PRAIRIE MARCHING
It would take a volume to recount all the interesting experiences which
befell Al and his companions on the long trip to Fort Sully, Dakota,
where the greater part of General Sully's troops had wintered; but, as
they contributed nothing of moment to the narrative which we are
following, they must be passed by. The fleet reached Kansas City, then a
small but rapidly growing frontier town, nearly three weeks after
leaving St. Louis, a journey which is now accomplished by rail in seven
or eight hours. At Omaha the _Island City_ left the barge which had been
dragging at her stern all the way from St. Louis, as it was such an
impediment that she could no longer handle it in the extremely low stage
of the water. On May 30 the fleet reached Sioux City, where some troops
were taken on board, as were still more at Fort Randall, twelve days
later. About June 20 they arrived at Fort Sully and here the long
steamboat journey came to an end so far as the General and his staff
were concerned, as here they left the boat to march with the column of
troops up the eastern side of the Missouri. Though he expected to see
them frequently again during the Summer, Al regretted leaving the
officers and pilots of the _Island City_, especially Captain Lamont, to
whom he had become quite attached. After his encounter with the deck
hand, Jim, the Captain had shown a liking for him and during many idle
hours had done much toward initiating him into the fascinating mysteries
of steamboating. The fleet itself was going on up the river with the
cargoes, keeping as nearly as possible abreast of the column.
It was a great relief to be on shore again and able to ride a galloping
horse and to move about freely, after the long confinement to the narrow
limits of the boat. For two or three days after the arrival of the
fleet, Fort Sully presented a very animated appearance. Here were
assembled about half of the troops which were to make up the expedition
into the hostile country: the Sixth Iowa Cavalry under Colonel Pollock;
three companies of the Seventh Iowa Cavalry under Lieutenant-Colonel
Pattee; Brackett's Battalion of Minnesota Cavalry under Major Brackett,
which had marched overland from Fort Snelling to Sioux City and thence
to Fort Sully; and two companies of Dakota Cavalry under Captain Miner.
All these soldiers, over one thousand in number, constituting the First
Brigade of General Sully's army, were quartered in the barracks of the
fort or encamped close around the stockade. The buildings of the fort,
which were similar to most of those built on the Northwestern frontier,
were of large, unhewn cottonwood logs; and the stockade, about two
hundred and seventy feet square, was made of cedar pickets rising twelve
feet above the ground, loop-holed for musketry and flanked by two
bastions, one on the northeastern and one on the southwestern corner,
containing cannon to sweep the faces of the stockade. It had been built
by General Sully's troops, many of whom were still there, at the close
of the campaign in 1863. A short distance out from the fort were several
hundred lodges of Indians, recently hostile, but who, wearying of the
struggle, had come in to tender their submission to General Sully. Al,
through interpreters, made eager inquiry among them for news of Tommy,
but could learn nothing. The Indians, who were of several different
tribes of the Sioux Nation: Yanktonais, Brules, Two Kettles,
Minneconjoux, Sans Arcs, Uncpapas, and also Blackfeet, reported that the
hostiles were gathered in one immense camp of some eighteen hundred
lodges, or about six thousand warriors, three days' march west of the
Missouri on the headwaters of Heart River, and that they were eager for
a fight.
After a few days spent at the fort in organizing and refitting the
troops, shoeing the horses and mules, repairing harness, and loading
supplies for immediate use into the train of nearly one hundred wagons
which was to accompany the column, the latter moved out on its northward
march on the twenty-third of June.
Now began days which were full of novel experiences for Al. Though he
had to spend a good deal of time with the wagon train, aiding Lieutenant
Bacon, the acting assistant quartermaster, in issuing and caring for
the supplies, he found many hours each day to ride at the head of the
column with the General and his staff, who usually marched there. The
weather was generally warm, and the vast, seemingly boundless prairie
was parched with drought. The new grass was sparse and dry and hidden
under the dead, brown bunches of last year's blue joint and buffalo
grass, so that the troops and wagon train usually marched in a cloud of
dust which, rising from the feet of the hundreds of trampling animals,
was visible for many miles through the clear air of that high plateau
country. They knew that Indian scouts were all about them, closely
observing their progress, but the red men seldom showed themselves, and
one unfamiliar with their ways might easily have believed that there
were no enemies near. Game, such as buffalo and antelope, could often be
seen in the distance and it was a sore temptation to many of the men to
see them and not give pursuit. Indeed, sometimes a party would sally out
after a buffalo; but unless the party was strong, it was always against
the advice of the old campaigners, especially the officers and men of
the Dakota Cavalry, who had been hunting and fighting Indians all over
the southern part of their vast territory ever since the Summer of 1862.
These men, recruited among the fearless and adventurous pioneers who had
first settled in Dakota a few years before, had been dubbed "the
Coyotes" by their companions in arms because of the speed and skill with
which they could march and manoeuvre against their wily foes; and it was
from them that South Dakota in later years derived its familiar
nickname, "the Coyote State."
General Sully had such confidence in the Coyotes that he treated them in
some degree as his headquarters escort. Their place on the march was
usually near him, and if any piece of work was to be done of an
especially important or daring character, he generally called upon the
Coyotes to perform it. Lieutenant Bacon, whom General Sully had
appointed acting assistant quartermaster, was an officer of the Dakota
Cavalry; and as his assistant Al soon found himself on terms of easy
familiarity with the entire gallant command. This was especially true
after he had one day dashed out with a party of them after a small herd
of buffalo which came in view as they topped a rise, a little more than
a mile in advance. A dozen of the Dakota cavalrymen put spurs to their
horses and galloped after the enticing game, and Al and Captain Feilner
joined them.
Al's horse was a sturdy animal, smaller than Captain Feilner's but
long-winded. When they had ridden two or three miles, gradually gaining
on their game, the herd suddenly divided at a dry slough bed in the
prairie, part keeping on north and part turning east. Most of the
cavalrymen turned to follow the buffalo which had swung east, but two or
three, with Captain Feilner and Al, galloped on after the others. One of
the troopers, a tall, slim young fellow wearing the chevrons of a
corporal, who rode his long-legged black horse like an Indian, gradually
drew ahead of the rest as they came nearer and nearer to the game, until
finally he brought himself abreast of the herd. Handling his horse with
the greatest skill, he worked in alongside of the largest buffalo bull.
Then, drawing his short Sharp's carbine, he leaned over, brought the
muzzle near to the animal's fore shoulder and fired. The buffalo ran on
for thirty or forty feet, then stumbled, fell, rose again and, after
staggering a short distance, fell once more and for the last time. The
corporal, calmly slipping his carbine back into its boot, rode up to the
dead buffalo and began cutting away the choicest portions of it to carry
back to the command.
Meantime Al and Captain Feilner galloped on, some distance behind the
corporal. But the Captain's horse was becoming badly winded and at last
he swung off to one side and took a long distance shot, without result.
Al, though his horse, too, was beginning to show some signs of
weariness, kept on until about fifty yards from the flank and rear of
the herd when, not wishing to exhaust his horse, he decided to take his
chance on a long shot. He accordingly pulled up and, taking hasty aim
with the long Spencer rifle he was carrying, fired at the nearest animal
he could see through the dust. Then he lowered his rifle and looked, but
the buffalo seemed to be running as fast and as steadily as ever. He was
about to turn back, disappointed, to join Captain Feilner, when he
heard the corporal, a little way behind, shouting at him,
"You hit her! You hit her! Keep going; use your revolver!"
Somewhat doubtful, Al urged his horse again to a gallop and kept on
after the herd, Captain Feilner and the corporal following him. But,
true enough, before he had covered a quarter of a mile he saw the animal
he had fired at begin to drop behind the others. In another quarter of a
mile he had overtaken it. It proved to be a good sized cow, which, as he
approached, stopped and turned upon him with lowered head, frothing
mouth and angry eyes. He drew his revolver, the one that had belonged to
his father and that he had used at Fort Ridgely, and cautiously urged
his frightened horse toward the cow. As he came within twenty-five or
thirty feet, she charged at him, but he spurred his horse forward and as
she passed behind him, he fired at her eye. It was a lucky shot, for she
rolled over like a log and lay still. In a moment Captain Feilner and
the corporal rode up, the latter's saddle already loaded with thirty or
forty pounds of choice meat cut from his own quarry. He dismounted and
walked up to Al.
[Illustration: She charged at him as he fired]
"That was a fine shot at the distance," said he. "I didn't think you
would make a hit. And you finished her in good shape. Do you know where
to cut off the best pieces for eating?"
"No, I don't," replied Al. "I never killed one before."
"Let me show you," said the other, drawing out his knife, "so that
you'll know next time."
"What is your name?" asked Al, as they worked, handing up the pieces to
the Captain, who tied them to his own and Al's saddles. "You must be a
veteran at it, the way you knocked over that big fellow."
"Oh, I've killed a few of them," answered the cavalryman, modestly. "It
isn't much of a trick when you know how. My name is Charles Wright,
corporal in Company A, First Dakota Cavalry."
They were soon riding back to the column with the welcome supply of
fresh meat, joining on the way the members of the other party, who had
killed three buffalo of the bunch they had followed. On arriving at the
column they were soundly berated by General Sully for their temerity in
venturing so far; for if a party of Indians of any size had cut in
between them and the main body they might easily have all been killed.
Captain Feilner, who, being an engineer and also, incidentally, a
naturalist, was fond of wandering aside from the line of march to
examine the country, laughed incredulously at the General's misgivings.
"General, I do not believe there are enough Indians within one hundred
miles to endanger the number of us who went out there," said he.
"Well, there are," replied General Sully, positively, "don't make any
mistake about that. And if you're not more careful, Feilner, you'll get
your scalp lifted some day on one of your foolhardy side trips after
buffalo or rocks or petrified beetles. As for you, Briscoe," he
continued, addressing Al, "if you want to die young, just keep on
following those Coyotes wherever they lead." With a grim smile, he
jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the dusty squadron just behind
them, who at the moment were welcoming Corporal Wright and his
meat-laden companions with yells and whoops of delight. "Those fellows
are the most reckless devils in the Northwest and they'll get you into
more tight holes than you can get out of unless you're as bad as they
are."
Al felt that this was the highest compliment possible to the Dakota boys
and so, indeed, General Sully meant it to be. That night at supper in
the bivouac the staff and the Coyotes, at least, fared sumptuously, with
hot and tender buffalo steaks to go with their hardtack, fried potatoes
and coffee.
It was several days after the buffalo hunt, on June 28, to be exact,
that the command broke camp at daylight and marched forward toward the
crossing of the Little Cheyenne River. The troops marched in two
columns, as usual, the supply train being in the centre between them,
while the Dakota Cavalry rode a short distance in advance. Their
commander, Captain Nelson Miner, was that day acting field officer of
the day, having charge of the guard details. As the day wore on it
became hot and sultry and the dust suffocating. Every one was suffering
with thirst and finally, as they approached within a few miles of the
Cheyenne, Captain Feilner decided to ride ahead to that stream in search
of water. Two soldiers from one of the commands in the main column
volunteered to accompany him. Al was working over his books in one of
the wagons of the train when the Captain rode past and called out to
him,
"I am going on to the Little Cheyenne to get a drink. Do you want to go
with me?"
"I should like to," Al called back, "but I'm busy now. Look out for
Indians."
"Oh, yes," replied the Captain, smiling, "There are three of us. I guess
we can force a passage against all the Indians we shall see."
He waved his hand and disappeared through the dust up the column, the
two soldiers trotting hard after him. Al resumed his work and in a
moment forgot all about Captain Feilner. When he had finished he mounted
his horse and rode up to the head of the column where he fell in with
the rest of the staff around General Sully. They had been riding along
in leisurely fashion for some time, their weary horses walking with
drooping heads, the riders lolling in their saddles, when Al's glance,
wandering aimlessly over the desolate landscape ahead, was arrested by
two small dots which suddenly appeared on the top of a prairie ridge far
in front and came racing down the exposed slope in the direction of the
column. Something in their appearance made his heart jump into his
throat. Instinctively he reached out and touched the arm of General
Sully, who was talking to Lieutenant Dale.
"General," he cried, pointing ahead. "Look there! What are those
specks?"
The general, startled, glanced in the direction indicated. His
expression changed to one of dismay.
"By God," he exclaimed, snatching out his field-glasses, "something's
happened over there; there are only two of them. Feilner's got in
trouble; I knew he would."
He touched his horse and started forward at a trot, his staff following.
The riders, coming at a furious pace, soon reached them. They were the
two soldiers who had ridden ahead with the Captain, hatless and without
arms, their horses panting with the frantic pace they had been making.
The leading trooper jerked up in front of the General and, saluting,
cried breathlessly,
"Captain Feilner is killed, General!"
General Sully slapped his field-glasses back into their case and
clenched his fist with an enraged gesture.
"I knew it," he growled, savagely. "The best officer I had. Curse these
infernal redskins!" It must be admitted that at such moments General
Sully did not hesitate to use stronger language than is allowable in
print. "Where was he killed?"
"At the crossing of the Cheyenne, sir. He's lying there now."
"How did it happen?"
"Why, when we reached there, sir, the Captain got off his horse and went
down the bank,--it's steep where we were,--and got a drink, while we
held his horse. Then we dismounted and went down, leaving our horses and
carbines with him. He was sitting under a little tree. While we were
down by the creek we heard a rifle shot and looked up and saw three
Injuns riding up toward our horses. There is good grass in the bottom
and we'd picketed them, but they got scared and pulled the picket-pins
and ran off before the redskins got them. We could see the Captain lying
there but we didn't have our guns so all we could do was to hide out
till the Injuns rode off north across the creek. Then we ran after our
horses and came back."
"Three Indians, you say? And they rode north?" questioned the General,
sharply.
"Yes, sir."
Sully put his horse to the gallop and rode swiftly toward the head of
the approaching column. As he reached Captain Miner, he pulled up.
"Captain," he cried, "three Indians have killed Captain Feilner at the
crossing of the Little Cheyenne, just ahead of us here. They rode north,
across the creek. Take Company A and follow the cowardly assassins and
bring them to me, dead or alive; mind you, dead or alive!"
"Feilner killed!" exclaimed Captain Miner. "The dirty scoundrels!"
He swung his horse so sharply that it reared, and dashed back along the
column of Company A until he reached First Sergeant A. M. English, who
was in command.
"Sergeant," he cried, in ringing tones which every eagerly listening man
in the company could hear, "Captain Feilner has been killed, and we are
ordered to pursue the Indians!"
Then he galloped back to the head of the column and, rising in his
stirrups, shouted,
"Column left, march! Company, trot! Gallop! Follow me, boys!"
With a rising thunder of hoofs and a swirling dust cloud behind them,
through which the glint of carbines, sabres, and accoutrements flashed
in the sunshine, the cavalry swept over the hill in front and away. The
General rode hotly after them to the crest and watched them streaming
through the depression and up the slopes beyond. Then he laughed grimly.
"See the d--n Coyotes," he exclaimed. "They go like a flock of sheep!
They'll kill their horses before they catch the redskins. Ride after
them and tell Miner to take it easy."
Al, who ever since hearing the distressing news had been quivering with
impotent rage over the cruel fate of his good friend, Captain Feilner,
caught the General's last words. He turned with a swift salute, even as
he put spurs to his horse.
"I'll tell him, General!" he cried, and rode away like the wind.
"Here, you!" cried the General, "Come back!"
But Al did not want to hear.
"Oh, let him go," Sully added, in a lower tone, "I reckon he's a Coyote
himself," and he chuckled as he saw Al put his horse over a gully at the
bottom of the hill and tear up the opposite rise close on the heels of
the last ragged end of the racing Dakota Cavalry.