The Mammoth Book of the West (45 page)

Eventually, Custer broke off the campaign completely, and force-marched his men across Kansas so that he could be with Libby. Two men were killed by Indians en route but Custer refused to stop to bury them. A week after being reunited with Libby, Custer was arrested and charged with inhumane treatment of his men and abandoning his command. He was convicted on both counts, and suspended from his post for one year.

An expedition into Kansas headed by Hancock fared little better. In four months of active campaigning, Hancock’s command killed four Indians, two of them friendly. The other two were Sioux, casualties in a fight that saw one of Hancock’s detachments annihilated.

There were other Indian victories. On 26 June 1867, a war party of 300 Cheyenne and their Arapaho and Sioux allies descended on Fort Wallace in Western Kansas, where a company of the 7th Cavalry was stationed. “They [the Indians] came literally sailing,” recalled Captain Albert Barnitz, “uttering their peculiar ‘Hi! Hi! Hi!’ and terminating it with the warwhoop – their ponies, gaily decked with feathers and scalplocks, tossing their heads high in the air, and looking wildly from side to side.”

Seven soldiers died in the attack, including Sergeant Frederick Wyllyams, an English Eton graduate who had come West for adventure. Another Englishman, Dr William Abraham Bell, working for the Kansas Pacific Survey, came upon his countryman’s body shortly afterwards and photographed it. Bell also recorded the scene in words:

I shall minutely describe this horrid sight, characteristic of a mode of warfare soon – thank God – to be abolished. We shall have no difficulty in recognising some meaning in
the wounds. The muscles of the right arm hacked to the bone speak of the Cheyennes; the nose slit denotes the Arapahoes; and the throat cuts bear witness that the Sioux were also present. I have not discovered what tribe was indicated by the incisions down the thighs, and the laceration of the calves of the legs, in oblique parallel gashes. Warriors from several tribes purposely left one arrow each in the dead man’s body.

Bell sent copies of his photograph to Washington so that “the authorities should see how their soldiers were treated on the Plains.” Few in the 7th Cavalry forgot the fate of Frederick Wyllyams.

Military policy was a self-evident failure. The Indians on the northern plains had been even more successful by this date, having wreacked havoc to the Bozeman Trail and wiped out Fetterman’s command.

A peace commission was established which met first with the northern tribes at Fort Laramie, then in October 1867 with the central and southern plains tribes at Medicine Lodge Creek in Kansas.

More than 5,000 Indians were present at the council, which was conducted with much pomp and ceremony. On both sides. Soldiers drilled. Indians rode around in milling circles, their horses painted for war. The only ones who remained aloof were the Quahadi Comanche of the Staked Plains, fearsome raiders led by the half-breed Quanah. Indian chief after chief made eloquent, impassioned speeches on behalf of their cause and their desire.

The Kiowa chief Satanta (White Bear), wearing a blue officer’s uniform coat given him as a present, told the commission:

I love the land and the buffalo and will not part with it . . . I want the children raised as I was. I have heard that you
want to settle us on a reservation near the [Wichita] mountains. I don’t want to settle. I want to roam over the prairies. There I feel free and happy, but when I settle down I feel pale and die . . . These soldiers cut down my timber; they kill my buffalo; and when I see that it feels as if my heart would burst with sorrow.

As for the commission’s offer to build the Indians “civilized” homes, Satanta added: “This building of homes for us is all nonsense. We don’t want you to build any for us.”

At the end of the council some chiefs signed, and some did not. Black Kettle of the southern Cheyenne, despite the massacre of his people at Sand Creek, still wanted friendship with the Whites, and signed. So did Kicking Bird of the Kiowa and, after protestations, Chief Ten Bears of the Comanche. Just before he left, the ageing Satank, noted chief of the Kiowa, came up to the commissioners to bid them farewell. He stood there with his pony, and made a little speech that moved even the most Indian-hating of the White men gathered.

I come to say that the Kiowas and the Comanches have made you a peace, and they intend to stick to it . . . We have warred against the White man, but never because it gave us pleasure . . . In the far distant past there was no suspicion among us. The world seemed large enough for both . . . But its broad plains seem now to contract, and the White man grows jealous of his Red brother . . . You have patiently heard our many complaints . . . For your sakes the green grass shall not be stained with the blood of Whites . . .

Little more than a year later, the ranges were running with White blood. Despite the hopes of Satank, Black Kettle, and other tribal leaders peace was impossible. The
Indians had promised to stay away from the trails and the railroads, but these things were not static. They spread over the hunting grounds almost by the day. And now the farmer had arrived, eating land with his plough and his vision of a land turned to agriculture. The iron horse and the sodbuster: these were the ultimate enemies. They had to be stopped.

During the summer of 1868, bands of hostile Indians attacked settlements and trails in western Kansas and Colorado, killing 124 people. By fall, the grasslands from Kansas to Texas were criss-crossed by war parties.

Following the disastrous campaigns of the previous year, Sherman replaced Hancock with his old colleague, General Philip H. Sheridan, a black-eyed, brilliant and profane cavalry officer. Sheridan authorized Major George A. Forsyth to enlist 50 volunteer frontiersmen who would give the Indians a taste of their own free-booting warfare. The result was the famous fight at Beecher Island in the Arikaree River, Colorado, where Forsyth’s scouts withstood repeated assaults by 600 Indians for nine days. It was here that the legendary Cheyenne war chief Roman Nose (Woqini) was killed. Roman Nose had a black and red eagle-feather warbonnet whose supernatural ability to protect him from harm depended on his not eating food touched by metal. While besieging Forsyth he learned that his food had been taken from the fire with an iron fork. He was cut down early in the action.

Forsyth’s stand at Beecher Island (named after one of his volunteers who was killed there, authoress Harriet Beecher Stowe’s nephew, Frederick) was a singular bright episode for the Army. Elsewhere the picture on the central and southern plains was bleak. Sheridan called in the one officer he believed had the motivation to crush Indian resistance: George Custer. “If there was any poetry or romance in war he could develop it,” said Sheridan of his
protégé. In October 1867, the flamboyant Custer rejoined the 7th Cavalry and marched them into hostile country, determined to restore his glorious reputation.

On 23 November, Custer’s Osage scouts picked up the trail of a war party of young men returning from a plundering raid in the Kansas settlements. The story of the ensuing “Battle of the Washita” – at least from the point of view of the 7th Cavalry – was later told by Edward S. Godfrey, one of Custer’s lieutenants:

November 23rd—Reveille at 3 o’clock. Snowed all night and still snowing very heavily. The darkness and heavy snowfall made the packing of the wagons very difficult, but at dawn the wagons were assembled in the train and daylight found us on the march, the band playing, “The Girl I Left Behind me,” but there was no woman there to interpret its significance. The snow was falling so heavily that vision was limited to a few rods. All landmarks were invisible and the trails were lost. “We didn’t know where we were going, but we were on the way.” Then General Custer, with compass in hand, took the lead and became our guide.

As the day wore on the weather became warmer and I have never seen the snowflakes as large or fall so lazily as those that fell that day. Fortunately there was no wind to drift the snow to add to our discomfort. They melted on the clothing so that every living thing was wet to the skin. The snow balled on the feet of our shod animals causing much floundering and adding to the fatigue of travel. About two o’clock we came to Wolf Creek, crossed to the right side of the valley and continued to march till we came to a clump of fallen timbers and there went into camp with our wagon train far behind. As soon as the horses were unsaddled everyone except the horse holders was gathering fuel for fires. The valley was alive with
rabbits and all messes were supplied with rabbit stew. Our rawhide covered saddles were soaked. The unequal drying warped the saddle trees which subsequently caused that bane of cavalry – many sore backs. Snow, eighteen inches “on the level”; distance marched, about fifteen miles.

The snowfall ceased during the night. The sun rose on the 24th with clear skies and with warmer weather. The snow melted rapidly. The glare of the bright sunshine caused much discomfort and a number of cases of snowblindness. Some buffalo were killed and many rabbits. Some deer were seen. We camped on Wolf Creek. Distance marched, about 18 miles.

November 25th we marched some distance up Wolf Creek and then turned in a southerly direction toward the Canadian. As we approached the summit of the divide, the peaks of the Antelope Hills loomed up and became our marker for the rest of the day. We made camp late that evening on a small stream about a mile from the Canadian. The day’s march had been tedious. The melting snows balled on our shod animals during the long pull to the divide. A number of horses and mules gave out, but were brought in late that night. Wood was very scarce, but usually the quartermaster sergeants would load some wood in the cook wagon when packing and they usually were on the lookout for fuel on the march.

At daybreak, November 26th, Major Elliott, with troops G, H, and M, some white scouts and Osage trailers, started up the north side of the Canadian to scout for a possible trail of war parties. The remainder of the command and the wagon train marched to the Canadian to cross to the south side. To “California Joe” had been given the task of finding a ford. The river was high and rising, current swift and full of floating snow and slush ice. After much floundering he found a practical ford. The cavalry crossed first
and assembled on the plain. Owing to the quicksand bottom, each wagon was double teamed and rushed through without halting. A mounted man preceded each team and other mounted men were alongside to “whoop ’em up.”

While this tedious crossing and parking was going on, General Custer and a number of officers went to the tops of the hills to view the country. The highest peak was about three hundred feet above the plain. Suddenly we were enveloped in a cloud of frozen mist. Looking at the sun we were astonished to see it surrounded by three ellipses with rainbow tints, the axes marked by sundogs, except the lower part of the third or outer ellipse which seemingly was below the horizon, eleven sundogs. This phenomenon was not visible to those on the plain below.

As the last of the wagons had crossed and the rear guard was floundering in crossing, someone of our group on the hills called out, “Hello, here comes somebody.” But General Custer had already seen him and had focused his field glasses on the galloping scout, but he said nothing. It was a tense moment when Jack Corbin rode up and began his report.

Major Elliott had marched up the Canadian about twelve miles when he came to the abandoned camp of a war party of about one hundred and fifty; he had crossed the river and was following the trail which was not over twenty-four hours old, and asked for instructions. Corbin was given a fresh horse to return to Major Elliott with instructions to follow the trail till dark, then halt till the command joined him.

Officers’ call was sounded and when assembled we were told the news and ordered to be prepared to move as soon as possible. One wagon was assigned to each squadron (two troops), one to Troop G and the teamsters, and one to headquarters; seven in all, and one ambulance under the quartermaster, Lieutenant James M. Bell. These
were to carry light supplies and extra ammunition. I cannot recall of just what the limited supplies consisted. Each trooper was ordered to carry one hundred rounds of ammunition on his person. (They were armed with the Spencer magazine carbine and Colt revolver, paper cartridges and caps.) The main train guarded by about eighty men under the command of the officer of the day was to follow as rapidly as possible. For this guard men with weak horses were selected. Captain Louis M. Hamilton, a grandson of Alexander Hamilton, was officer of the day. He was greatly distressed because this duty fell to him and begged to go along to command his squadron, but was refused unless he could get some officer to exchange with him. Lieutenant E. G. Mathey, who was snowblind, agreed to take his place.

Soon the regiment was ready to move and we struck in a direction to intercept the trail of Elliott’s advance. We pushed along almost without rest till about 9 p. m. before we came to Elliott’s halting place. There we had coffee made, care being taken to conceal the fires as much as possible. Horses were unsaddled and fed. At 10 p. m. we were again in the saddle with instructions to make as little noise as possible, – no loud talking, no matches were to be lighted. Tobacco users were obliged to console themselves with the quid. Little Beaver, Osage Chief, with one of his warriors, had the lead dismounted as trailers; then followed the other Indian and white scouts with whom General Custer rode to be near the advance. The cavalry followed at a distance of about a half mile. The snow had melted during the day but at night the weather had turned cold and the crunching noise could be heard for a considerable distance.

After a couple of hours’ march, the trailers hurried back for the command to halt. General Custer rode up to investigate when Little Beaver informed him that he “smelled
smoke.” Cautious investigation disclosed the embers of a fire which the guides decided from conditions had been made by the boy herders while grazing the pony herds and from this deduced that the village could not be far distant. The moon had risen and there was little difficulty in following the trail and General Custer rode behind the trailers to watch the developments. On nearing the crest of any rise, the trailer would crawl to the crest to reconnoiter, but seeing Little Beaver exercise greater caution than usual and then shading his eyes from the moon, the General felt there was something unusual. On his return the General asked, “What is it?” and Little Beaver replied, “Heap Injuns down there.” Dismounting and advancing with the same caution as the guide, he made his personal investigation, but could only see what appeared to be a herd of animals. Asking why he thought there were Indians down there, Little Beaver replied, “Me heard dog bark.” Listening intently they not only heard the bark of a dog, but the tinkling of a bell, indicating a pony herd, and then the cry of an infant.