capt. Keogh and “I” Troop, veterans of a dozen fights. With his eyes

snapping in his excitement, Custer rode up to Keogh and said,

somewhat excitedly:

“Keogh, those Indians are running. If we can keep them at it we can

afford to sacrifice half the horses in the command.”

Calmly as though on dress parade, Keogh turned in his saddle and

looked back at the long line of eager, bronzed, bearded faces, and

turned to Custer with the remark:

“General, we will do all that man and horse can do.”

A moment later the bugles blared out the charge, the first bugle

note we had heard since leaving the Rosebud, and away we thundered

northward down the river, two or three times seeking to find a place

where we could work down into the valley below us, but without

success.

After perhaps the third unsuccessful trial, Gen. Custer talked

hurriedly with Capt. Cook for a moment, and Cook pulled out his pad

and dashed off a line or two, which he folded up, at the same time

calling for an orderly. I happened to be the first one to reach him,

and he handed me the paper with the order.

“Deliver that to Maj. Reno, remain with him until we effect a

junction, then report to me at once,” and he was gone.

An instant later the rear of the column dashed past me and was lost

to sight in the ravines. For an instant I looked after them, and

then realizing that I was in a dangerous country and alone, I lost

no time in heading in the direction of Reno’s command, which I was

able to locate by the dust cloud that hovered over them.

Fortunately, I was not molested to any great extent. A few

long-range shots were fired at me, which only served to accelerate

my speed and materially added to my desire to be among friends.

A ride of some five or six miles and I overtook Reno just as he was

dismounting to fight on foot. I delivered my dispatch, the contents

of which I did not know. Reno glanced at it somewhat hurriedly and

stuck it in his pocket. About this time the Ree scouts stampeded

and, as we afterward learned, did not recover their sand until they

reached the Powder River and the shelter of the wagon train. It soon

became apparent that the Indians were passing our flank and coming

in behind us, and we were forced to face about and endeavor to repel

their advances until we could get our horses into the timber, in

which attempt several horses were shot and two or three stampeded.

Soon after this we retired into the timber, where we had better

protection and resumed the fight. Sheltered by the timber and the

river bank, we were able to make a much better defense for a short

time.

Soon after this we noticed that Capt. Moylan was mounting his troop

and Lieut. Wallace, who stood near me on the skirmish line, called

to Capt. French, who was commanding the center company, and asked

what the orders were. French replied that he hadn’t received any but

would try and find out, and in a few minutes he called to us saying

he understood they were going to charge, that he had not received

any orders, but we might as well mount and support them.

We were ordered to get to our horses, and while doing this we found

that some fifteen of our men were dismounted either because of the

shooting or stampeding of their horses. Lieut. McIntosh had lost his

horse and took one belonging to a trooper named McCormick, who gave

him up with the remark that we were all dead anyway, and he might as

well die dismounted as mounted. Swinging into the saddle, we moved

out of the timber and to our surprise discovered that instead of

“charging the Indians” Reno was executing a masterly charge on the

bluffs on the opposite side of the river.

As soon as the Indians discovered this, they massed on our flanks

and opened a heavy fire on the retreating column. Fortunately, they

were poor marksmen mounted, and our loss was comparatively small at

this stage of the stampede, for that is what it was.

It is reported that Reno became so excited that he emptied his

revolver at the Indians and then threw the weapon from him. I happen

to know this was not so, as the revolver is now in the possession of

Gen. Benteen or his family, or was a few years ago.

During the progress of this retreat I was riding on the left of our

column and near the timber, and when almost in sight of the river my

horse fell, throwing me into a bunch of sage brush, but without

doing me serious injury save to exterior cuticle. As I scrambled to

my feet Lieut. Wallace passed me, shouting for me to run for the

timber as my horse was killed. I did not stop to verify his report,

but took his advice, striking only one or two high places between

where the horse fell and the timber, which I presently reached.

From where I was concealed I could see our men force their horses

into the river and urge them across the boulder-strewn stream. I saw

Lieut. Hodgson’s horse leap into the stream and saw him struggling

as though wounded, I saw the lieutenant disengage himself from the

stirrups and grab the stirrup strap of a passing trooper and with

that aid make his way across the stream. No sooner had he reached

the bank than it became apparent he had been wounded, but he

pluckily held on, and the trooper seemed to be trying to help him up

behind him on the saddle, but without daring to stop his horse. An

instant later Hodgson seemed to be hit again, for he lost his hold,

fell to the ground, staggered to his feet and sought to reach

another comrade who reined in to aid him, and just as it seemed that

he was saved I saw the second trooper throw up his arms, reel in the

saddle and fall heavily to the ground. Hodgson started to make his

way toward the ravine up which the command was disappearing, he

staggered forward a few steps, stumbled, struggled to his feet

again, only to fall once more. He apparently decided that further

effort to retreat was useless, as I saw him turn and face the

Indians, draw his revolver and open fire. An instant later three or

four shots rang out from my side of the river, and I saw Hodgson

reel and fall and I knew it was all over.

In the meantime our men had succeeded in crossing the river and made

their way up a neighboring ravine, all save those who had met their

fate at the ford, which was one of the worst along the river for

many rods. Left alone, I began to wonder what my own fate was likely

to be, but I was not observed and therefore not molested, the

Indians being busy stripping and mutilating the bodies of our dead

along the banks of the stream.

About this time I could hear sounds of heavy firing down the river,

and made up my mind that Custer was engaging the Indians, and from

the momentary glimpses I had of the village I felt that he was as

badly outnumbered as we were. Most of the Indians in our front

melted away and I could see them lashing their ponies as they

hurried to join their friends at the lower end of the village.

About this time I saw the scout, Herndon, some little distance from

me, making his way toward the river, and called to him, and we were

soon together. He told me that the fifteen dismounted men of our

outfit had made their way to a point in the timber about a couple of

hundred yards from where we were, but that in order to get nearer

the river they had to cross an open space and every time they tried

it the Indians fired on them. Before leaving us the Indians had set

the river bottom on fire, evidently with a design of concealing

their movements, or of smoking or roasting out our wounded. This

smoke proved to be our salvation, as under its cover we made our way

to the river, forded it with some difficulty, and stumbled on to one

of our Crow scouts, who pointed out to us the location of the

command, which we soon joined.

We found that Benteen and his battalion had reached it and that

nothing was known of the location of Custer and his command. We

reported what we had heard and seen, and just about this time some

one discovered a white flag waving from a point in the river bottom

near where Herndon and myself had been concealed. Lieut. Hare, at

the risk of his life, crept down to a point of bluffs overlooking

the valley, and after considerable signaling satisfied the party we

were friends and they made their way across the river and soon

joined us, proving to be the dismounted men who had been left to

their fate when Reno made his retreat.

I omitted to state that when we started on our retreat Lieut.

McIntosh, mounted on McCormick’s horse, was several rods in front of

me and I noticed that in some way his lariat had become loosened and

was dragging on the ground, the picket pin striking sage brush and

other obstacles, and rendering his immediate vicinity very

dangerous. Several of the men sought to call his attention to it,

but evidently he did not hear them. A moment after this I saw his

horse go down, but whether he was shot or not I do not know. All I

could see as I passed was that the lieutenant was lying where he

fell, and was either dead or stunned, probably dead, as we found him

in the same place the day after the Indians left us.

As we were standing on the bluffs looking down into the valley I

heard some loud talk near me, and turning in that direction, I heard

Capt. Weir say:

“Well, by G—d, if you won’t go, I will, and if we ever live to get

out of here some one will suffer for this.”

He strode away, and a few moments later I saw “D” Troop mount up and

move down the valley in the direction of the distant firing.

Apparently without orders, the entire command followed them in no

sort of military order with the exception of the two troops under

Benteen and Godfrey. In this way we pushed down the valley some

distance, when we discovered Weir and his troop falling back before

a largely superior body of Indians.

Hastily forming a line, we held back the advancing horde until Weir

and his command had passed our lines and formed some distance in our

rear, where, with the support of some of our men who were near them,

they formed a line and opened fire, permitting us to fall back and

re-form again in their rear. In this way we fell back some little

distance, when Col. Benteen, who seemed to be the leader in our

section of the field, spoke to Lieut. Wallace, saying:

“Wallace, there is no use falling back any further. Form your troop,

your right resting here, and we will make a stand.”

Wallace grinned and said,

“I haven’t any troop, only two men.”

Benteen laughed grimly and answered,

“Form yourself and your two there, and I will tell you more about it

when I find out myself.”

That was the nucleus of our line of defense. Others soon joined us

and we sheltered ourselves behind sage brush and hurriedly heaped

piles of dirt and opened fire, keeping the Indians at a respectable

distance until darkness came to our relief. During the night we

changed our position a trifle, located our corral and hospital, and

put in the night intrenching ourselves as best we could. At daybreak

the fight opened again and continued without intermission until

about three in the afternoon, when to our surprise the Indians began

to take down their tepees, pack their travois, and in a few hours

were moving up the river valley, a great mass of ponies, travois and

Indians, unfortunately just out of rifle range.

Twice during the afternoon volunteer parties had gone for water,

each time being fired upon by the Indians, but it was only on the

second trip that any one was hit. Poor Madden, of “K” Troop, was the

unfortunate, his leg being shattered three times between the ankle

and the knee. We carried him back to the hospital, where his leg was

amputated that night.

On the following day Gen. Terry and Gen. Gibbon came to our relief,

and through them we received the first authentic information as to

the fate of our comrades of the other battalion. On the 28th, after

having transported our wounded across the river, we visited the

scene of the battle and buried such of Custer’s men as we found.

Aside from General Custer, we found hardly a body on the field that

had not been mutilated in some manner or another, but as I recollect

now, we found no marks of mutilation on our dead leader.

In the space at my disposal it is not possible to deal in incidents

of the fight or go into detailed descriptions. In fact, those have

been well covered in your article already.

Since the fight I have discussed it with many officers of the army,

and others who have had experience on the frontier, and the general

opinion seemed to be that there were two, possibly three, main

causes for this disaster.

First: A division of the command into practically four separate

columns while still some fifteen miles from the battle-field, and

without accurate knowledge as to the exact location or approximate

strength of the enemy, and the separation of those columns so that

at a critical period of the fight no two of them were in supporting

distance of one another.

Second: The fact that Custer came into the presence of the enemy

practically twenty-four hours ahead of time.

Third: The loss of the horses and with them much of the surplus

ammunition of Custer’s command.

This subject has been so often discussed by men much abler than

myself that I will not attempt it here.

My experiences with Gen. Custer always led me to look upon him as

somewhat recklessly brave, disposed to take chances without fully

considering the odds against him.

I have always felt that one possible reason for the course he

followed, in the face of the orders he received, might be attributed

to the fact that he was feeling keenly the apparent disgrace of the

treatment accorded him by the President, and that he thought that by

a brilliant dash and a decided victory, similar to his Washita

fight, he might redeem himself and once more stand before the people

as a leader and an Indian fighter second to none. Whatever may have

been his motive, we must all admit that he made a most gallant fight

and gave his life at the side of the comrades who had ridden with

him to victory in many a previous battle.

Very truly yours,

THEO. W. GOLDIN.

-----

Footnote 92:

Mr. Goldin’s recollection is in error, according to Colonel Godfrey,

who is positive that the box contained hard bread. However, the

difference is not material—it was a box, anyway!—C. T. B.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Personal Story of Rain-in-the-Face

BY

W. Kent Thomas

NOTE.—It is rare, indeed, to get the Indian side of a story in so clear,

so connected, and so dramatic a form as is the following account of the

Battle of the Little Big Horn from one who played a great part in it and

in the events that led up to it. This is a unique document in our

records, and is inserted here by kind permission of Mr. Thomas. It

originally appeared in _Outdoor Life_, Vol. XI., No. 3, for March, 1903.

Its accuracy and fidelity to fact are so attested as to be beyond

question.—C. T. B.

The writer saw much of the “Custer Indians” at the World’s Fair and

afterward at Coney Island, and had a good chance to know some of them

well. The following leaves from a diary kept at that time show how the

Indians regarded the Custer fight; they considered that the white men

were simply outgeneraled by Sitting Bull:

Coney Island, N. Y., Aug. 12, 1894.

Rain-in-the-Face (Itiomagaju) hobbled into the tent to-night, as

McFadden and I were discussing the events of the day, and seating

himself, unbidden, with true Indian stoicism, he grunted out that

one word of all words so dear to a Lakota, “Minnewaukan!” which,

literally translated, means “Water of God,” but which by usage has

been interpreted as “fire-water.” Since the other Indians were all

away from camp on a visit to their friends, the Oglalas at Buffalo

Bill’s camp, I decided to yield for once to Rain’s oft-repeated

demand, which had been hitherto as regularly denied.

He took my flask, and with a guttural “How!” drained it at one gulp,

without straining a muscle of his face. “Ugh! good! like Rain’s

heart,” he remarked, as he handed the empty bottle to “Mac” with a

self-satisfied look. Then, after a long pause, he joined in our

hearty laughter, and added: “Wechasa Chischina (Little Man, as he

always calls me) good! Potoshasha (Red Beard, his name for McFadden)

good! Minnewaukan good! All heap good!”

“Something’s come over the old man,” laughed Mac. “His heart’s good

to-night. Suppose we take advantage of it, as the boys are all over

at the Oglala tepees, and get Rain to turn his heart inside out.

Here, give me my hat and I’ll get the flask refilled and bring back

Harry with me to interpret.” Off he went like a shot, leaving me to

entertain Rain as best I could with my small knowledge of the Sioux

lingo and signs.

McFadden soon returned, bringing Harry McLaughlin, our interpreter.

It didn’t take long to get Rain started; after he had had another

pull at the flask, he said:

[Illustration:

RAIN-IN-THE-FACE

_From a sketch from life made in 1894 by Edward Esmonde_

]

“If you want a story, I will tell a true one. It’s about myself. I

was a bad man and dangerous to fool with before I had to walk with

crutches. My heart’s good now, but it was all the time bad when I

was a fighter and a hunter. The maidens admired me, but the bucks

were afraid of me. I would rather fight than eat. The long swords

(soldiers) trembled when they knew I was near, and the Rees and

Crows always felt of their hair every morning to see if their scalps

were still on when Rain was near by.”

Here Harry headed him off, for it’s natural for an Indian to boast,

and if any one will listen he will sing his own praises for hours at

a stretch.

“Yes, we know you were a bad man and a fighter from ’way back,” said

Harry, “but we want to hear about the time Tom Custer made you take

water. If you were such a brave man, how did it happen that a little

man like Tom Custer got the best of you?”

This had the desired effect, and Rain winced under such a reflection

on his bravery, for he measured forty-six inches around his chest,

stood five feet nine inches, and weighed about 195 pounds at that

time, while Captain Tom Custer was under the average weight and

height.

With great deliberation and much gesticulation, Rain told his

version of the incident in question, and much to our surprise he

continued on and related his version of the “Custer Massacre.”

Now, since nearly all the officers in the Regular Army, as well as

all the agents of the Interior Department, have failed to get him

even to speak of this fight (their trying, coaxing, and threatening

for years has been in vain), and since Rain gets the credit of being

the slayer of Custer, and has been immortalized in verse by

Longfellow, it was a pleasant surprise to have this unexpected

revelation. I am writing it down as nearly like McLaughlin

interpreted it as I can.

“Two years before the big fight,” he said, “Gall and Sitting Bull

had their camp at Standing Rock. All were hostiles. They were

Unkpapa Sioux and fighters who never feared an enemy any more than a

buffalo calf. The Yanktonais (friendly Indians) were coffee coolers

(cowards) and hung around the agency which was at Lincoln then (Fort

Abraham Lincoln on the upper Missouri now). We used to have great

times in the hostile camp, dancing, running races, shooting and

playing games. Buffalo and deer were plenty, and we had many ponies.

I was a great fellow with the girls. They used to tease me to get me

mad—when I got mad I knew no reason, I wanted to fight. One night a

girl dared me to go up to Fort Lincoln and kill a white man. I told

her it was too risky, as the long swords always kept watch. Besides,

the Rees (another tribe of Indians, employed by the government as

scouts) had their lodges on the hill back of the fort. The

wood-choppers were camped between the fort and the river. She said:

“’A brave man fears nothing. If you are a coward, don’t go. I’ll ask

some other young man who isn’t afraid, if he hasn’t danced in the

Sun Dance.’ (This was a torture dance in which Rain-in-the-Face

subsequently underwent the most horrible self-torture ever

inflicted.[93])

“The other girls laughed, but the young men who heard it didn’t.

They feared me. I would have killed them for laughing. I went to my

lodge and painted sapa (black, the color used when they go on the

war-path), took my gun, my bow, my pony. Sitting Bull had forbidden

any one to leave camp without his permission. I skipped off under

cover of darkness and went up to Lincoln (forty-five miles north,

opposite the present site of Bismarck, North Dakota). I hung around

for two days, watching for a chance to shoot a long sword. I had

plenty of chances to kill a Ree squaw, plenty to kill a

wood-chopper, but I wanted to carry back the brass buttons of a long

sword to the girl who laughed at me. I did so, and she sewed them on

her shawl. One morning I saw the sutler (store keeper) and a horse

medicine man (U. S. Veterinary Surgeon Hontzinger) go out to a

spring; Long Yellow Hair (General Custer) and his men were riding

back about 100 yards. I rushed up and shot the sutler and brained

the horse medicine man with my war club; then I shot them full of

arrows and cut off some buttons. Long Yellow Hair heard the shot and

his troop charged back. I didn’t have time to scalp the men I got. I

jumped on my pony and yelled at them to catch me. They chased me to

the Cannon Ball (a small river twenty-five miles south). Charlie

Reynolds (a scout) knew me and told Long Yellow Hair who did this

brave deed.

“Next winter I went to the agency store at Standing Rock. I drew no

rations—I hadn’t signed the paper. (All the Indians who signed a

peace treaty and consented to live on the reservation, under

military orders, were furnished with rations by the government twice

a month. The hostiles had to live by hunting.) Istokscha (One Arm,

the Hon. H. S. Parkin) was running the store then. I wasn’t afraid

of any of them. Little Hair (Capt. Tom Custer) had thirty long

swords there. He slipped up behind me like a squaw, when my back was

turned. They all piled on me at once; they threw me in a sick wagon

(ambulance) and held me down till they got me to the guard-room at

Lincoln.

“I was treated like a squaw, not a chief. They put me in a room,

chained me, gave me only one blanket. The snow blew through the

cracks and on to me all winter. It was cold. Once Little Hair let me

out and the long swords told me to run. I knew they wanted to shoot

me in the back. I told Little Hair that I would get away some time;

I wasn’t ready then; when I did, I would cut his heart out and eat

it. I was chained to a white man. One night we got away. They fired

at us, but we ran and hid on the bank of Hart river in the brush.

The white man cut the chains with a knife (a file). They caught him

next day.

“I rejoined Sitting Bull and Gall. They were afraid to come and get

me there. I sent Little Hair a picture, on a piece of buffalo skin,

of a bloody heart. He knew I didn’t forget my vow. The next time I

saw Little Hair, ugh! I got his heart. I have said all.”

And, Indian-like, he stopped.

We all knew that the greater part of this was true, since it tallied

with the government account of the death of the sutler and Surgeon

Hontzinger. But we wanted to hear how he took Tom Custer’s heart.

McFadden, who is quite an artist as well as an actor of note, had made

an imaginary sketch of “Custer’s Last Charge.” He got it and handed it

to Rain, saying:

“Does that look anything like the fight?”

Rain studied it a long time, and then burst out laughing.

“No,” he said, “this picture is a lie. These long swords have

swords—they never fought us with swords, but with guns and revolvers.

These men are on ponies—they fought us on foot, and every fourth man

held the others’ horses. That’s always their way of fighting. We tie

ourselves onto our ponies and fight in a circle. These people are not

dressed as we dress in a fight. They look like agency Indians—we strip

naked and have ourselves and our ponies painted. This picture gives us

bows and arrows. We were better armed than the long swords. Their guns

wouldn’t shoot but once—the thing wouldn’t throw out the empty cartridge

shells. (In this he was historically correct, as dozens of guns were

picked up on the battle-field by General Gibbon’s command two days after

with the shells still sticking in them, showing that the ejector

wouldn’t work.) When we found they could not shoot we saved our bullets

by knocking the long swords over with our war clubs—it was just like

killing sheep. Some of them got on their knees and begged; we spared

none—ugh! This picture is like all the white man’s pictures of Indians,

a lie. I will show you how it looked.”

Then turning it over, he pulled out a stump of a lead pencil from his

pouch and drew a large shape of a letter S, turned sideways.[94] “Here,”

said he, “is the Little Big Horn river; we had our lodges along the

banks in the shape of a bent bow.”

“How many lodges did you have?” asked Harry.

“Oh, many, many times ten. We were like blades of grass. (It is

estimated that there were between four and six thousand Indians, hence

there must have been at least a thousand lodges.)

“Sitting Bull had made big medicine way off on a hill. He came in with

it; he had it in a bag on a coup-stick. He made a big speech and said

that Waukontonka (the Great Spirit) has come to him riding on an eagle.

Waukontonka had told him that the long swords were coming, but the

Indians would wipe them off the face of the earth. His speech made our

hearts glad. Next day our runners came in and told us the long swords

were coming. Sitting Bull had the squaws put up empty death lodges along

the bend of the river to fool the Ree scouts when they came up and

looked down over the bluffs. The brush and the bend hid our lodges. Then

Sitting Bull went away to make more medicine and didn’t come back till

the fight was over.

“Gall was head chief; Crazy Horse led the Cheyennes; Goose the Bannocks.

I was not a head chief—my brother Iron Horn was—but I had a band of the

worst Unkpapas; all of them had killed more enemies than they had

fingers and toes. When the long swords came, we knew their ponies were

tired out; we knew they were fooled by the death lodges. They thought we

were but a handful.

[Illustration:

Key to map of Custer battle-field. Drawn on back of buckskin coat by

Rain-in-the-Face for Edward Esmonde. Said to be the only map of the

battle-field ever made by an Indian.

_A_, _Camp of the Indians_; _B_, _Reno’s Skirmish Line_; _C_, _Timber

Where Reno’s Horses Were_; _D_, _Reno’s Retreat_; _E_, _Reno Joined

Benteen_; _F_, _Custer’s Trail_; _G_, _Custer’s First Stand_; _H_,

_Squaws and Children Crossed River_; _I_, _Where Squaws Went Into

Camp After Re-crossing River_; _J_, _Where Last Stand Was Made and

Custer Was Killed_.

]

“We knew they made a mistake when they separated. Gall took most of the

Indians up the river to come in between them and cut them off. When we

saw the Ree scouts had stayed back with Long Yellow Hair, we were glad.

We saw them trotting along, and let them come in over the bluffs. Some

of our young men went up the gully which they had crossed and cut them

off from behind.

“Then we showed our line in front, and the long swords charged. They

reeled under our fire and started to fall back. Our young men behind

them opened fire. Then we saw some officers talking and pointing. Don’t

know who they were, for they all looked alike. I didn’t see Long Yellow

Hair then or afterward. We heard the Rees singing their death song—they

knew we had them. All dismounted, and every fourth man held the others’

ponies. Then we closed all around them. We rushed like a wave does at

the sand out there (the ocean beach) and shot the pony holders and

stampeded the ponies by waving our blankets in their faces. Our squaws

caught them, for they were tired out.

“I had sung the war song, I had smelt the powder smoke. My heart was

bad—I was like one that has no mind. I rushed in and took their flag; my

pony fell dead as I took it. I cut the thong that bound me. I jumped up

and brained the long sword flag-man with my war club, and ran back to

our line with the flag.

“The long sword’s blood and brains splashed in my face. It felt hot, and

blood ran in my mouth. I could taste it. I was mad. I got a fresh pony

and rushed back, shooting, cutting, and slashing. This pony was shot,

and I got another.

“This time I saw Little Hair. I remembered my vow. I was crazy; I feared

nothing. I knew nothing would hurt me, for I had my white weasel-tail

charm on.[95] (He wears the charm to this day.) I don’t know how many I

killed trying to get at him. He knew me. I laughed at him and yelled at

him. I saw his mouth move, but there was so much noise I couldn’t hear

his voice. He was afraid. When I got near enough I shot him with my

revolver. My gun was gone, I don’t know where. I leaped from my pony and

cut out his heart and bit a piece out of it and spit it in his face. I

got back on my pony and rode off shaking it. I was satisfied and sick of

fighting; I didn’t scalp him.

“I didn’t go back on the field after that. The squaws came up afterward

and killed the wounded, cut their boot legs off for moccasin soles, and

took their money, watches, and rings. They cut their fingers off to get

them quicker. They hunted for Long Yellow Hair to scalp him, but could

not find him. He didn’t wear his fort clothes (uniform), his hair had

been cut off, and the Indians didn’t know him. (This corroborates what

Mrs. Custer says about her husband’s having his long yellow curls cut at

St. Paul some weeks before he was killed.)

“That night we had a big feast and the scalp dance. Then Sitting Bull

came up and made another speech. He said: ‘I told you how it would be. I

made great medicine. My medicine warmed your hearts and made you brave.’

“He talked a long time. All the Indians gave him the credit of winning

the fight because his medicine won it. But he wasn’t in the fight. Gall

got mad at Sitting Bull that night. Gall said: ‘We did the fighting, you

only made medicine.’ It would have been the same anyway. Their hearts

were bad toward each other after that, always.

“After that fight we could have killed all the others on the hill

(Reno’s command) but for the quarrel between Gall and Sitting Bull. Both

wanted to be head chief. Some of the Indians said Gall was right and

went with him. Some said Sitting Bull was. I didn’t care, I was my own

chief and had my bad young men; we would not obey either of them unless

we wanted to, and they feared us.

“I was sick of fighting—I had had enough. I wanted to dance. We heard

more long swords were coming with wheel guns (artillery, Gatlings). We

moved camp north. They followed many days till we crossed the line. I

stayed over there till Sitting Bull came back, and I came back with him.

That’s all there is to tell. I never told it to white men before.”

When he had finished, I said to him: “Rain, if you didn’t kill Long

Yellow Hair, who did?”

“I don’t know. No one knows. It was like running in the dark.”

“Well,” asked Mac, “why was it Long Yellow Hair wasn’t scalped, when

every one else was? Did you consider him too brave to be scalped?”

“No, no one is too brave to be scalped; that wouldn’t make any

difference. The squaws wondered afterward why they couldn’t find him. He

must have laid under some other dead bodies. I didn’t know, till I heard

it long afterward from the whites, that he wasn’t scalped.”

“How many Indians were killed in the fight?”

“I don’t remember, but about ten and four or ten and six.”

“How about Curley, the Crow scout, who claims to have escaped?” asked

Mac.

“Ugh! I know Curley. He is a liar. He never was in the fight. His pony

stumbled and broke something. He stayed behind to fix it. When he heard

the firing, he ran off like a whipped dog. One long sword escaped,

though; his pony ran off with him and went past our lodges. They told me

about it at Chicago. I saw the man there, and I remembered hearing the

squaws tell about it after the fight.”

Rain-in-the-Face (Itiomagaju) is about sixty years of age now, and is

the only chief that survives to tell the tale of the Custer fight. Gall

and Sitting Bull have both gone to hunt the white buffalo long since.

Rain can write his name in English. I taught him to do it at the World’s

Fair in order to sell Longfellow’s poem, entitled “The Revenge of

Rain-in-the-Face.” He doesn’t know the significance of it after he

writes it. His knowledge of English is confined to about thirty words,

but he can’t say them so any one can understand him, though he can

understand almost anything that is said in English. Like all other

Indians, his gratitude is for favors to come and not for favors already

shown. He is utterly heartless and unprincipled, physically brave but

morally a coward. His redeeming feature lies in the fact that you can

depend upon any promise he makes, but it takes a world of patience to

get him to promise anything. Even at the age of sixty he is still a

Hercules. In form and face he is the most pronounced type of the ideal

Fenimore Cooper, dime novel Indian in America.

-----

Footnote 93:

The Sun Dance is that ceremonial performance in which the young Sioux

aspirant gives that final proof of endurance and courage which

entitles him to the _toga virilis_ of a full-fledged warrior. One

feature of it is the suspension in air of the candidate by a rawhide

rope passed through slits cut in the breast, or elsewhere, until the

flesh tears and he falls to the ground. If he faints, falters, or

fails, or even gives way momentarily to his anguish during the period

of suspension, he is damned forever after, and is called and treated

as a squaw for the rest of his miserable life.

Rain-in-the-Face was lucky when he was so tied up. The tendons gave

way easily, and he was released after so short a suspension that it

was felt he had not fairly won his spurs. Sitting Bull, the chief

medicine man, decided that the test was unsatisfactory.

Rain-in-the-Face thereupon defied Sitting Bull to do his worst,

declaring there was no test which could wring a murmur of pain from

his lips.

Sitting Bull was equal to the occasion. He cut deep slits in the back

over the kidneys—the hollows remaining were big enough almost to take

in a closed fist years after—and passed the rawhide rope through them.

For two days the young Indian hung suspended, taunting his torturers,

jeering at them, defying them to do their worst, while singing his war

songs and boasting of his deeds. The tough flesh muscles and tendons

would not tear loose, although he kicked and struggled violently to

get free. Finally, Sitting Bull, satisfied that Rain-in-the-Face’s

courage and endurance were above proof, ordered buffalo skulls to be

tied to his legs, and the added weight with some more vigorous kicking

enabled the Indian stoic to break free. It was one of the most

wonderful exhibitions of stoicism, endurance, and courage ever

witnessed among the Sioux, where these qualities were not infrequent.

Rain-in-the-Face had passed the test. No one thereafter questioned his

courage. He was an approved warrior, indeed. It was while suspended

thus that he boasted of the murder of Dr. Hontzinger, and was

overheard by Charlie Reynolds, the scout, who told Custer and the

regiment.

Mr. Edward Esmonde, a companion of Mr. Thomas during the season he had

Rain-in-the-Face and his fellows at the World’s Fair in Chicago and

afterward at Coney Island in his charge, gave me the information in

this note.—C. T. B.

Footnote 94:

Rain-in-the-Face afterward drew a picture or map of the battle of the

Little Big Horn, on the back of a handsome buckskin hunting-shirt. A

cut of this picture appears on the following page. It is believed to

be the only map of the battle drawn by one of the Indian participants

therein.—C. T. B.

Footnote 95:

Notwithstanding his “white weasel-tail charm,” Rain-in-the-Face was

wounded in this battle. A bullet pierced his right leg above the knee.

Among the plunder which fell to him after the action was over was a

razor taken from the person of some dead soldier. With this razor the

wounded man essayed some home-made surgery. First he cut deeply into

the front of his leg, but failed to reach the bullet. Then he reached

around to the back of his leg and chopped recklessly into the flesh

from that quarter. He got the bullet, also several tendons, and

narrowly missed cutting the artery and bleeding to death. He was lame

and had to walk on crutches all his life thereafter.

—Statement of Mr. Esmonde.

Colonel Godfrey, in his _Century_ article, relates a similar instance

of courage and endurance on the part of one of his troopers:

“Among the wounded was Saddler ‘Mike Madden,’ of my troop, whom I

promoted to be sergeant on the field for gallantry. Madden was very

fond of his grog. His long abstinence had given him a famous thirst.

It was necessary to amputate his leg, which was done without

administering any anæsthetic; but after the amputation, the surgeon

gave him a good stiff drink of brandy. Madden eagerly gulped it down,

and his eyes fairly danced as he smacked his lips and said:

“’M-eh, doctor, cut off my other leg.’”—C. T. B.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two Interesting Affairs

I. The Fight on the War Bonnet

Before entering upon a detailed description of the larger events of the

campaign after the Battle of the Rosebud and Little Big Horn, two

smaller affairs are worthy of mention. One, though nothing but a

skirmish, was of great importance in determining the final result. The

other well illustrates something of the adventurous life and perilous

duty of a soldier in Indian warfare.

On Saturday, July 15, 1876, the Fifth Cavalry, under General Wesley

Merritt, was marching toward Fort Laramie, under orders to join Crook.

At noon word was received from the agency that a body of Cheyennes,

numbering, perhaps, one thousand warriors, who had heretofore remained

quiet on the reservation at the Red Cloud Agency, on the White River,

South Dakota—the Pine Ridge Agency—was about to break away and join the

Indians in the field. Their minds had been inflamed by the story of

Crook’s defeat and the account of the disaster to the Seventh Cavalry.

They thought they saw unlimited opportunities for plunder, scalp-taking,

and successful fighting—therefore they decided to go on the war-path

without delay. There were not troops enough near the agency to prevent

this action, which was entirely unsuspected anyway.

The orders for Merritt to join Crook were imperative; but, in view of

this news, the general decided to disregard them for the present. He

realized that he could perform no better service than heading off this

body of Cheyennes, and either defeating and scattering them or, better

still, forcing them back to the agency.

The trail they would have to take would cross a creek in the extreme

southeast corner of South Dakota, called the War Bonnet,[96] some

eighty-five miles, by the only practicable route, from where the Fifth

Cavalry then was. The Indians were a much shorter distance from it.

Merritt would have had to march around, practically, three sides of a

square, owing to the configuration of the country, to reach that point,

which was the best place for miles around, within the knowledge of W. F.

Cody (Buffalo Bill), his chief scout, to intercept the flying Cheyennes.

Merritt did not hesitate an instant after learning the news. He put his

command in motion immediately, and by a forced march of thirty-one

hours, got to the crossing in good time. There was no evidence that the

Cheyennes had passed. The troopers concealed themselves in ravines under

the bluff’s, and waited for the Indians.

Early on the morning of July 17th, the pickets, commanded by Lieutenant

Charles King,[97] observed the approach of the Indians. At about the

same time Merritt’s wagon train, under Lieutenant Hall, with two hundred

infantrymen spoiling for a fight, concealed in the wagons as a guard,

was observed toiling along, some four miles to the southwest, in an

endeavor to reach the rendezvous on the War Bonnet. The regiment

remained carefully concealed, and the Indians, in high glee, thought

they had the train at their mercy.

So soon as he sighted the Cheyennes, Lieutenant Hall despatched two

troopers of his small cavalry escort ahead to the crossing to apprise

Merritt that the Indians were at hand. An advance party of Cheyennes,

superbly mounted and led by a gorgeous young chief, determined to

intercept these troopers, who were ignorant of their peril. The two

soldiers came down one trail which led through a ravine, the Indians

came up another which led through another ravine. The troopers and the

Cheyennes were hidden from each other, but both were in plain view of

the picket on the hill. The two trails joined at the foot of the hill.

The plain back of the wagon-train was black—or red, rather—with Indians

coming up rapidly, although they were not yet near enough to attack.

Merritt and one or two other officers, with Buffalo Bill and a few of

his scouts and several troopers, joined King on the hill. The main body

of the Indians was too far away to attack, so the little advance party

determined to wait until the Cheyennes, who were endeavoring to cut off

the two soldiers, were close at hand and then fall upon them. Everybody

withdrew from the crest of the hill except Lieutenant King, who was to

give the signal, when the party below should sally around it and fall on

the Cheyennes.

King, who has described the situation with masterly skill in his

“Campaigning with Crook,” flattened himself out on the brow of the hill,

with nothing showing but the top of his hatless head and his field

glass, and watched the soldiers rapidly galloping up one trail and the

Indians more rapidly rushing down the other. He waited until the Indians

had almost reached the junction. Then he gave the signal. Merritt’s

escort and Cody’s scouts raced around the base of the hill, and dashed

slap into the faces of the astonished Cheyennes. Two Indian saddles were

emptied in the twinkling of an eye. Such was the impetus of their charge

that the Indians scarcely had time to rein in their steeds before the

white men were upon them.

Buffalo Bill shot the leader of the war party, a famous young chief

named Yellow Hand, through the leg. The bullet also pierced the heart of

the pony Yellow Hand was riding. Both crashed to the earth. In spite of

his pain, Yellow Hand dragged himself to his feet and fired at the

scout, killing his horse. The two, not twenty paces apart, exchanged

shots the next instant. The Indian missed, but Buffalo Bill sent a

bullet through Yellow Hand’s breast. The Indian reeled, but before he

fell Cody leaped upon him and drove his knife into his gallant enemy’s

heart. Yellow Hand was a dead Indian when he struck the ground. “Jerking

the war bonnet off,” he says, “I scientifically scalped him in about

five seconds.”[98]

Yellow Hand had recognized Buffalo Bill, and had virtually challenged

him to this duel. “The first scalp for Custer!” shouted Cody, waving his

trophy in the air.

Some of the other Indians had now come within range. They opened fire

upon the little party; the bullets zipped around them in every

direction, one narrowly grazing General Merritt. They nicked a horse

here and there, but, as usual, their marksmanship was execrable.

As the little party charged the Indians, Merritt had directed King to

order the rest of the regiment to advance. In the midst of the firing,

the splendid troops of the dandy Fifth came bursting through the ravines

and over the hills, making for the Cheyennes on the gallop. At the same

time Lieutenant Hall’s infantrymen scrambled out of their wagons and

sent a few volleys at the Cheyennes at long range. A more astonished

body of Indians the United States has probably never contained. They

hadn’t the slightest idea that there was a soldier within five hundred

miles, except those in the wagon train which they had expected to

capture. They had anticipated no trouble whatever in joining Sitting

Bull, and now they found themselves suddenly face to face with one of

the finest cavalry regiments in the service. What were they to do? They

hadn’t much time to decide, for the cavalry were after them at full

gallop. They turned and fled incontinently. They stood not on the order

of their going, but went at once.

If they could get back to the reservation, they would be free from

attack. They fled at the highest possible speed of their horses,

throwing aside everything they possessed, save their guns and

ammunition, in their frantic desire to get away. For thirty miles

Merritt and his men pursued them with the best will in the world to come

up with them; but the horses of the soldiers were more or less tired

from their long march of the day before, and the Indians, lightly

equipped and on fresh horses, finally succeeded in escaping. By

nightfall the whole party was back on the reservation. Thereafter care

was taken that they found no further opportunity to go on the war-path.

The coöperation of this splendid body of Indians with that under the

command of Crazy Horse might possibly have turned the scale in some of

the hotly contested battles, and Merritt’s promptness was greatly

commended by the authorities. Buffalo Bill received the chief glory of

the little adventure from his dramatic duel with Yellow Hand, in full

view of soldiers and Indians.

II. The Sibley Scout

The other event is known in army records as The Sibley Scout. While

General Crook was waiting for reinforcements and additional supplies at

his camp on Goose Creek, near the Tongue River, he decided to send out a

scouting party to see what had become of his friend, Crazy Horse, who

had handled him so severely at the Rosebud a few weeks before.

Lieutenant Frederick W. Sibley, of E Troop, of the Third Cavalry, an

enterprising but cool-headed young officer, was given command of

twenty-five picked men from the regiment. With him went scouts Frank

Gruard and Baptiste Pourier, commonly known as “Big Bat,” to distinguish

him from another scout, Baptiste, a smaller man. To the party also were

attached John Becker, mule packer, and the indefatigable Finerty, the

war correspondent of the Chicago _Times_, making a total of thirty men.

Each man carried one hundred rounds of ammunition on his person, and a

few days’ rations in his saddle-bags. They started on the 6th of July.

On the 7th they had reached the Rosebud, some fifty miles away from

Crook’s camp. There they came across the Indians. Gruard and Pourier

observed them from the top of a hill, behind which the rest of the

expedition halted. There were hundreds of them, apparently, and the

scouts rejoined the command immediately. To take the back track was

impossible. Therefore, they struck westward over the mountains, leading

their horses. The Indians, marching slowly southward, soon came upon the

trail of the party, and followed it at some distance. Urged by the

imminence of their peril, the men, led by the unerring Gruard, who was

familiar with all the ramifications of the Big Horn Range, since he had

often hunted there during his captivity with the Sioux, did some rapid

mountain climbing, and finally thought they had escaped pursuit,

especially as no one could ride up the trail up which they had climbed,

and these Indians were poor trailers when on foot. Having progressed

some five miles over terrific trails, they halted in a little glade

under the shade of some trees, unsaddled their horses, made coffee, and

ate dinner. Feeling themselves safe from pursuit, they rested for

several hours, and it was not until late in the afternoon that they took

up their march again.

The going here was easier than before, and they could mount their horses

once more. Presently they trotted into a level, thickly wooded valley.

The trail led along the right side of the mountain, which was broken and

rugged. There were woods to the left and in front of them, and high

rocks and open timber on the right. John Becker, who brought up the

rear, suddenly alarmed everybody by the shout of “Indians, Indians!”

The next instant the timber and boulders to the right were alive with a

war party of Sioux and Cheyennes, not two hundred yards away—not the

same party they had seen in the valley, by the way. So soon as the

Indians appeared they opened fire. Again their shooting was bad. Not a

trooper was hurt, although a number of horses were hit, some seriously.

Sibley acted with prompt decision. A word with Gruard determined him in

his course. Under a spattering fire from the Indians, the party turned

to the left and raced for the thick timber as fast as they could go.

They threw themselves to the ground in a semi-circular line so soon as

they reached the woods, tied their horses to the trees back of them, and

taking advantage of fallen logs and boulders as a breastwork, opened

fire upon the Indians, who, on their part, sought concealment and

commenced firing in earnest. The soldiers were well protected in the

forest, however, and although the Indians killed many of the horses,

they did not hit any of the troopers.

The party was now overwhelmingly outnumbered. There were already several

hundred Indians engaged. Their leader was a magnificent young Cheyenne

chief, dressed in a suit of white buckskin. It was afterward learned

that his name was White Antelope. Gruard was recognized by the Indians,

who were desirous of taking him alive. After firing for perhaps half an

hour, White Antelope led the Indians on foot in a direct charge on the

woods.

Sibley ordered his men to hold their fire until they could make every

shot tell. They mowed the advancing Indians down in scores. White

Antelope was seen to leap into the air and fall. He had been pierced, it

was afterward learned, by several bullets, and started for the happy

hunting grounds then and there. The charge was handsomely repulsed, and

the Indians retired in confusion, although still keeping up a severe

fire.

[Illustration:

CHIEF TWO MOON OF THE NORTHERN CHEYENNES

Allies of the Sioux at Little Big Horn

_Painted from life by F. A. Burbank_

]

It was evident to every one that the Indians would hold the soldiers in

play until they were joined by other war parties—indeed, their numbers

were increased already—when Sibley’s detachment would be surrounded and

exterminated. Gruard, therefore, proposed abandoning the horses—most of

them had been killed anyway—and that the whole party should steal away

through the timber and endeavor to escape over the mountains on foot.

Firing two or three volleys and then keeping up a scattering fire for a

short time to make the Indians think they were on the alert, the

troopers, exercising the greatest caution, one by one crawled through

the underbrush until they were hidden by the forest trees. Then

everybody got up on his feet and ran like mad.

Gruard, whose instincts as a guide were of the highest order, led them

over magnificent mountains, through gloomy cañons, past overhanging

cliffs, along impossible trails on the sides of tremendous precipices,

one of which stretched for several hundred feet below them and three

hundred feet above them, almost sheer. Not being mountaineers, they

would have been utterly unable to have followed the scout had it not

been for the Red Terror that lurked behind. They had succeeded in

getting, perhaps, a mile away from and some distance above the valley,

when they heard several heavy volleys, followed by a series of wild

yells, which apprised them that the Indians had at last rushed their

camp. They were so confident of escape now that they actually burst into

roars of laughter at the thought of the Indian disappointment when the

attackers found their victims had decamped. Those Indians were not

accustomed to hunt on foot. An Indian off a horse is about as awkward as

a sailor on one. The pursuit was soon abandoned, and the soldiers left

to follow their course unmolested. Theirs had been a lucky escape.

Without Gruard, they had all been killed.

The day was frightfully hot. The fast going caused by the exigencies of

the occasion and the desperate nature of the climbing increased their

discomfort. The men threw away everything in the way of superfluous

clothing which would impede their progress or tire them in their hurry,

save their weapons and ammunition. They camped that night, or halted,

rather, for there was nothing with which to camp, on the crest of the

range. It turned very cold, a terrible storm arose, and they suffered

severely. They had nothing to eat; their provisions had been in their

saddle-bags, and they had not dared to take them in their attempt to

escape, lest the suspicions of the Indians should be excited by their

efforts.

The next day, the 9th of July, they started down the mountain. Gruard’s

instincts were not at fault. He led them to the foot-hills overlooking

Crook’s main camp far away. In order to reach the plain they had to

cross a rapid mountain brook, the water of which came almost up to their

necks. Two men who could not swim and who were in a very nervous

condition from their exciting adventures, stubbornly refused to try to

cross the stream, even with the assistance of their comrades. They chose

rather to hide themselves where they were, and begged that help might be

sent back to them. The rest of the party managed to cross and started

for the camp, still about fifteen miles distant. They were met in the

evening by a scouting party of soldiers, who brought them back to camp.

Their clothing and shoes were torn to ribbons, and they were greatly

exhausted from the terrible strains and hardships to which they had been

subjected. That they escaped at all was a miracle, due to the coolness

of young Sibley and the marvelous skill of Gruard. A detachment went

back for the two men who had remained behind and brought them back to

the camp.

Lieutenant Sibley reported to General Crook that he had found the

Indians, but whether that statement is accurate is a question. It would,

perhaps, be more truthful to say that the Indians had found him. Sibley

and Gruard were highly complimented by Crook; and Mr. Finerty, who had

displayed great courage, wrote a graphic account of it, from which this

brief sketch has been abridged.

-----

Footnote 96:

The frontiersmen translate this to “Hat Creek”; and that is the name

it bears to-day—more’s the pity!

Footnote 97:

Afterward brigadier-general of volunteers in the Spanish-American War,

and the author of many fascinating romances of army life.

Footnote 98:

“The Adventures of Buffalo Bill.” By Colonel William F. Cody. Harper &

Brothers, 1904.

CHAPTER NINE

The First Success

I. Crook and Mills at Slim Buttes

After the defeat of General Custer, and the successful retreat of the

Sioux and Cheyennes from the Little Big Horn, the government hurried

reinforcements into the field, and ordered Crook and Terry to press the

pursuit of the Indians with the greatest vigor. It was not, however,

until nearly a year after the disaster on the Little Big Horn that the

Sioux war was concluded, and it was not until after the Indians had met

with several crushing defeats and had been pursued until they were

utterly exhausted that peace was declared.

The greatest individual factor in bringing about this much desired

result was General George Crook, a celebrated cavalryman during the

Civil War, and a more celebrated Indian fighter after its close. With

unwearied tenacity and vigor he pursued the savages, striking them

through his subordinates whenever and wherever they could be found. The

terrible persistence with which he urged his faint, starving, foot-sore,

tattered soldiers along the trail, to which he clung with a resolution

and determination that nothing could shake, entitles him to the respect

and admiration of his countrymen—a respect and admiration, by the way,

which was fully accorded him by his gallant and equally desperate foes.

After Crook, the men who brought about the result were, first and

foremost, Nelson A. Miles—singularly enough not a cavalryman, but the

Colonel of the Fifth Infantry; and, next to him, Colonel Ranald S.

Mackenzie, of the Fourth Cavalry, and Captain Anson Mills, of the Third,

whom we have already noted doing gallant service at the Battle of the

Rosebud. Miles had been ordered into the field to reinforce Terry’s

shattered and depleted column.

After much marching and scouting, the columns of Terry and Crook

combined; but Terry’s forces were in bad condition, and his command was

soon withdrawn from the field. What was left of the Seventh Cavalry was

sent back to Fort Lincoln, whence they had started out with such bright

hopes a few months before. Gibbon’s command was returned to Montana,

where it had been made up, on account of the threatening aspect of

things in that quarter, and Terry retired from active campaigning to

resume command of his department. Miles, as we shall see, was sent to

the Yellowstone.

Crook was left alone in the active pursuit. Space and time are lacking

to describe the details of the wonderful marches he made on the trails

of the Indians—now under burning suns, which parched the ground until it

was as bare as the palm of a hand; again through torrents of drenching

rains, which succeeded the fierce heat; and, finally, through the snows

and cold of a winter of unexampled severity. During the summer there was

no forage for the horses of the cavalry nor for the very small pack

train, and rations for the men became shorter and shorter. Finally,

early in September, the supply of provisions was reduced to two and a

half days’ rations. Crook calculated that they could march two weeks on

that amount.

They supplemented the rations by living on horse and mule meat and a few

wild onions which they could gather from time to time in spots which had

escaped the universal baking of the summer. At last the command

literally reached the end of its resources. The Indians were in bad

condition, too, but their situation was not nearly so desperate as was

that of Crook and his men. The Indians were worn out and exhausted by

the energetic and relentless pursuit which had been hurled after them by

the indomitable commander, but they still had plenty to eat, and they

had managed to keep ahead of him, and to avoid various scouting columns.

On the 7th of September, 1876, Crook realized that his men had reached

the limit of their endurance, and that forage and food must be procured

or they would all die in the wilderness. The Indians had swept the

country bare of game, and the sun had swept it clean of fodder. One

hundred and fifty of the best men—that is, those who showed the fewest

signs of the hardships they had undergone—with the best horses and the

last of the mules, were formed into an advance party under Captain Anson

Mills, of the Third Cavalry. Mills had instructions to push on to

Deadwood City, one of the new towns in the Black Hills, to get

provisions, “Any kind of provisions, for God’s sake!” which he could

bring back to the rest of the army, now in a destitute condition.

Mills was not expected to hunt for, or to fight, Indians—primarily, that

is. He was to go for food in order to keep the army from starving; but

as he marched southward, his scouts discovered a large village of forty

or fifty lodges at a place called Slim Buttes, in the northwest corner

of South Dakota. The tepees had been pitched on a little rising from the

banks of a small stream called Rabbit Creek. The place was inclosed on

three sides by a series of tall cliffs, whose broken sides seemed here

and there to have been cut in half-formed terraces, making the ascent

easy. Little ravines and small cañons ran through the buttes, gradually

ascending until they met the plateau on top.

Mills instantly determined to attack the camp—a wise and soldierly

action on his part. He made his dispositions with care. Reaching the

vicinity of the camp, he halted in a deep gorge on the night of

September 8, and prepared for battle early the next morning. The night

was dark, cold, and very rainy, and the tired men suffered greatly.

Marching out at dawn, Mills succeeded at daybreak in surprising the

camp, which proved to be that of a band of Sioux led by American Horse,

one of the most prominent chiefs. Leaving Lieutenant Bubb with the pack

train and the lead horses, Mills directed Lieutenant Schwatka, afterward

so well known from his Arctic explorations, to charge directly into the

village with twenty-five mounted men. The remainder of his force he

dismounted and divided into two parties, under Lieutenants Von Luettwitz

and Crawford, respectively, with orders to move on the camp from

different sides.

The attack was a complete success. The village was taken with but little

loss. Some of the Sioux were killed and others captured, but most

escaped through the ravines to the plateau surrounding the valley. One

heroic but unfortunate little band, consisting of American Horse and

four warriors, with fifteen women and children, was driven into one of

the cañons which ended in a cave. One or two of the soldiers had been

wounded in the attack. Lieutenant Von Luettwitz, who had fought all

through the Franco-Austrian War in Italy, and who was a veteran of the

Civil War, was shot in the knee and so badly wounded that his leg had to

be amputated on the field.

Being now in complete command of the village, the pack train was ordered

up and the captured village was examined. To the joy of Mills and his

soldiers, an immense quantity of provisions, in the shape of meat,

forage, and other stores, was discovered.

There still remained the little band of savages in the ravine to be

dealt with. A detachment was ordered to drive them out. The Indians had

been busy making rifle-pits, and as the soldiers advanced to storm the

cave, they were met with a rapid and well-directed fire. Two of them

were shot dead and others wounded.[99] The Indian position appeared to

be impregnable. An interpreter crept near enough under cover to make

himself heard, and asked their surrender. They replied to his command

with taunts and jeers. They incautiously informed him, however, that

Crazy Horse with his warriors was in the vicinity, and on being apprised

of their situation by some of the fugitives, he would undoubtedly come

to their rescue. Crazy Horse could have made short work of Mills and his

hundred and fifty. Meanwhile the survivors of the village, which had

contained a hundred warriors, formed an extended line on the buttes and

opened fire on the soldiers.

Mills acted promptly. He despatched a courier to Crook on the best horse

in the command, to report the situation and ask him for reinforcements

at once. Incidentally, he mentioned that a great quantity of provisions

had been found. Then he made preparations to hold the place, and at the

same time to prosecute his attack against the cave, all the time keeping

up a smart fight with the men on the buttes. So soon as Crook received

the message, he started forward, intending to take with him a select

body of men; but the whole army, spoiling for a fight and hungry for a

square meal, insisted on going along. They made a forced march, and

reached Mills about half after eleven in the morning.

Crook immediately proceeded to dislodge the Indians in the cave. The men

were led forward under a galling fire, to which the general, in spite of

the entreaties of his staff, exposed himself with indifference. When

they got in a position to command the cave, Crook, willing to spare his

brave foemen, again asked them to surrender. His request was met by a

decided negative. The men opened fire, and searched every cranny and

recess of the cave with a storm of bullets. Gruard, one of the scouts,

taking advantage of cover, crept to the very mouth of the cave, remained

there unobserved, watched his opportunity, seized a squaw who

incautiously exposed herself, and with her as a shield dashed forward

and shot one of the warriors, escaping in safety himself.

II. The Death of American Horse

After two hours of firing, the death-chants of the squaws induced Crook

to order a cessation for another parley. This time his request that the

Indians surrender met with some response; for the squaws and children,

to the number of thirteen, came reluctantly forth on his positive

assurance that they would be protected. The braves refused to give up.

They were confident that Crazy Horse would succor them. The engagement

at once began again, but after it had lasted some little time the fire

of the Indians ceased.

The offer of mercy was made a fourth time. A young Indian stepped out

and received additional assurance that no harm should come if they

surrendered. He went back into the cave and presently reappeared with

another young warrior, supporting between them the tall, splendid figure

of brave old American Horse. He had been shot through the bowels, and

his intestines protruded from the wound. He was suffering frightful

agony, and was biting hard upon a piece of wood to control himself. He

handed his gun to Crook and gave up the contest. The surgeons with the

command did everything they possibly could for him, but his wound was

beyond human skill. That night, surrounded by his wives and children, he

died, as stoically and as bravely as he had lived.

Inside the cave the rocky walls were cut and scored by the rain of

bullets which had been poured into it, and lying on the floor were the

bodies of the two Indian warriors, together with a woman and a child,

who had been killed. The soldiers had not known, until the squaws came

out, that there were any women or children there. The little band had

sold their lives dearly. Even the women had used guns, and had displayed

all the bravery and courage of the Sioux.

Too late Crazy Horse, with some six hundred warriors, appeared on the

scene. Imagining he had only to deal with Mills’ small force, he

galloped gallantly forward to the attack at about five o’clock. He was

greatly astonished at the number of antagonists developed thereby. He

retired to the top of the buttes, and the soldiers in gallant style

dashed after him. They scaled the cliffs, finally gaining the level

plateau. Crazy Horse made one or two attempts to break through the line,

but it was impossible, and seeing himself greatly outnumbered, he wisely

retired, having sustained some loss.

The battle was one of the most picturesque ever fought in the West.

Crook and his officers stood in the camp, the center of a vast

amphitheater ringed with fire, up the sides of which the soldiers

steadily climbed to get at the Indians, silhouetted in all their war

finery against the sky. The loss of life on either side was not great,

but the capture of the village and the provisions which had been

accumulated for the winter was a serious one.

In the camp were discovered many articles that had belonged to the

Seventh Cavalry—a guidon, money, one of Captain Keogh’s gauntlets,

marked with his name, orderly books, saddles, etc. Among other things,

were letters written by officers and soldiers to friends in the East,

some of them still sealed and ready for mailing. They must have come

like voices from the dead when they reached those to whom they had been

written.

-----

Footnote 99:

One of the scouts killed in this battle was a great admirer of Buffalo

Bill, whose manners, methods, and appearance he aped as well as he

could. He rejoiced in an unfortunate sobriquet, which was received in

this wise: General Sheridan, seeking Buffalo Bill to lead a hunting

expedition on one occasion, was met by this swaggerer, with the remark

that Buffalo Bill was gone away, and when Buffalo Bill was gone he was

Buffalo Bill himself. “The h—l you are!” said Sheridan contemptuously.

“Buffalo Chip, you mean!” The poor braggart never got away from the

name of “Buffalo Chip Charlie.” He was a brave man for all his vanity,

and the soldiers were sorry enough for their mockery when they buried

him that night at the foot of the buttes, where he had fallen in the

attack on the cave.

CHAPTER TEN

A Decisive Blow

I. Mackenzie’s Winter Battle

Crook now gave over the pursuit, and returned to Fort Fetterman to

organize a winter campaign. This expedition was one of the best equipped

that ever started on an Indian campaign. It contained all arms of the

service, with an abundance of everything necessary to success. To follow

its marches to the Big Horn Range would reveal little of interest; but

late in November it was learned, from a captured Cheyenne, that the

principal Cheyenne village was located in a cañon through which flowed

one of the main sources of Crazy Woman’s Fork of the Powder River.

Colonel Ranald S. Mackenzie was ordered, with the Indian scouts and ten

troops of cavalry from the Second, Fourth, and Fifth regiments, to find

and destroy the village.

The Cheyennes were not so numerous as the Sioux, and the greater number

of their allies has sometimes caused people to minimize the quality of

the Cheyennes; but no braver, more magnificent fighters ever lived than

this same tribe. They had some of the Homeric qualities of the ancient

Greeks. I believe it will generally be admitted that they were the

finest of the Plains Indians. They were foemen worthy Mackenzie’s or

anybody else’s steel. The battle which ensued was in some respects one

of the most terrible in Western history, and in its results exemplified,

as few others have done, the horrible character of the war. It was,

perhaps, as great a contribution to the downfall of the Sioux as any

single incident that occurred.

Mackenzie’s men left the main encampment on the 23d of November. The

ground was covered with snow. The weather was arctic in its severity.

The scouts and friendly Indians—Pawnees, Crows, Shoshones, the

hereditary enemies of the Cheyennes, including certain Cheyennes also

who had entered the service of the United States[100]—had located the

camp in Willow Creek Cañon. Some of the Indians had kept the camp under

observation while Mackenzie brought up his troops. He had seven hundred

and fifty cavalrymen and three hundred and fifty Indians. Halting at the

mouth of the cañon, which he reached on the night of the 24th, he

resolved to await the still hours before the break of day the next

morning before delivering his attack.

The cañon was a gloomy gorge in the Big Horn Mountains. A swift,

ice-bound river rushed over the rocks between precipitous walls, which

soared into the sky for perhaps a thousand feet on either side.

Numberless icy brooks poured their contents into the main stream through

lateral cañons scarcely less forbidding in their appearance than the

main one, and which made the trail of the creek almost impossible. Here

and there the cañon widened, and in one of these open places the

Cheyennes, under the leadership of Dull Knife, had pitched their camp.

They fondly believed the place impregnable—as, indeed, with careful

guarding it would have been. The greatest precaution was taken by

Mackenzie to prevent his men from making any noise. They stood in ranks

by their horses in the snow in that polar cold, waiting for the order

for the advance. Presently the moon rose, flooding the recesses of the

ravine with silvery light, which sparkled with dazzling brilliancy upon

patches of snow here and there on the dark walls.

Mackenzie, calculating that day would be breaking just about the time he

would reach the camp from his present position, at last gave order to

take up the march. With what relief the benumbed troopers sprang to

their saddles and urged their shivering horses forward, can scarcely be

imagined by dwellers in peaceful lands around warm firesides. As they

struggled up the cañon they could hear the sound of dancing and revelry

in the Indian camp, faintly blown back to them by the night wind. They

learned afterward that the Cheyennes had just returned from a successful

raid on the Shoshones, and that the dance was in celebration of an

important victory they had gained. They halted again, therefore, until

all was silence, before they once more advanced. Day was beginning to

break as they reached the village.

The sleeping Indians in the camp had not the slightest suspicion that

the enemy was within a hundred miles. The troops, cheering and shouting,

burst upon them like a winter storm. Indians, when not apprehensive of

attack, invariably sleep naked. The Cheyennes had just time to seize

rifles and cartridge belts, while the women caught hasty blankets about

the children, when the soldiers were upon them. Indeed, so quick and

sudden was the attack that some of the warriors could not get out of the

tepees. With their knives they slashed the wigwams, and from these

openings fired upon the soldiers as they galloped through the village.

Many were shot dead where a few moments before they had slept in peace.

Most of the pony herd was captured, and the village in a short time was

in possession of Mackenzie. The Cheyennes, though overwhelmed, were

undismayed. They had retreated headlong up the cañon, but were soon

rallied by their subchiefs. Dull Knife, their leader, was found in the

village with half a dozen bullets in him. He had fought gallantly in the

open until he died.

Presently the Indians came swarming back along the side of the cañon.

They occupied points of vantage, and, naked though they were in the

frightful weather, with the thermometer ranging from ten to twenty

degrees below zero during this campaign, they opened fire upon their

opponents. Unless they could be dislodged, Mackenzie’s position was

untenable. He sent his Shoshone and other Indian scouts, who, animated

with bitter hatred of the Cheyennes, were eager to obey his commands, to

the summits of the cliffs to clear the Indians from them.

Meanwhile he directed Lieutenant John A. McKinney, with his troop, to

charge and drive the Indians from a rocky eminence where they were

concentrating and from which they were pouring a hot fire upon the

soldiers. McKinney’s charge was entirely successful, for he drove the

Cheyennes back until he was stopped by a ravine. Wheeling his men, he

attempted to find a crossing, when he was fired upon by a flanking party

of Indians and instantly killed, being hit no less than six times. Six

of his troopers were wounded, and a number of horses were shot. The

troop was thrown into confusion, and some of the men started to retreat.

Mackenzie, observing the situation, immediately ordered Captain John M.

Hamilton and Major G. A. Gordon to charge to the rescue. The charge was

gallantly made and stubbornly resisted.

The fighting was hand to hand, of the fiercest description; and the

Cheyennes, while keeping the rest of Mackenzie’s forces engaged, began

concentrating on these two troops, which had been joined by Captain

Davis, with his men. There was no reserve; the cavalry were all in, and

this detachment might have been wiped out had it not been for the

success of the Shoshones and other Indians, who cleared the key to the

position on the summit of the plateau above the cañon, and then came to

the assistance of the sorely beset soldiers. Twenty Cheyennes were

killed here and several of the soldiers.

Relieved in a measure by these two movements, although not altogether,

for the Cheyennes with their superior knowledge of the topography of the

country could not be entirely dislodged from their position, and kept up

a fierce fire upon the soldiers all day long, to which he could make

little reply, Mackenzie sent back word to Crook of his success, and

meanwhile began the destruction of the village. All the winter supplies

for over a thousand Indians were there. The Cheyennes were a forehanded,

prosperous tribe of Indians, as Indians go, and the property destroyed

was enormous.

II. The Sufferings of the Cheyennes

What must have been the despair of the surprised warriors, with their

women and children, naked, shivering in the hills, as they saw their

belongings consumed by the flames! It was simply impossible for them to

maintain their position during the night. They had to move away or die

of cold. As it was, twelve little Indian babies froze to death that

awful night. Many of the older men and women were kept alive only by

having their hands and feet, and in the case of the children, their

whole bodies, thrust into the warm bodies of the few ponies not captured

by the soldiers, which had been disemboweled for the purpose.

[Illustration:

_Courtesy of The Century Co._

MACKENZIE’S MEN IN DULL KNIFE’S VILLAGE

_Drawing by Frederic Remington_

]

There was no fighting on the 26th. The Cheyennes took up a strong

position six miles farther up the cañon, from which Mackenzie could not

dislodge them, and on the 27th he started on his return to the camp.

Crook, who made a forced march night and day, with Colonel Dodge and the

infantry, who came forward with astonishing speed in spite of storm and

cold, met Mackenzie retiring just after he left the cañon, and the whole

army returned to the encampment.

The subsequent sufferings of the Indians were frightful. Naturally, they

repaired to Crazy Horse, expecting that he would succor them, feed them,

and clothe them. The Sioux and the Cheyennes had been warm friends and

allies, and had fought together on many a field. Had they come in their

prosperity, Crazy Horse would have given them a warm welcome. As it was,

he had little with which to support his own band during the winter,

owing to Crook’s pursuit of him, and with short-sighted, yet

natural—from an Indian point of view—policy, he refused to receive these

Cheyennes, or to share anything with them.

Exasperated beyond measure by their treatment by the Sioux, and swearing

eternal vengeance upon Crazy Horse, the wretched band struggled into the

nearest agency and surrendered, and in the following spring moved out

with the soldiers against Crazy Horse and his men.

It is appalling to think of that night attack in that awful weather upon

that sleeping camp—to read of those wretched women and children,

wandering naked in that bitter cold; to learn of those little ones

frozen to death; of the old men and women abandoned by the road to

die—yet there is another side to the picture, scarcely less horrible.

In this Indian camp also were found many relics of the Custer battle. So

far as that is in question, I may say that I consider that action to

have been a fair and square stand-up fight, in which one side was

defeated and its members all died fighting.[101] Naturally, the Indians

despoiled the slain for trophies. White soldiers have done the same when

conditions have been reversed, as has been noted in the preceding

chapters of this book. Of course, the Indians mutilated the dead and

tortured the living, but some instances of both practices are found

among white men, and we cannot judge the Indian by our standards,

anyway.

But in the camp there were other evidences of savage ferocity, from

which the soul shrinks in horror, and which showed that these Indians

were among the most cruel and ruthless on the continent, and that they

were only getting what they had given. Two instances will suffice. The

troops took from the body of a dead warrior an unique necklace of human

forefingers, which had been displayed with pride upon his barbaric

breast;[102] and a bag was found which contained the right hands of

twelve little Shoshone babies and children, which had been recently cut

from little arms to give some ruthless warrior a ghastly trophy.

-----

Footnote 100:

It is a singular thing to note the looseness of the tie with which the

members of the various tribes were bound. Frequently we find bands of

the same tribe fighting for and against the United States on the same

field. One of the most fruitful causes of the success of our arms has

been this willingness on the part of the Indians to fight against

their own people, of which the government has been quick to avail

itself.

Footnote 101:

See Preface for discussion of the term “Massacre.”

Footnote 102:

A picture of a similar necklace may be seen in Captain J. Lee

Humfreville’s interesting book, “Twenty Years Among Our Hostile

Indians.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Miles’ Great Campaigning

I. Miles and His Foot Cavalry Defeat Sitting Bull

Now let us turn to Miles and his men.

General Miles was ordered to march his command up the Yellowstone to the

mouth of the Tongue River, and establish a temporary post or cantonment

there for the winter. He was an officer in whom great confidence was

reposed, and from whom much was to be expected. He had as brilliant a

record in the Civil War as Custer, and had practically fought one

decisive battle in the closing campaign on his own responsibility, with

splendidly successful results. He was a natural-born soldier, and he

never showed his talents to better advantage than in the operations

which followed. His career before and after this period is still fresh

in the minds of a grateful people.

While Crook and his men were hammering away in one portion of the field,

Miles was doing splendid service in the other. The original intention

had been to place under his command some fifteen hundred men, but the

force he really received amounted only to about five hundred. With these

he was not expected to do more than maintain his position, and acquire

such information as he could in preparing for the spring and summer

campaign of the following year. That was not, from his point of view, a

satisfactory program.

Veteran Indian fighters in the Northwest informed him that it would be

useless to try to reach the Indians in the winter; but Miles was not

that kind of a soldier. If the Indians could live in tepees in that

season, he saw no reason why white soldiers should not move against them

in spite of the weather. He had one of the finest regiments of infantry

in the service—the Fifth. Based upon the report of courts-martial,

discipline, etc., no regiment surpassed or even equaled its record.

Miles himself proved to be the most successful commander against Indians

that the war produced, and his success was not due to what envious

people called good luck. It was well merited and thoroughly earned.

The government, upon the representations of Sheridan and Sherman, which

were based upon Miles’ previous successful fighting with the

Southwestern Indians, allowed the young colonel everything he asked for.

If his troops were not completely equipped for the work in which their

commander designed to employ them, it would be his fault. With wise

forethought, he provided the soldiers as if for an arctic expedition.

They cut up blankets for underwear. They were furnished with fur boots

and the heaviest kind of leggings and overshoes. Every man had a buffalo

overcoat and a woolen or fur mask to go over his face under his fur cap.

Their hands were protected by fur gloves. It was well for them that they

were thus provided, for the winter of 1876–7 was one of the most severe

that had ever visited that section of the country. The mercury

frequently froze in the thermometer, and on one occasion a temperature

of sixty degrees below zero was recorded by the spirit thermometer.

Busying themselves during the late fall, which was, in effect, winter,

in the erection of the cantonment on the Tongue and Yellowstone, the

first important touch they got with the Indians was on the 18th of

October, when Lieutenant-Colonel Elwell S. Otis, commanding a battalion

of four companies of the Twenty-third Infantry, escorting a wagon-load

of supplies from Glendive, Montana, to the cantonment, was attacked by a

large force of hostiles. The attack was not delivered with any great

degree of force at first, but it grew in power until the troops had to

corral the train. The soldiers had a hard fight to keep the animals from

being stampeded and the train captured. Having beaten off the Indians,

the train advanced, fighting, until Clear Creek was reached. During a

temporary cessation of the attacks a messenger rode out from the Indian

lines, waving a paper, which he left upon a hill in line with the

advance of the train. When it was picked up, Colonel Otis found it to be

an imperious message—probably written by some half-breed—from the chief

whom he had been fighting. It ran as follows:

“Yellowstone.

“I want to know what you are doing traveling on this road. You scare

all the buffalo away. I want to hunt in this place. I want you to

turn back from here. If you don’t, I’ll fight you again. I want you

to leave what you have got here, and turn back from here.

I am your friend,

SITTING BULL.

“I mean all the rations you have got and some powder. Wish you would

write me as soon as you can.”

I consider this document unique in the history of Indian warfare, and it

well illustrates not only the spirit, but the naïveté of the great

chief. Otis despatched a scout to Sitting Bull with the information that

he intended to take the train through to the cantonment in spite of all

the Indians on earth, and if Sitting Bull wanted to have a fight, he

(Otis) would be glad to accommodate him at any time and on any terms.

The train thereupon moved out, and the Indians promptly recommenced the

fight. But the engagement was soon terminated by a flag of truce. A

messenger appeared, who stated that the Indians were tired and hungry

and wanted to treat for peace. Otis asked Sitting Bull to come into his

lines, but that wily old chief refused, although he sent three chiefs to

represent him.

Otis had no authority to treat for peace or anything else, but he gave

the Indians a small quantity of hardtack and a couple of sides of bacon,

and advised them to go to the Tongue River and communicate with General

Miles. The train then moved on, and after following a short distance,

with threatening movements, the Indians withdrew.

On the same night Otis fell in with Miles and his whole force. Miles,

being alarmed for Otis’ safety, had marched out to meet him. The train

was sent down to the cantonment, and the troops, numbering three hundred

and ninety-eight, with one gun, started out in pursuit of Sitting Bull.

They overtook him on the 21st of October at Cedar Creek. With Sitting

Bull were Gall and other celebrated chiefs, and one thousand warriors of

the Miniconjous, San Arcs, Brulés, and Unkpapas, together with their

wives and children, in all over three thousand Indians. Crazy Horse,

with the Oglalas and Two Moon’s band of the Northern Cheyennes, were not

with Sitting Bull, while Dull Knife’s band, as we have seen, had gone to

Wyoming for the winter.

The reason for this separation is obvious. They could better support the

hardships of the winter, more easily find shelter, and with less

difficulty escape from the pursuing soldiers, if they were broken up in

smaller parties.

Sitting Bull asked Miles for an interview, which was arranged. He was

attended by a subchief and six warriors, Miles by an aide and six

troopers. The meeting took place between the lines, all parties being on

horseback.

Sitting Bull wanted peace on the old basis. The Indians demanded

permission to retain their arms, with liberty to hunt and roam at will

over the plains and through the mountains, with no responsibility to any

one, while the government required them to surrender their arms and come

into the agencies. The demands were irreconcilable therefore. The

interview was an interesting one, and although it began calmly enough,

it grew exciting toward the end.

Sitting Bull, whom Miles describes as a fine, powerful, intelligent,

determined looking man, was evidently full of bitter and persistent

animosity toward the white race. He said no Indian that ever lived loved

the white man, and that no white man that ever lived loved the Indian;

that God Almighty had made him an Indian, but He didn’t make him an

Agency Indian, and he didn’t intend to be one.

The manner of the famous chief had been cold, but dignified and

courteous. As the conversation progressed, he became angry—so enraged,

in fact, that in Miles’ words “he finally gave an exhibition of wild

frenzy. His whole manner seemed more like that of a wild beast than a

human being. His face assumed a furious expression. His jaws were

tightly closed, his lips were compressed, and you could see his eyes

glisten with the fire of savage hatred.”[103]

One cannot help admiring the picture presented by the splendid, if

ferocious, savage. I have no doubt that General Miles himself admired

him.

At the height of the conference a young warrior stole out from the

Indian lines and slipped a carbine under Sitting Bull’s blanket. He was

followed by several other Indians to the number of a dozen, who joined

the band, evidently meditating treachery. Miles, who, with his aide, was

armed with revolver only, promptly required these new auxiliaries to

retire, else the conference would be terminated immediately. His demand

was reluctantly obeyed. After some further talk, a second meeting was

appointed for the morrow, and the conference broke up.

During the night Miles moved his command in position to be able to

intercept the movement of the Indians the next day. There was another

interview with the picturesque and imperious savage, whose conditions of

peace were found to be absolutely impossible, since they involved the

abandonment of all the military posts, the withdrawal of all settlers,

garrisons, etc., from the country. He wanted everything and would give

nothing. He spoke like a conqueror, and he looked like one, although his

subsequent actions were not in keeping with the part. Miles, seeing the

futility of further discussion, peremptorily broke up the conference. He

told Sitting Bull that he would take no advantage of the flag of truce,

but that he would give him just fifteen minutes to get back to his

people to prepare for fighting. Shouting defiance, the chiefs rode back

to the Indian lines.

There was “mounting in hot haste” surely, and hurried preparations were

made for immediate battle on both sides. Watch in hand, Miles checked

off the minutes, and exactly at the time appointed he ordered an

advance. The Indians set fire to the dry grass, which was not yet

covered with snow, and the battle was joined amid clouds of flame and

smoke. Although outnumbered nearly three to one, the attack of the

soldiers was pressed home so relentlessly that the Indians were driven

back from their camp, which fell into the possession of Miles.

The Sioux were not beaten, however, for the discomfited warriors rallied

a force to protect their flying women and children, under the leadership

of Gall and others, Sitting Bull not being as much of a fighter as a

talker. They were led to the attack again and again by their intrepid

chiefs. On one occasion, so impetuous was their gallantry that the

troops were forced to form square to repel their wild charges. Before

the battle was over—and it continued into the next day—the Indians had

been driven headlong for over forty miles.

They had suffered a serious loss in warriors, but a greater in the

destruction of their camp equipage, winter supplies, and other property.

Two thousand of them came in on the third day and surrendered, under

promises of good treatment. Several hundred broke into small parties and

scattered. Miles’ little force was too small to be divided to form a

guard for the Indians who had been captured; and besides, he had other

things to do, so he detained a number of the principal chiefs as

hostages, and exacted promises from the rest that they would surrender

at the Spotted Tail or Red Cloud Agency—a promise which, by the way, the

great majority of them kept. Sitting Bull, Gall, and about four hundred

others refused to surrender, and made for the boundary line, escaping

pursuit for the time being.

This was the first and most serious defection from the Indian

Confederacy. It was followed by others. In a subsequent campaign, in the

depth of winter, a battalion under Lieutenant Baldwin struck Sitting

Bull’s depleted and starving camp on two separate occasions, inflicting

further loss upon that implacable chieftain.[104]

II. Miles’ Crushing Defeat of Crazy Horse at Wolf Mountain

Late in December Miles, having practically eliminated Sitting Bull from

the game, moved out against Crazy Horse. He had with him five companies

of the Fifth Infantry and two of the Twenty-second, in all four hundred

and thirty-six officers and men and two Napoleon guns. These guns were

fitted with canvas wagon-tops, and were so disguised as exactly to

resemble the supply wagons of the train. The men left the cantonment on

the 29th of December, 1876. It had been learned that Crazy Horse was in

the valley of the Tongue River, south of the Yellowstone. There were

sharp skirmishes on the first and third of January between the advance

and war parties of Indians, who were moving gradually up the Tongue

toward the mountains. On the evening of the 7th of January, 1877, a

young warrior and a woman were captured, belonging to those Cheyennes

who were still with Crazy Horse and the Unkpapas, and were related to

some of the principal members of the band. From them much was learned of

the situation of the Indian position.

[Illustration: