Another Attack that Miscarried.
Everything was in readiness. Two hundred rounds of ammunition was
distributed to the men, and all were in high glee at the prospect of
being able to revenge the cruel murder of friends and neighbors.
At 2 o'clock we were roused by the guards. Horses were quickly saddled
and after a meal of bread, meat and coffee we mounted and filed out of
camp. Besides the scouts I had ten men belonging to the John Day
volunteers. As daylight began to peep over the mountain tops we reached
the head of the canyon in which the Indians were encamped. We had kept a
close lookout for any signs of the Indians abandoning the canyon but
found none. There could be no question as to their whereabouts--not
more than a mile below us.
We halted here and engaged in a discussion as to the advisability of
going around to the west side of the canyon, and when the attack began
to open on them from that side. The John Day men were decidedly in favor
of the move. But Gen. Brown had especially requested that I should be
with the main force when the fight began, and I must return and meet
him. It was finally arranged that I should return, taking one man with
me, while the others should go down the west side of the canyon.
Accordingly I selected the boy Eugene Jones and we started back. It was
arranged that the main force should follow me up the mountain within an
hour after I left camp, and I expected to meet them about the time the
attack began. I did not consider it as being particularly hazardous, as
they could not be very far away. We rode at the gallop, expecting every
moment to hear the report of the opening guns. It was broad daylight now
and we sped on as fast as our horses could carry us. But nothing could
be seen or heard of the command. Our situation was now serious in the
extreme. We passed within 600 yards of the Indian camp and could see the
smoke curling up out of the canyon. But the only alternative that
presented itself to us was to go ahead as we should certainly meet the
troops within a short distance. As a matter of fact we were "so far
stepped in that to retreat were worse than going o'er." On and on we
sped until the brow of the mountain was reached overlooking Murderers
Creek Valley, and nowhere could we get sight of man or beast. "What does
it mean?" These were the questions repeated one with the other. We
finally concluded that the Indians had slipped out behind us, or that we
had overlooked their trail, and that Gen. Brown finding it had started
in pursuit.
Descending the mountain we struck across the valley and at or near the
creek we found the trail of the command. It was easy to distinguish the
trail as our men rode shod horses while the Indian ponies were
bare-footed. Picking up the trail we rode as fast as the condition of
our tired horses would permit. About four miles from where we struck the
trail we found the carcass of one of our pack mules. We at first thought
there had been a skirmish and that the mule had been killed. An
examination, however, showed us that the mule had fallen over an
embankment and broken his neck. Following a well beaten trail we did not
discover that the command had left it until we had gone some two or
three miles past the carcass of the dead mule. We therefore began to
retrace our steps. It should be understood that the course taken by the
command was due east, at right angles to that which they should have
taken in following me in the morning. Returning, we carefully examined
each side of the trail in order to discover where it had been left. We
finally came back to the carcass of the dead mule. We knew they had been
there, but what had become of them? Eugene suggested that they had "had
an extra big scare and had taken to wing."
While we were looking for the trail six of the men from whom we had
separated in the morning rode up. They were as much bewildered as I. In
fact, I could not account for the actions of the command except that
there was rank, craven cowardice somewhere, and the language I used was
freely punctuated with adjectives not fit for print. After a long search
we discovered where they had left the trail. They had followed a shell
rock ridge for a quarter of a mile, probably, as some of the men
suggested, to hide their trail for fear the Indians would follow them.
The course was now due north. This they kept until reaching the summit,
when they again turned west. We followed on as fast as the jaded
condition of our horses would permit, until I discovered pony tracks
following behind. Keeping a sharp lookout, however, we continued on
until we came to where one of the Indians had dismounted, the imprint of
his moccasin being clearly outlined in the dust. This presented a new
difficulty, and we now understood why they had not picked us off in the
morning. They were entrenched and were waiting to be attacked, but
seeing the main force turn tail, the hunted had turned hunters.
To follow the trail further appeared madness, and we turned down the
mountain, keeping in the thick cover. I concluded the command would
simply circle the camp and return to the Stewart ranch that night.
Accordingly we bent our course so as to strike the head of the valley,
which we reached at sundown, but nowhere could we discover the presence
of man or beast. We waited until dark and then led our horses up through
the willows lining the banks of the creek, and finding an open space
picketed our horses, and leaving a guard of two men, laid down to sleep.
I told the boy Eugene to wake me up and I would stand guard, but he
failed to do so, saying he was not as tired as I and stood both guards.
At daylight we again saddled up and began a search for the command. We
had eaten nothing since 2 o'clock on the previous morning and began to
feel keenly the effects of hunger. All that day we wandered through the
mountains, returning to our hiding place in the willows of the night
before. At daylight I wrote a note and left it at the Stewart ranch and
then determined to reach John Day Valley. Food we must have, and we knew
we could find something there. Striking a course through the mountains
we reached the Cummins ranch at 4 o'clock that day. We had now been
without food for 62 hours, and from that day to this I could never bear
to see anything hungry--man or beast. Here we found Gen. Brown with
most of his command enjoying their ease. Some kind ladies at the house,
learning our condition, quickly set us some food, mostly soups and
articles of light diet.
In explanation of his remarkable course, Gen. Brown declared he was
misled by the John Day volunteers, while they in turn laid the blame on
Gen. Brown. I was furious over the whole shameful affair and took no
pains to conceal my disgust. Capt. Humphrey told me that he knew they
were going in the wrong direction, and told Brown so, but the latter
said Lieut. Angel was acting as guide and that they would follow him,
and on the head of that officer the blame finally rested.
This incident and others led next day to the enforced resignation of
Lieutenant Angel and the election of George Chamberlain as his
successor.
From the Cummins ranch we went to Canyon City for supplies, and from
there to Bear Valley, on the mountain to the west, and on the road
leading to Camp Harney. After resting our horses for a day, Gen. Brown
and I, with a small escort, went to Camp Harney hoping to get some news,
and while awaiting the return of Chamberlain. At Camp Harney a small
force of regulars was posted and some thirty or forty families had
gathered there for protection. Many of the women and children had
escaped from their homes, scantily dressed, and had been unable to
procure any clothing during the lapse of more than a month. It was a sad
sight, especially those who had lost husbands, sons and brothers.
The day after our arrival, two ladies, the wives of Major Downing and
Major McGregor, sent for me. The latter had two or three children
besides her mother. Their husbands were with Howard's column and they
were anxious to reach Canyon City and go from there to Walla Walla.
Would I escort them to Canyon City? I said certainly, I would do so, as
I would go within a few miles of that place on my return to camp. Lieut.
Bonsteil of the regulars spoke up and said he would provide them with an
escort at any time. But Mrs. McGregor told him plainly that she would
not go with the soldiers that if they got into trouble the soldiers
would run away--but the volunteers would stay with them. The Lieutenant
suggested that "it was a fine recommendation for the United States
Army." "I know the army better than you do, Lieutenant, and have known
it much longer, and I will not risk my life and the lives of my children
with them," said the plain spoken Scotch lady. The next morning, bright
and early, we started out. The ladies were riding in an ambulance,
driven by a soldier. When near half way to Bear Valley and near Mountain
Springs, we crossed the fresh trail of a strong party of Indians, but we
arrived at our destination safely, and next morning returned to camp.
Here we rested a couple of days and, Chamberlain returning, we moved to
our head camp at Grindstone. We had accomplished nothing in the way of
destroying hostiles, but had prevented them from scattering and
committing all kinds of atrocities as they had done before reaching John
Day Valley.
Arriving at our camp we found ourselves without any provisions.
Accordingly Gen. Brown and I started to Prineville with a four horse
team to obtain supplies to send back to the men who were to follow. We
took along a teamster and the quartermaster. Starting in the evening we
arrived at the crossing of Beaver Creek, and I captured an old hen, all
that was left at the ranch after its plunder by the Indians in June. We
drove until midnight and arriving at Watson Springs, stopped for the
night. We dressed the hen and had the driver to sit up the balance of
the night and boil her. When daylight came we tried to breakfast off the
hen, but it was a rank failure, and we harnessed up and drove on,
getting a meal at a ranch ten miles from Prineville, to which place we
drove that night.
Thus ended my last Indian campaign, and one of which I never felt any
great amount of pride. In one respect it was a rank failure, due, I have
always thought, to the rank cowardice of some one--probably more than
one. We had, however accomplished some good, as before remarked, and
probably saved some lives, and that was worth all the hardships we had
endured.
I cannot close this narrative without a further reference to the boy,
Eugene Jones. During the first two weeks of the campaign my eyes became
badly affected from the dust and glare of the sun, reflected from the
white alkali plains on the head of Crooked River. At times I could
scarcely bear the light, which seemed fairly to burn my eyeballs. From
the first Eugene had attached himself to me. He would insist on taking
care of my horse in camp, and often would stop at a spring or stream and
wetting a handkerchief would bind it over my eyes and lead my horse for
miles at a time. At Murderers Creek, too, he was the only man to follow
me when I made the dash after the Indian horse herd. Another thing I
observed about the boy was that I never heard him use an oath or a
vulgar, coarse expression. What then was my surprise on arriving at
Prineville to find a letter from Sheriff Hogan of Douglas County telling
me that the boy, Eugene Jones, was none other than Eugene English, a
notorious highwayman and stage robber. He was a brother of the English
boys, well known as desperate characters. I was stunned, perplexed. The
Sheriff asked me to place him under arrest. But how could I do so, after
all he had done for me? It appeared in my eyes the depth of ingratitude.
In my dilemma I laid the matter before Judge Frank Nichols of
Prineville. I related all the boy had done for me, and asked him what,
under like circumstances, he would do. "By George, Colonel, I would not
give him up. It may be wrong, but I would not do it," replied the old
Judge. We then went to Mr. Brayman, a merchant of the town, and laid the
matter before him. He fully agreed with us that the boy should be saved.
I then went to the quartermaster, got a voucher for the boy's services,
obtained the money on the voucher from Mr. Brayman, and putting a man on
a horse, explained to him that he was to hand the letter and money to
Eugene, first having him to sign the voucher, or warrant, over to Mr.
Brayman.
The young man found the boy with the volunteers. He called him to one
side, gave him my letter as well as the money. He signed the voucher,
and that night disappeared and I never saw or heard of him again. But of
this I feel certain, if he fell in with the right class of men he made a
good man and citizen. Otherwise, otherwise. Do you blame me, reader? I
have never felt a regret for what I did. Put yourself in my place.