search for some deserters. They happened to come upon the ground
just then, else I should not be writing you this account to-day.
They saw the whole affray from the outset, but did not dare to
attack. They counted the Indians and said there were about thirty
of them. Now, when I started for the river, after the fall, they
agreed to assist me if they could. Fortunately I did not go in
immediately on reaching the river, but went towards them without
knowing of their presence. When I went into the river finally, they
understood that I mistook them for Indians, and made a dash to save
me. God bless them! In doing that they put themselves in danger. I
saw this and spoke of it, but they said they intended to give the
"red devils" to understand thus that they were supported by others.
Their strategy had precisely that effect. I looked towards the
Indians, and they were making off in the other direction towards
"the bluffs," as fast as they could go. We went safely back to
"Godfrey's," one of the soldiers kindly giving me his horse to
ride. I wish it were in my power to reward in some substantial way
these noble young men. After saluting me from the river-bank, I
swam and waded back to the shore. It was with difficulty that I
could stand when I reached it. My coat was stained with patches of
blood. The soldiers at first were sure that I was wounded, but
strange to say, I was not hurt. The blood was from the driver, and
got upon my coat from the coach-box.
I lost my baggage, several hundred dollars of goods and money
captured by the Indians. Stopping two days at "Godfrey's," with a
force of eighteen men well armed, in three coaches bound east, we
started on again. Godfrey, who has a mortal hatred of Indians,
treated me with great kindness. This, dear sir, was my marvelous
escape. Bishop Randall writing me afterwards about it, said that it
seemed to him but little short of a miracle. Bishop Tuttle also
expressed the same view. The fall from the tongue of the coach, the
stopping of the coach just in time to call off the party that were
getting between me and the river, the sand bar in the river, on
which I rested in the last extreme, and finally, the singular
appearance of the soldiers to deliver me, are plain indications
that it was the will of God that I should be spared.
Truly yours,
WM. A. FULLER.
CHAPLAIN WHITE SAYS THERE'S A TIME TO PRAY AND A TIME TO FIGHT.
In July of the same year as the massacre at Phil. Kearney, that is to
say on the 20th July, while Chaplain White was traveling on Powder
River with Captain Templeton, Lieutenant Daniels, Lieutenant Wanns, and
J. H. Bradley, in company with five white women and two colored also,
going to join their command, and while quietly traveling along, about
fifty to sixty wild Indians came suddenly upon them just as they
approached "Crazy Woman's Fork River." At once there was a panic, and
one of the officers suddenly put on a woman's bonnet and rode off. One
woman had a babe. The chaplain, seeing all was confusion, and each one
for himself, exclaimed, "For God's sake, don't leave these women to be
murdered!" This seemed to call them to their senses, and they began to
rally, though, all told, there were but thirteen armed men. One
soldier, a German, got terribly frightened, and said, "_Isn't there
some one to pray?_" The chaplain seized him by the collar and bid him
hold his gun, saying, "_There is a time to pray and a time to fight!_"
By nightfall they had all disappeared. Lieutenant Bradley was very
courageous; for when the Indians shot their arrows, he would stoop down
and pick them up in derision.
Chaplains may be sometimes of little account, but if their record could
be written up, a large number would be found to have done noble service
during the war of the rebellion.
Chaplain John McNamara, of the 1st Wisconsin Regiment, was one of them.
I learned the following anecdote from a soldier who died in Camp
Douglas:
Private Auchmuty said, "We had marched for a whole year, and had never
a battle. Like all soldiers, we grumbled a good deal, and found fault
with our rations. Our chaplain preached a sermon about our being
discontented, saying we 'had done nothing at all for the government,
only to soldier a little, and eat our rations.' This made us a little
angry, and so we took it out in calling as he passed, '_There goes
the chaplain that eats his rations_!'
"But by-and-by we had a sharp and bloody fight at Stone River. Colonel
B. J. Sweet was badly wounded in his right arm, and our captain was
killed. This made us waver and fall back. But the chaplain rushed
forward to lead us, exclaiming, 'Boys, come on! The enemy is wavering;
we are sure of a victory!' On we rushed after him, and drove the foe
off the field. After that we called him the 'Bully chaplain.' He lost
his wig, but he gained the victory."
LEGEND OF "CRAZY WOMAN'S FORK."
The Absarakas, or Crow nation, have the reputation of being good
friends to the whites, and it is also said they have never warred with
them.
Iron Bull, a renowned chief of the Crows, relates the following legend.
In the journey through that most delightful region of Montana from Fort
Phil. Kearney to Fort C. F. Smith (in the Powder River country), one of
the most favored camping-grounds is the one called "Crazy Woman's
Fork," the name of a pretty little stream of water that rises in the
Big Horn Mountains, and emptying into the Little Horn River. About
three miles from the mountains this stream crosses the trail between
the two military posts mentioned.
This camp on the Fork is noted for its danger from Indian attacks, as
an abundant supply of game being found in the valley, brings the Indian
there to replenish his larder of wild meat. Notwithstanding the dangers
attending a journey through this region, it has its attractions in the
beautiful and diversified views of lovely scenery, which hasten the
parties traveling that region to encamp, for a night at least, on the
banks of a limpid stream that refreshes man and beast from an unfailing
source in the mountains. The banks are skirted with cottonwood-trees,
and to the west, one sees the tall spurs of the Rocky Mountains rising
up, as it were, from your feet, their dizzy heights covered with snow;
while the haze that surrounds them gives to them a halo of glory and
weirdlike appearance, that the imaginative might compare to _the
garments that mantle the spirits of the blessed in Paradise_!
Iron Bull said that about two hundred years ago, when the moon shone
brighter, and there were more stars, his nation was a great people, and
they roamed over all that country from the Missouri River to the west
of the Yellowstone, and no dog of a Sioux dare show himself there. But
the people had been wicked, and the Great Spirit had darkened the
heavens and made the sun to shine with such heat that the streams were
dried up, and the snow disappeared from the highest peaks of the
mountains. The buffalo, the elk, the mountain sheep, the deer, and the
rabbit, all disappeared and died away, bringing a great famine upon his
tribe, and the spirit of the air breathed death into the lodges, so
that the warrior saw his squaw and papooses die for want of the food he
could not find on all the plain, or on the mountain-sides; so that the
whole nation grieved and mourned in sorrow of heart.
Still, they kept up their wars with the Sioux, and fought many a bloody
battle with them when they suffered most, and the game had entirely
disappeared. Their great medicine-man called a council, and when the
head-men had assembled, he told them of a wonderful dream that he had
had, when he was bidden by the Great Spirit to gather the chiefs of the
tribe at the fork of the stream where they lived.
Their ponies had all been eaten for food, so the proud Indians were
compelled to make the journey on foot to the place of meeting.
But when they had arrived at the bluffs, on the edge of the valley,
they were surprised to see a bountiful supper spread on the bank of the
stream, close by the Forks, and a white woman close by, standing up and
making signs to them to descend from the bluffs.
Having never before seen a "white squaw," they were greatly astonished.
The medicine-man descended to the valley. The white woman told him that
the Great Spirit would talk to the council through her. She told him
that the wars of the tribe were displeasing to the Great Spirit, and
they must make peace with the Sioux nation. When that was done, the
great chief, "The-Bear-that-grabs," must return to her.
They sent out runners to the Sioux, and peace was declared between the
tribes for the first time in one hundred years.
She then told the great chief to follow the mountain in a westerly
course, until he came to the Big Horn River, and where the rock was
perpendicular, _he was to shoot three arrows, hitting the rock each
time_.
The chief departed on his mission, and as he gained the bluffs from the
stream, he looked back at the white squaw, but what was his surprise
when he saw her rising in the air and floating towards the mountains!
He watched her until she disappeared over the highest peak towards the
sky.
The chief pursued his journey, and, arriving at the place told him by
the white squaw, he discharged his arrows. The first one struck in
rock. The second flew over the mountain. The third was discharged, and
a terrible noise followed: the heavens were aglow with lightning; the
thunder shook the mountains. The earth trembled, and the rocks were
rent asunder, and out of the fissure countless herds of buffalo came,
filling the valleys and the hills. The hearts of the Indians were glad,
and they ate and were merry, and returned thanks to the Great Spirit
and to the good white woman.
The great fissure in the rocks is the cañon of the Big Horn River.
Iron Bull avers that when anything of note is about to befall the
tribe, the image of the white woman can be seen hovering over the peak
of the mountain at "Crazy Woman's Fork." He says the Crows have never
killed any of the whites, and his people say and believe "that they are
treated by the government agents worse than the tribes who give us all
the trouble."
In other words, because they are peaceable, we need not, as with
others, to buy them off with presents. And they say we have taken some
of their lands and given them to the Sioux, who were fighting and
destroying the whites as often as they could.
PHIL. KEARNEY MASSACRE.
One of the most fearful and fatal massacres on the plains that is
known, occurred in the forenoon of December 21st, 1866, at Fort Phil.
Kearney, Dakota.
About nine o'clock, some Indians, a few only (as usual), were seen on
the bluffs. Brevet General Carrington, Colonel of the 18th United
States Infantry, in command of the post, sent out eighty-one men, one
company of infantry, and one of 2d Cavalry, Company C, under command of
Colonel Fetterman. The instructions, it is said, were not to go over
the hills. However that may be, they pursued the hostile Indians beyond
sight of the post, crossing the river near the fort to do so. At ten
o'clock the fight began, the firing being heard plainly at the post.
There were from fifteen hundred to twenty-five hundred Sioux, under
chief Red Leaf.
The soldiers were led into an ambuscade, and having shot away all their
ammunition in a panic, were surrounded and massacred before two o'clock
in the afternoon. Sixteen Indians were killed, and chief Spider among
them. The bodies of the soldiers were horribly mutilated and scalped.
Why reinforcements were not sent out to help them out of their perilous
condition does not appear. Colonel Fetterman was killed, a noble, brave
man, and the fort next above "Laramie" was named after him. This is an
eyesore to Red Cloud, and he requested the President to have it
removed, as of no use, he said, and costing the government a great deal
of money. His wish was not gratified.
MAUVAISES TERRES, OR BAD LANDS, DAKOTA.
Up in the Indian country, in Dakota, near White River, as one travels
over a prairie country, one comes suddenly upon a valley, down between
one and two hundred feet, which is at least thirty miles wide, by
ninety in length. It looks as though it had sunk down below all the
country round; while standing like sentinels all around, one sees
pillars of immense height, of irregular prismatic columns of masses of
stone, stretching up to the height of from one to two hundred feet or
more. It reminds one of the ruins of Pompeii (described by Bulwer) as
the traveler wends his way through deep passages, amidst petrified
snakes, turtles, and mammoth animals, which must have been larger than
elephants. Turtles weighing a thousand pounds, petrified, lie around,
and all over is strewn the remains of extinct animals in this vast
charnel-house.
Professor Leidy, of Philadelphia, has detected about thirty remains of
species of extinct mammalia. Many of these belonged to animals such as
the hippopotamus, rhinoceros, tapir, etc. One extinct animal, called
the Oreodon, had grinding teeth like lions, cats, etc., and must have
belonged to a race that lived on vegetables and flesh, and yet chewed
the cud like a cow. Another called the Machairodus, was wholly
carnivorous, and combined the size and weight of the grizzly bear with
the jaws and teeth of the Bengal tiger. Most of the bones are yet in
good preservation and highly mineralized. Dr. Owen says he saw all the
bones of a skeleton eighteen feet long and nine in height; also a jaw
of a similar animal, which measured five feet along the range of its
teeth. At one place there is a valley which has the appearance of a
floor of an ancient lake, where turtles lie imbedded by hundreds, and
some weighing a ton. This wonderful place looks like the city of the
dead; and as nothing grows there, and there is no water for animals, no
living thing is found there, not even a bird. General Sully made a
forced march through it with cavalry a few years ago, and had to carry
water for the men and horses. The Indians never go there, unless driven
in by some tribe attacking in superior numbers. The fossils which have
been brought from the Mauvaises Terres belong to a species that became
extinct before the period when the Mastodon inhabited this country. The
strata in which these animals are imbedded indicate that the water was
fresh or brackish. It is the most desolate and barren prospect one
could lay his eyes on; and if the place for bad people is like this,
when they come to die, may no boy have to go there and be frightened
all his life-long for his wicked and cruel deeds to others, or to
animals either; for the sight of these skeletons is enough to make any
boy afraid of disobeying his mother, or to go to sleep any night
without being sorry for his sins.
Gold is said to be deposited there, and may yet be found in large
quantities, if the Indians can be induced to let the whites prospect
there. A while since, an Indian brought into a fort some gold-dust and
a large nugget. The post-trader looked at it and pretended it was iron,
saying to the Indian, "No good." He threw it out of the window and gave
the Indian a glass of whisky. When he went out, the trader picked it
up, and it was worth thirty dollars. The Indian having refused to tell
where he got it, was made quite drunk, and then he said it came from
the Bad Lands; but if the chief found out he had told of it, he would
kill him.
NATURAL HISTORY--ANIMALS ON THE PLAINS.
The animals which are found west of the Missouri River, especially in
the Rocky Mountains, and far beyond them, are the buffalo, elk, deer,
cimarron bear, mountain sheep, antelope, coyote, prairie-dog, etc.
The buffalo, which affords good beef to the Indian hunters, and has fed
many thousand toilers over the plains to Salt Lake and California, is
mainly known to boys in the comfortable buffalo robes, which every one
knows the use of in sleigh-riding. But to us officers and soldiers on
the plains they are life-preservers almost, in our sleeping out nights
on the ground, far away from home and good beds and blankets.
The buffalo meat is tough, unless from a young cow; and the Indians
make little difference in drying it for winter use, as they have good
teeth and always a first-rate appetite. The skins are dried and tanned
by the squaws, who lay them on the grass; and I saw an old gray-haired
squaw toiling away with a sharp instrument, made of the end of a
gun-barrel, something like a carpenter's gouge, and this had a bone
handle, with which she kept scraping off the inside of the skin of its
fibres, so as to make it soft and pliable. She had a stone to sharpen
the tool with, and as she leaned over, tugging away, the perspiration
rolled off her face in streams. Poor old creature, I felt sorry for
her, as the work might have been done by several big, lazy, half-grown
Indian boys I saw romping around and shooting their arrows at a mark.
But it is disgraceful for the _lords of creation to labor_, so they
only kill the game, and leave the squaws to cure and prepare it for
eating.
It is astonishing how poorly Indians are compensated for their robes
and furs. In Colorado, some Indians had been very successful in killing
buffaloes, had plenty of meat, and purchased with their robes flour,
sugar, coffee, dry-goods, and trinkets from the white and Mexican
traders; but they did not realize one-fourth their value. They were
worth eight or nine dollars by the bale at wholesale. The traders paid
seventy-five cents in brass wire or other trinkets for a robe; two
dollars in groceries, and less in goods. Six tribes, in 1864, furnished
at least fifteen thousand robes, which, at eight dollars, would amount
to one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. The traders literally
swindled the poor Indians. _They will give the robe off their backs
for a bottle of whisky on the coldest day._
The cimarron bear is avoided by the soldiers, if possible, when met by
them. Up in the Wind River country, a soldier was mauled terribly by
one which he had wounded, but failed to kill on the first fire. The
fight was desperate, for the bear, said to have been six or seven feet
long, and weighing nine hundred pounds, had clinched the soldier, and
both rolled down the ravine together, the other soldiers afraid to fire
lest they should hit the poor comrade, almost in the jaws of death.
They did rescue him, however, by lunging a knife into bruin's side,
compelling him to release his hold, after lacerating the soldier's arm
and side.
The coyote is a kind of wolf that preys on the antelope. It is a mean,
sneaking thief, too mean to attack a herd of antelopes, but follows
them up, and while one strays off, grazing, watches the opportunity to
spring upon his victim, run him down, and snap the hamstring of poor
antelope, and then eats him.
One night I was woke up at Fort Sedgwick, thinking I heard wild geese
flying over. But I learned it was a drove of coyotes, which came over
the bluffs, into and through the fort nightly, to eat the refuse meat
outside, where beef was slaughtered. They prowl about, and sometimes
make a noise like a lot of school-children hallooing at play. They
never bite, unless attacked. An old lady got lost about a mile outside
the post, at Russell, in the winter. She started out of Cheyenne, one
Monday afternoon, to search for an emigrant train which might be going
to Montana, where she had a son living.
She strayed away and was found in a snow-bank, by some soldiers going
out to dig a grave. She was glad to see the faces of white men, for it
was on Friday, and she had thus been out, wandering around since
Monday, four days! She was brought into the hospital and given a warm
cup of tea. "Dear me," she exclaimed, "give me a quart,--I'm almost
famished!" She said she was only frightened by the coyotes coming round
nights and barking at her. Her feet were partly frozen, but in a few
weeks she went on to Montana.
The black-tailed deer are fine eating; the grass on which they feed in
the mountains is said to make the meat tender and sweet.
The mountain sheep are large and very strong; they will throw
themselves from a rocky cliff and strike on their head many feet below
unharmed, being protected by horns and stout necks. They are larger
than our domestic sheep.
The antelope is a pretty, gazelle-like creature, fleet and agile in
springing up and running. Having passed over the Union Pacific Railroad
many times, it has been my pleasure to see them running away from the
train in droves of a dozen or more, in file one after the other, till
out of sight, far away over the bluffs. By-and-by they will disappear
as the buffalo have, driven away by approaching civilization. The young
are easily caught and tamed, and make nice pets for children. The cost
of one here is usually five dollars. They are hunted a good deal for
their meat, as antelopes are tender and sweet to the palate. One method
in hunting them is to raise a white or red flag, and the silly
creatures, full of curiosity, will turn and walk towards it till shot
down by the marksman.
The prairie-dog is an animal peculiar to the plains. He is found in
what is called a "dog-town;" being a plot of a few acres, as seen
alongside the railroad, after a day and night's ride, dotted over with
mounds a foot or so high. Sometimes a thousand or more congregate in
the town, and their holes are a few rods apart. When approaching these
towns, or the cars pass along, you see them scamper off to the top of
the mound, stand up on their hind-legs and bark, shaking their little
short tails at each bark, and presently plunge head first into their
holes. They are of a brown color, size of a squirrel, but with tails an
inch long. I tried to drown out some, and poured several barrels of
water into a hole without bringing any out. These holes ramify into
others, generally, so it was impossible, in my experience, though
others do get hold of a single hole, and drown them out. Rattlesnakes
and small owls make their homes with them. These are interlopers, as
the prairie-dogs dig the holes down about three to four feet. They can
be tamed, as I know by experience, having carried several east to
Chicago, to my Sunday-school children.
One night in Colorado, on the Cache le Poudre River, while camping out
there (having gone with a detective in search of horse-thieves), I
heard a terrible clatter among the prairie-dogs late in the night. It
was explained to me by the ranchman, who said they were in the habit of
changing their domiciles once a year, and it was only effected after a
great struggle and fight among themselves. By sunrise, four o'clock in
the morning, all was still; and the little fellows were running about
in search of roots, upon which they live all winter, down in their
dark, deep holes. They belong to the species marmot, and are said to be
good eating. I have never tried them. Friday, Arapahoe chief, told me
that the Indians make use of their oil to cure rheumatism.
A NIGHT SCENE.
The Bishop of Nebraska visited the Pawnee reservation, near Columbus,
and the head chief had just before lost his only son by death. He was
feeling very unhappy about it, and he told the interpreter to say to
"The little medicine-man-in-the-big-heap-sleeves," "That he had lost
his son, and was feeling very heavy here" (laying his hand upon his
heart); adding, "All is dark, and I want him to tell me what the Great
Spirit has got to say to me in my sorrow."
The bishop said, "Tell him that we have a prayer in the book, we always
say, 'for persons in affliction;' we will all kneel down and repeat it
sentence by sentence, and remain in silent prayer." There in the
shadows of the evening, a few whites mingling among the dusky faces, as
the lights shone upon their bent forms, prayer was offered for
consolation and healing of the poor old man's heart. It was a solemn
scene, and many sobs were heard from the Indian women. After a little
while, all rose up from their knees, and the tall chief, standing
erect, said, with beaming eye, "Say to the Father, say to him, it's all
gone! all gone!" He added, "We are glad to hear such words from the
Great Spirit. We have been told many words from our fathers many moons
since; they have told us good words; that when we do wrong the Great
Spirit is angry with us. Sometimes we forget what they told us, and do
wrong, killing one another. Now, we are told you have a good book that
tells you all you ought to do; and if we had it and could read it in
our tents, maybe we would be better. But we are too old to learn it
now. Teach it to our children,--teach it to our little ones!" What an
answer to prayer!
THE MISSION HOUSE.
The chapel and the mission-house, which is the home of the Santee
Sioux, were mainly built by the Indians. A hospital is to be built soon
for them, mainly through the Christian efforts of William Welsh, Esq.,
of Philadelphia.
INDIAN LANGUAGE, COUNTING, ETC.
Wah-ge-la, one. Cow or ox, dib-lish.
Numpa, two. Candle, pal-a-za-zar.
Zomina, three. Cat, how-i-win-go-lar.
Do-be, four. Boy, ox-i-la.
Yap-ta, five. Girl, wi-tin-chil-a.
Sha-ko-pe, six. Small, chu-chil-la.
Shoko, seven. Hat, por-ta.
Sho-go-lo-ra, eight. Snow, of-hene.
Nim-chalk, nine. Pot or kettle, mushta.
Wieh-grin-ina, ten. Good, wash-ta.
Dog, sumka. Don't know, so-lo-wash-ta.
Horse, tu-gon-ka. To-morrow, umpa.
Major Van Voost, at Fort Kearney, always told the Indians who begged,
"Yes, call to-morrow." So they kept calling, and finally gave him the
name "Umpa."
INDIANS ATTACK LIEUT. W. DOUGHERTY--FIGHT BETWEEN FORTS FETTERMAN AND
RENO.