The Indian War of 1864 - Chapters 1-3



CHAPTER I.
THE SUMMER OF 1863.--GETTYSBURG AND VICKSBURG.--PEA RIDGE.--INDIAN 
PRISONERS.--MARCH TO ROLLA.--THE SEVENTH IOWA CAVALRY.--SEPTEMBER 19, 
1863.--OMAHA.--THE CAMP.--SOLE IN COMMAND.--DRILLING BY BUGLE.--THE LOYAL 
LEAGUE.--GENERAL H. H. HEATH.  

   IT WAS the summer of 1863. The battle of Gettysburg had been fought, 
and the Confederates had retreated to the south side of the Potomac. 
Pemberton had surrendered Vicksburg with 27,000 prisoners, and the 
Mississippi River had been opened to navigation for the people of the 
United States. The Confederacy having thus been cut in two, its government 
should have then seen that it was impossible to succeed, and should have 
surrendered, thereby saving the vast destruction of property and life 
which was ultimately to ensue from the overrunning of its territory by the 
United States forces.

   All Europe deemed the Confederacy as no longer possible of success. Its 
recognition by European powers was now out of the question, and the United 
States was enabled to turn its attention to matters of detail. And among 
these matters was the question of the Indian nations then on the 
northwest, west, and southwest.

   In the last days of the Buchanan administration, while preparations 
were being made for secession and war, the South had arranged to carry 
with it the support of the Indian tribes. The Indian tribes were governed 
by agents appointed by a dishonest Secretary of the Interior, and the 
spirit of rebellion was fomented among them as an incident to the coming 
war. After the Southern Confederacy had been ushered in, and an army put 
into the field, in 1861, the Confederate Government immediately turned its 
attention to the utilization of the Indian. The tribes in the Indian 
Territory, then powerful and warlike, having long been treated as separate 
nations, exercised rights of sovereignty, and, under the influence of 
Confederate legations, gathered together in conventions, and formally 
seceded from the Union. This idea of secession, although ridiculous, 
because independent powers do not secede from one another, was 
nevertheless a strong factor in favor of the Confederacy, and a matter of 
great danger to the southwestern States of Kansas and Missouri and the 
weak frontiers thereof. But not only the tribes of the Indian Territory 
seceded, and put themselves in the scale of antagonism to the United 
States of America, but through their efforts the whole Indian population 
of the West was precipitated against the border States as far north as 
Minnesota, where barbarous massacres took place. When it was reported that 
the Indians of the Indian Territory were to be turned upon the Union 
forces, an intense feeling prevailed in the North against these Indians, 
and it recalled to mind the historical fact, known to every American, how 
the British did the same thing during our wars for independence, and even 
tried to turn those tribes against us in the Northwest in the War of 1812, 
and partially succeeded.

   After the battle of Wilson Greek, which took place in southwestern 
Missouri August 10, 1861, General MacIntosh, the senior Confederate in 
command, retired with his army to Arkansas, leaving General Price to look 
after the Missouri troops, and the Missouri field. While recruiting was 
going on for the Confederate service in Arkansas, and while fearing the 
result of Fremont's appointment to the command at St. Louis -- a fear 
which was groundless -- the Confederates took into their service a number 
of Indians from the Indian Territory. This fact was rumored around, and 
finally got into the Northern newspapers. As the methods of Indian warfare 
were known, and no one expected any quarter from Indians, the sentiment 
prevailed that every Indian caught in hostility to the Government should 
be summarily killed, and no feelings of humanity or sentiment seemed to 
oppose it.

   At the battle of Pea Ridge, which was fought on the 6th, 7th and 8th 
days of March, 1862, a large number of these Indians were found among the 
Rebel forces. This battle, fought with grim determination on both sides, 
ended in crushing defeat for the Confederate General, his death, and the 
retreat and scatterment of the Confederate army there engaged. It so 
happened that eleven Indians were captured upon that field by persons so 
mild-tempered that they spared the lives of the captives. All the other 
Indians were killed outright. When these eleven Indians were got together, 
it was determined to send them North, for the purpose of (to use an 
expression of the day) "firing the Northern heart." It was believed that 
if these Indians could be exhibited as being captured with arms in their 
hands there would be an immediate outpouring of sentiment which would 
bring to the aid of the army, money and volunteers in increased ratio; 
although even at that time, sentiment was strong, because McClellan had 
gathered together and organized a fine army on the Potomac, which he was 
shortly to move, as was believed, to quash the Confederacy at Richmond. A 
large number of those captured at the Pea Ridge battle, "poor white
trash," that did not know what they were fighting for except that they 
thought they were fighting to prevent the negroes from marrying into white 
families -- these most ignorant people, as a general rule, when captured, 
had things explained to them, were given the oath of loyalty; and they 
agreed to go home, not fight any more, and attend to their own business. 
But among the captives were a great many intelligent persons, men who had 
held official positions, civil and military, and these it was thought best 
to send up North to the military prison at Chicago. The writer of this 
book was detailed to go with these persons, numbering slightly over four 
hundred, including these eleven Indians, to the city of Rolla, which was 
the end of the railroad then projected from St. Louis to Springfield, 
Missouri. Rolla was one hundred and thirty miles from Springfield, and 
seventy miles from St. Louis.

   The Pea Ridge battlefield was 80 miles southwest of Springfield. For 
the purpose of conveying these prisoners, together with wagons to haul 
back supplies, there was detailed a motley sort of guard. They were 
composed of convalescents who at Springfield had got out of the hospital, 
and who were believed equal to the light duty of convoying these 
prisoners, rather than the severe duty of campaigning down through 
Arkansas. In addition to these there were a few furlough men, who, after 
the battle of Pea Ridge, and the dissolution of the Confederate army, were 
permitted to go home for thirty days. There were also a few whose term of 
service had expired; there were a few Missouri Home Guards; there were a 
few cavalrymen detailed as wagon guards; there were some who were wounded 
so slightly that they could still do effective guard duty. The whole 
escort could, perhaps, be classed as a hundred cavalrymen, and fifty 
infantrymen. From Pea Ridge as far as Springfield, Missouri, the prisoners 
were escorted by several companies of cavalry who came along to take back 
from Springfield a lot of army supplies.

   The route from Pea Ridge to Springfield was the most dangerous part of 
the route. From Springfield to Rolla the writer was not the commander of 
this expedition, but was a subordinate. Nominally, the officer in command 
was an Iowa Cavalry Lieutenant, named Patterson, who had been a very brave 
man, but had become ill through the exposure of the winter. The doctor 
believed that the Lieutenant had acquired the rudiments of consumption, 
and had suggested that the Lieutenant be given a furlough of ninety days 
to go home, and receive treatment. This officer was feeble, and as a fact, 
he never returned to the service, but died shortly afterwards; so that the 
responsibility of this trip was largely upon the writer of this. The 
orders were to keep the strictest guard upon these Indians, and not let 
any of them escape. It was desired that all should be taken safely and 
surely to the North, so that they might be exhibited as a show in the 
Northern cities, in a group. The indignation of the soldiers of our 
command towards the Indians was very great.

   The line of march from Springfield to Rolla lay through a timber 
country all of the distance. The prisoners were marched compactly in the 
road. In the front was a slight cavalry advance guard; along each side 
marched some of the infantry and some of the cavalry. The cavalry rode one 
behind the other, with their revolvers in their bands. In front of the 
prisoners was a little squad of infantry to keep the prisoners from 
running forward, and back of the prisoners another squad of infantry, to 
make them keep up. Behind came the wagons. When we camped at night these 
prisoners were herded together and compelled to build a stake-and-rider 
fence around themselves every night. They all knew how to build such 
fences, and they were hurried up in doing it. It was not possible, as the 
march was arranged, for any one to attempt to escape without being shot. 
The Indians somehow began to feel that they had no sympathy, not even from 
their co-prisoners, and seemed determined to take every opportunity to 
escape. In marching on the line, they would always manage to occupy the 
positions in the line from which escape was easiest and least hazardous. 
One after another of these Indians made efforts to escape, but the eyes of 
the guards and of the whole escort were upon the Indians, and every time 
that one of them made an attempt he lost his life. The result was that 
when we got to Waynesville, Missouri, which was about 28 miles from Rolla, 
there was only one Indian left, and during that night one of the guards 
killed him. The fact of the death of all these Indians was of course known 
to the Confederate prisoners, and word of it got back, soon, through them, 
to the South. The death of these Indians was proclaimed and really 
appeared in the light of a massacre or assassination. The result seems to 
have been that many more Indians immediately joined the Southern 
Confederacy, and formed regiments, and great hostility spread through the 
entire Indian country as far north as the Canada line; all of which was 
fomented by the Confederacy.

   The Indians in 1863, outside of the Indian Territory, were numerous and 
powerful, and there were many forts guarding the frontiers and the lines 
of Western travel; but nevertheless, vast areas were not only unguarded, 
but even unexplored at that time. It was for the purpose of protecting the 
frontier that on September 19, 1863, eight companies of the Seventh Iowa 
Cavalry found themselves in Omaha, destined for the Indian country. The 
other four, of the twelve companies composing the regiment had been in 
advance sent up and camped at Sioux City, Iowa, which was then called the 
"jumping-off place."

   The companies which arrived on the date stated, in Omaha, were A, B, C, 
D, E, F, G, and H. The regiment was well mounted and had been provided 
with new uniforms, but was poorly armed. Each cavalryman had a Gallager 
carbine, an exceedingly inefficient weapon; a Colt's .44 calibre revolver, 
which loaded at the muzzle with a paper cartridge; a heavy dragoon sabre, 
which was becoming obsolete, and which, subsequently, before the 
regiment's term of service expired, was boxed up and stored.

   The city of Omaha at that time was a straggling town scattered all over 
the second bottom of the river, the mud in places very deep, and adhesive, 
and the streets filled with wagon trains coming in from the west or going 
out The transportation of that day was mainly by ox teams. The wagons were 
large and heavy and with boxes about four feet high, with bows and cotton-
duck covers. They had a way of coupling one wagon to another, and of 
putting in front of the double freight, a dozen yoke of oxen, more or 
less, according to the load. There were a few mule teams, but not many, 
and much fewer horse teams. The transportation of the plains was effected 
mainly with oxen, which could be grazed upon the valley grass as they 
went. The city of Omaha did not seem to have much local business, but did 
seem to have a very great "freighting" business. The wind constantly blew 
at the rate of about fifteen to thirty miles an hour. While we were there 
upon a street I noticed a large roll or pile of damaged tin roofing, and 
upon asking a bystander what it meant, he said they had a building upon 
the hill which they had used for a Territorial capitol building, but the 
wind had blown the roof off. The saloons were many in number, and 
miserable in quality. It is probable no town ever sold, per capita, more 
mean and destructive whisky. Fights were constantly in progress, and 
somebody was being killed every day. There were a large number of persons 
wearing some portion of a Confederate uniform, but they all disclaimed 
having been in the Confederate army, and either said they had bought the 
piece of uniform or captured it. As a matter of fact, the city was full of 
deserters from the Confederate army. We were camped out on the western 
edge of town; our tents were in rows double-guyed to resist the wind, and 
with holes dug in the ground in which to cook, so that the wind would not 
blow the fire out over the tents. We got our camp made about sundown of 
September 19, 1863, and in a short time a large number of our men were in 
various stages of inebriation, and telling how they were going to punish 
"Mr. Lo," as they called the Indian, as soon as they could get out where 
he was. Alas, some of these very men were buried out in the Indian country 
with their boots on. The first night in camp in Omaha was a very convivial 
occasion.

   There was then one large hotel in Omaha, called the Herndon House. It 
had been built as a sort of boom hotel. It was named after a Lieutenant 
Herndon, of the United States service, who, by his then recent exploration 
of the Amazon River, had made quite a reputation. General McKean was 
commanding the district of Nebraska, or "Nebraska and the Plains," as it 
was officially called. He had his headquarters in this Herndon building, 
with a large staff, mostly young men, who were a very jolly set of 
officers. Besides these there were galloping around over the streets 
frequently, groups of officers who had come down from the plains, or down 
the river from above, or were connected with the supply department. On the 
edge of town were many freighters' camps. I remember the first night that 
we were there a woolen-shirted, sombrero-hatted teamster came into our 
camp with a guitar, and sang all the army songs of the period. He also 
sang "Joe Bowers'" and also "Betsey from Pike." I had heard "Joe Bowers" 
often sung before in the army, but had never heard "Betsey from Pike." The 
song represented a woman going overland with her husband to the mines, and 
the trials, troubles and tribulations of the road. I remember only two 
verses, which were as follows:

"The wagon broke down with the tear of bull-crash,
And out of the end-gate rolled all kinds of brash;
A small volume of infantry clothes done up with care
Looked remarkably suspicious, though all on the square.

Says a miner to Betts, 'Won't you dance along with me?'
'Oh, I will that, old hoss, if you don't make too free;
But don't dance me hard, for I'll tell you the reason why,
Dog-gon you, I'm chuck-full of alca-ho-li.'"  

   We drilled during the second afternoon of our stay in Omaha. It was 
entirely by the bugle. Indian-fighters must be drilled by the bugle, and 
the men must be taught the bugle-calls, and constantly exercised lest they 
forget.

   That night there was some kind of a show in Omaha, theatrical or 
otherwise -- I do not remember. It just happened, as the regiment was then 
organized, and at that particular time situated, that I, being a Second 
Lieutenant, was the youngest officer in rank immediately with the 
regiment. So the Colonel after supper turned over the command of the 
regiment to the Major, who was next; and the Major turned it over to the 
Senior Captain, and the Senior Captain turned it over to some one else, 
and all started for town on horseback. Finally it got down to the 
Lieutenants, and by eight o'clock my immediate superior had turned the 
regiment over to me. There was no commissioned officer to whom I could 
turn; they all outranked me, and I had to stay up, and take care of the 
regiment while all of my seniors went into the city. By nine o'clock the 
regiment was boisterous. Reveille was sounded, then tattoo, and afterwards 
"taps." By the time taps were sounded, I found a large part of the 
regiment drunk, and once in a while some soldier in a shriek of ecstasy 
would fire his revolver at the moon. Then I would take the Corporal and 
guard, and put the man under arrest. In a little while I had the guard 
tent full, and still things were as lively as ever. I finally got a crowd 
of about twenty-five sober men, and went around and gathered up the 
noisiest and set a sergeant drilling them. But they soon ran, helter-
skelter, and the camp guards could not stop them. My escort and I smashed 
up all the whisky we could find, and finally got to tying the loudest ones 
up to the wagons with lariats, and by about eleven o'clock there was some 
semblance of order. Finally the officers began to string in, but I had a 
bad three hours. This all sounds worse than it really was; the men were 
going out on the plains, and intended to have a celebration before they 
went. They carried it further than they should. I was glad when all was 
over that no one was killed.

   At the wharf were a lot of steamboats unloading supplies. They were 
light-draft Missouri boats. Omaha was a great steamboat town. Everything 
had to be brought there by steamboat. The boats were stem-wheelers. There 
was yet no railroad to Omaha. Vast quantities of supplies were being piled 
up, on the wharf, and it was said that we were waiting in Omaha so as to 
escort a train, and so as to take out a large amount of supplies for 
ourselves. The only way we kept the men from carousing was by drilling. 
And while they were well drilled to the word of command, they were not 
thoroughly up on the bugle-calls. They were drilled constantly; in the 
morning on foot, obeying in a modified way the bugle-calls, and drilling 
on horseback in the afternoon, and then we had classes in the evening, and 
sounded the bugle-calls, and had the pupils give the equivalent military 
command.

   Shortly before our arrival in Omaha I had met and been introduced to a 
man who was a national organizer of the Union League. It was called the 
"National Loyal Union League. "Only such officers were let into it as were 
of known loyalty. The army was so honeycombed with disloyal men and Rebel 
sympathizers that it was difficult to know always whom to trust. These 
were to be weeded out, and the obligation of the Loyal League was 
administered only to those of whom the organization was dead sure. It was 
a strange thing to me to be approached by one whom I did not know, and be 
talked to upon the subject. He said there were persons in my regiment who 
were Rebels, and who were disloyal; that he was authorized to give me 
admission to the order. This was before we reached Omaha. He said it cost 
nothing, but it must be kept profoundly a secret. He said that it had a 
civil branch, and a military branch; that the obligations were different, 
and the object different; but that any officer or soldier who belonged to 
the military order could make himself known, and could be admitted, and 
visit a lodge of civilians. I expressed a thorough appreciation of the 
plan, and he took an hour, and put me through a verbal drill, and gave me 
some signs, and passwords. The day before marching into Omaha, while 
riding on the road with my company, a farmer with a load of hay alongside 
of the road gave the hailing-sign. I stopped, and talked with him a few 
moments, and he told me that near where we were stopping that night was a 
large Union League organization that had arrested and put in jail a gang 
of Confederate deserters, and that they would be glad to see me present. 
When our command went into camp, I rode that night into the village, and I 
had gone but a short distance before I got the "hailing-sign," in both 
instances given in the same way. I found out where there was to be a 
meeting of the lodge that night, and I went up, and attended it. The 
hailing-sign was a remarkable invention. It was "two and two." in any way 
that two and two could be designated, the hailing-sign was made. For 
instance, if the hand should be held up and the four fingers divided in 
the middle, two on each side. With a bugle it was two short notes, then an 
interval, and two short notes. It could be made almost any way; two 
fingers to the chin. The persons who hailed me, as stated, put two of 
their fingers in their vest pockets, leaving their other two fingers out. 
Nobody in the regiment that I know of, was initiated when I was, and I was 
told where to make reports in case I had something to communicate. I did 
not know whether there were any persons in the regiment when I got to 
Omaha, who belonged to the Loyal League. But the third day while I was 
there, I was lying down in the tent, late in the afternoon, with my feet 
near the mess-chest. My Captain came in, and as he was a warm-hearted, 
true-blue Union officer of great gallantry, and great courage, it occurred 
to me that he might belong to the Loyal League, so with my foot I tapped 
on the mess-chest two couplets of raps. Captain O'Brien looked up at me 
and said, "What sort of a sign is that?" and I said, -How do you know it 
is a sign?" And he said, "When did you join?" And I said, "What do you 
mean? Join what?" Then he put out his hand and gave me the grip, to which 
I responded. The grip was a two-and-two grip. I had been recently promoted 
into the company Thereupon he told me who belonged to the Union League in 
our regiment, and told me who was suspected. Among others was our senior 
Major, who was believed to be thoroughly "secesh," although professing 
quite the contrary. His name was H. H. Heath, and afterwards, in 1866, one 
of his letters was found in the Rebel archives, and read upon the floor of 
Congress. He had arrived in 1885 to the rank of Brigadier General, but had 
offered his services to the Confederates for a remuneration of magnitude 
during the dark days. Once at roll-call shortly afterwards, in the 
presence of my men, while the first sergeant was calling the roll, I gave 
the sign, and some half-dozen of them responded. How or where they got 
into the order I never knew, but I tied up to them afterwards.

   We had a number of accidents in Omaha. Several of our men were sick and 
our company became reduced to about 80 effective men.

   I kept a daily journal, and while in the service I frequently wrote to 
my mother long letters. Upon her death many years afterwards I found that 
she had saved them. So, the journal and letters and the company field-desk 
still in my possession enable me to write more fully and accurately than I 
otherwise might about the happenings of the year and a half hereinafter 
described.



CHAPTER II.
SEPTEMBER 26, 1863.--MARCH FROM OMAHA.--THE ELKHORN RIVER.--TWO BROTHERS.--
SEPTEMBER 27, 1863 FREMONT.--SEPTEMBER 28, 1863.--SHELL CREEK.--MAJOR 
WOOD.--SEPTEMBER 29, 1863.--THE CAPTAIN AND THE FIRST LIEUTENANT.--LOUP 
FORK.--COLUMBUS.--PAWNEE AGENCY.--SEPTEMBER 30, 1863.--LUSHBAUGH.--THE 
AGENCY.--THE PAWNEE INDIANS.--THE PAYMASTER.--THE MONEY.  

   ON SEPTEMBER 26, 1863, our company started on the march west. We went 
over the high tableland, rough and rolling, and after twenty-three miles 
came to the Elkhorn River. Upon this day's march I remember the first 
appearance of a very strange character, to whom I shall hereafter refer. 
It occurred this way: Shortly before we started to march, a grown, mature 
man, who gave his age as thirty-six, came and wanted to enlist. He said he 
had been on the frontier, and had served in the regular army. As we were 
going out there again, he wished to go; he declared his intentions to be 
loyal to the Union, and that he would enlist in some command for three 
years or during the war. His name was James Cannon. About one-third of the 
boys when we started in the morning were more or less intoxicated. Cannon 
was talkatively full. He wanted to ride at the head of the column and talk 
with me, the most of the trip. Finally I reached out and took his canteen, 
which I found half-full of whisky, and poured it out on the ground, and 
told him if he did not sober up and quit drinking I would not send in his 
enlistment papers, and would let him go without either muster-in or 
discharge, and he promised he would never drink any more.

   The condition of the country between Omaha and the Elkhorn River was 
that of a wild Western country. The road was a well-beaten track, four or 
five hundred feet wide, on which an enormous baffle for years had been 
operating. The country was rough, and timberless; there were no 
settlements of any note, except, there might be seen, here and there, far 
off down some long swale, a haystack, or a shack of some kind, or herd of 
cattle handled by one or two men, but far off from the road. The wind had 
blown almost all the time since we had been in Omaha, and as we went over 
this upland the road was hard and smooth as a floor, for the dust and sand 
and gravel had been blown off from it by the violence of the wind.

   The companies of our regiment while in Omaha were formed into two 
battalions of four companies each; companies A, B, Q and D forming the 
first battalion, and E, F, G, and H, the second. The companies had been 
sent out of Omaha one at a time, so that they might scatter along the road 
in their progress west, and have better grass and forage than if they all 
went together. Those companies went out first which were ready, and 
provided for, first; several companies went ahead of our company, and 
several companies came behind us. In going over to the Elkhorn River we 
met long trains of wagons coming in. Almost all of them were ox trains, 
and their wagons were mostly empty. It was no uncommon sight to see three 
yokes of oxen pulling three or four wagons coupled together in a sort of 
train. The Elkhorn River did not have much timber on it, but in its valley 
new farms were being opened.

   Upon September 27th we marched through Fremont, and camped on the 
Platte valley two and one-half miles west of town. At this point the 
country was level, and somewhat settled. That evening a soldier who had 
served in the war, and been discharged, came into camp, and when he found 
that we were an Iowa company, he told of a couple of Iowa soldiers who 
were living about a mile from camp. When he gave their names, I thought I 
remembered them; so I went out to see them. They were two brothers, 
unmarried, keeping "bach" in a little cabin made of the trunks of 
cottonwood trees, daubed up with mud ready for the winter. They had each 
taken a quarter-section, and settled upon it as a homestead. One had been 
discharged from the hospital, his health having been impaired down near 
Vicksburg. The other was severely wounded at the battle of Shiloh, and was 
discharged on account of wounds received. Neither one was drawing a 
pension. They spoke at considerable length of the difficulties which they 
encountered with their neighbors, saying that several of their neighbors 
were old Confederate soldiers who had deserted and left the Confederate 
service, but who were still strongly against the "Abolition war." Each one 
of these boys had two revolvers, and a rifle. They said that there had 
been a Union League formed at the village of Fremont.

   On September 28, 1863, we started early in the morning, and camped on 
Shell Creek. It was quite a long, deepcut stream, but apparently not 
flowing much water. We camped on the stream a half-mile above where the 
road crossed it. Captain O'Brien and I went out hunting for ducks, the 
Captain having bought a double-barrel shotgun and ammunition at Fremont. 
The Major commanding our battalion, with an escort, joined us in the 
afternoon, shortly before we went into camp. He was one of the old 
pioneers of the West, Major John S. Wood, of Ottumwa, Iowa. He had been to 
California with the forty-niners, and in camp that night he told us of a 
battle which he and his wagon train, over fourteen years before, had with 
Indians on the bank of Shell Creek. The Major was not a man who praised 
himself very much, and when he told the story of the Shell Creek fight it 
was very interesting to us. In the morning he took us out to where he said 
he had dropped an Indian with his rifle.

   The country along the route of the day's travel was considerably 
settled. I would say that one-fourth of the quartersections had occupants-
that is, down in the valley; the upper lands seemed to be entirely 
uninhabited, We passed a large number of trains during the day coming in, 
and some few going out. Those that were going out seemed to be loaded only 
for Fort Kearney, or else were the wagons of private ranchers along the 
line to about a point of two hundred and fifty miles west of the river. It 
was a sort of custom of the place to talk to everybody and ask everybody 
where he came from, and we, being on horseback, had time to ride back a 
few yards with the boss of a train to talk with him further regarding the 
grass and water, and where the best camping-places were. We passed during 
this day several little bands of Indians, generally not more than four 
together. They were mostly in pairs, bucks and squaws; hardly any 
children. They seemed to be sort of migratory; to be in camp a great deal, 
and to make but little progress in their wandering. The settlers said the 
Indians were apparently friendly, and nobody showed any fear of them. They 
seemed to be wanting the protection of the whites. One woman at a ranch 
near the road where we stopped to water, said that they kept walking 
around the house, and looking in the windows, and at first scared her 
considerably, but finally she got so she would go and order them off 
without any fear. But there were vivid rumors of the warlike conditions of 
the Western tribes, and of murders, burnings and difficulties a few 
hundred miles west.

   Upon September 29, 1863, we marched to Loup Fork, and camped a half-
mile from Columbus. Captain O'Brien was dissatisfied with the shotgun he 
had bought at Fremont. In fact it was a weak gun, and at Columbus he 
looked around until he found a man who had a large, powerful duck gun, and 
the Captain trade d off his old gun for almost nothing, and bought the new 
one. As the game would be consumed by our mess, we agreed that the cost of 
all of the Ammunition should be charged up to our officers' mess. It was a 
gun of the old type, with a wooden ramrod, but it shot well. The Captain 
was a couple of years older than I, and we together had to manage the 
company. It was a tough company to manage. The Captain had been in the 
service for a long while, and had been down South, was in the battle of 
Perryville, and was a brave and reliable officer. I was on the rolls as a 
"veteran volunteer," which under the law gave me a sort of preference. We 
had formed a fast and enduring friendship, and pulled together always in 
all emergencies. Our First Lieutenant was a white-haired, gray-whiskered, 
incapable man, of good family and good birth, but without the slightest 
military ability in the world, and had got his First Lieutenancy on 
account of political influence. The men had no respect for him, and didn't 
mind him, or care for what he said.

   Our company was composed of fellows who had a natural longing for a 
fight, and the Captain and I each of us had more than once a personal 
conflict with some of our men; but the men had got into the habit of 
minding us when we gave orders. The First Lieutenant was being utilized as 
a sort of commissary and quartermaster, and was not with us at this 
particular time. At Columbus there were but few houses; it was entirely a 
frontier village, and had some wild and frontier characters in it. Among 
them was a man named North, who was a great Indian fighter, and a great 
authority on Indians, He was highly esteemed by the Pawnees on account of 
various acts of bravery. This man North, many years after, went in with 
"Buffalo Bill" and organized the "Wild West Show," which made fortunes for 
many. It happened that Captain O'Brien and I ran onto North immediately 
after our entrance into the village, and formed an acquaintance which 
lasted forever afterwards. In this narrative of mine, North will be 
hereafter referred to.

   In the little village of Columbus was a long, low one-story building 
which had painted on it in large letters nearly four feet high, "W. W. W." 
I inquired what it was, and was told that the letters stood for "White 
Wheat Whisky," and that there was a German there distilling whisky. I went 
over to take a look and see what sort of place it was, and sure enough, I 
found some of my men in there loading up their canteens. I had to make 
them unload, and compelled the distiller to pay back their money which he 
had received. This was a disagreeable matter, for the boys were about half 
full, and the man himself was a good deal of a bully. They had paid him 
for all they had consumed. I thought it best to keep whisky out of the 
camp; in fact, such were the orders from our superior officers.

   The Loup Fork at the time was not a very large river; its name was the 
French word for "wolf." This was on account of the Pawnee Indians, who had 
settled at some distance up the stream; "Pawnee," in the Indian language, 
meaning "wolf." The Pawnees gave the name "Wolf" to the river, which the 
French, who were the first traders and scouts into the country, translated 
into "Loup," which has ever since remained.

   The night at Columbus was a very eventful night. One of our companies 
that had preceded us had marched up the Loup River to protect the Pawnees, 
it being understood that the Sioux were determined to raid them, and the 
Sioux at that time were an extremely powerful tribe. That night Lieutenant 
Norris, of the company spoken of, came down to Columbus with some of his 
men, and having been there in that neighborhood long enough to find out 
where everything was that was bad, the whole posse got drunk, and the camp 
was a considerable of a pandemonium. We, however, got the men herded into 
their tents, and the sober ones guarded the others. Nothing in particular 
took place except the men shouted, played poker, and shot holes through 
the top of the tent until after midnight. We were joined by a young man 
from Ottumwa, Iowa, long since dead, who claimed to have received 
permission to trade among the friendly Indians along the frontier. He was 
a very nice young man, who got delightfully and amiably intoxicated on all 
occasions, was more congenial when drunk than sober, and who played poker 
with the men for postage stamps, and made himself a general good fellow.

   In the morning there came along a paymaster of the United States, with 
orders from the District headquarters to take escorts wherever he wanted 
them, and could find them. He presented his credentials to us, and 
requested that we go with him to the headquarters of the Pawnee tribe up 
Loup Fork. At that time the Northwestern country was made into a 
department with headquarters at Fort Leavenworth. This department was 
divided into districts, and the district which we were in was the District 
of "Nebraska and the Plains"; it went west into what was then Colorado, 
and "Idaho Territory" north of it. This district was divided into sub-
districts, and the "Eastern sub-district of the District of Nebraska" had 
headquarters at Fort Kearney, which was then a large live fort with a wide 
reservation. This paymaster of the army desired us to go with him because 
he had to pay off the Pawnee Indians, and the employees of the United 
States at the Pawnee agency, and go from there to Fort Kearney.

   On September 30, 1863, we took up our march with the paymaster and went 
up Loup Fork to the Pawnee agency, which was said to be twenty miles from 
where we camped. As near as I can now tell the Pawnee agency was near the 
mouth of Beaver Creek, on the north side of the Loup Fork, in the eastern 
part of what is now Nance County. It rained very hard during the night 
before we started, but in the morning the porous sandy soil had soaked the 
water up, and we got to the agency about noon. There was a Government 
agent in charge of the Pawnee Indians at that place, and he came to meet 
us. His name was Lushbaugh. He had brilliant red, fluffy, bunched side-
whiskers under his ears, a variety of whiskers that was not entirely 
uncommon in those days. They differed from the "burnsides" in that they 
disconnected from the moustache in front. The Burnsides were a very common 
method of wearing whiskers in those days. They were so called from the 
manner in which General Burnside of the regular army trimmed his beard. 
The name was finally transformed into "sideburns." The variety that 
Lushbaugh wore had several names, but our boys began adopting them after 
that, and called them "Lushbaughs," and for several years after that in 
various places in the West I heard that form called "Lushbaugh." This 
agent, Mr. Lushbaugh, was very fond of ardent spirits, and the moment we 
got into the agency he proceeded to tank up. He showed us everything -- 
the Council Chamber, and the little blacksmith shop, and a few things that 
indicated a fair degree of civilization. A large number of the Indians 
were out after buffalo, so that there were not very many of the Pawnees 
in. But the little Indians were around in squads with bows and arrows 
shooting at marks, and it seemed to be their principal variety of 
amusement Mr. Lushbaugh said at that time there were 1,400 good capable 
warriors in the Pawnee tribe. The squaws had raised some corn, potatoes, 
and a large quantity of pumpkins that summer. The corn was the nubbin-
eared corn of the Pawnees.

   The Pawnees were an agricultural tribe to the extent that they had time 
out of mind raised corn and pumpkins. We went over the village, looked 
into the tents, and with an interpreter did some talking with the people. 
There were a few old men and crones smoking and enjoying the sun. We went 
down towards the river to see where the crossing was, as we expected to 
move soon, and we noticed the women in great numbers along the river. They 
were strong, masculine, animated and chatty, and were giggling all the 
time. We passed a number of squads where these women were cutting up 
pumpkins into ringlets, and hanging them up in the trees to dry. We went 
up and down the river for nearly a mile to select the best crossing, and 
the trees were all hung full of drying pumpkin-rings. No women in Europe 
or America of any race ever seemed more lighthearted and happy and 
talkative than these Pawnee squaws, and they shouted words at us which we, 
of course, did not understand the meaning of. I had been of the opinion 
that all Indians were taciturn until this, my first large experience with 
them. The squaws seemed stout and muscular, and to be superior to their 
husbands. Those male Indians whom we saw around the village seemed to be 
inferior in strength, good-nature and appearance to their spouses. And 
every once in a while we saw an Indian who was considerable of a dandy, 
and had himself decked out in very artistic Indian costume made of fine 
tanned deer-skin, elaborately embroidered with beads, and porcupine 
quills. I don't see where all the porcupines came from for this lavish 
decoration, and am of the opinion that other quills were worked in to meet 
requirements.

   While we were there in the Council Chamber one Indian after another 
came, and stood at the window looking in, and to my remark that they ought 
to be taught better manners, Mr. Lushbaugh said that the Indian thought by 
such attention to us he was doing us great honor, and that we ought to 
consider that we were being complimented. In a little while the paymaster 
was ready to go, and we concluded to cross the Loup Fork with him and camp 
on the other side, so as to get a good early start in the morning. The 
paymaster's wagon with its big heavy iron safe drove into the stream with 
several of the mounted soldiers ahead, and several behind. The wagon did 
not follow the track exactly, and the first thing we knew the mules were 
floundering, and the wagon was sinking. We rallied around the wagon, 
unhooked the mules, and then finally used our lariat-ropes, and all 
pulling together we managed to extricate the light wagon, and the safe, 
but the safe was down under two feet of water when we got it out. We 
snaked it to shore, and put it on its side, and let the water out. The 
paymaster got the combination, and found a large amount of his United 
States paper money all soaked up with water, saturated as wet as could be; 
so we had to go back to the Pawnee village. We got the safe into the 
Council room, opened it and got the money out. The bills were spread 
around on the floor to dry, and on tables and chairs and everything. He 
had quite a large sum, more than we thought he had; no specie-specie had 
become obsolete. The paymaster stayed on the inside with the door locked. 
I detailed four men to march a square beat on the outside of the building, 
one to each side, and I got a chair and mounted guard, and the balance of 
the boys went into camp on the bank of the river. Mr. Lushbaugh stayed up 
with us till about 12 o'clock, telling of the various times when he had 
drunk a great amount of whisky and laid somebody out; and every once in a 
while he took a drink himself by way of illustration.

   Owing to Sioux rumors other troops were sent of our regiment, following 
us, up to the Pawnee agency. There were two companies, but I do not 
remember their letters. They camped below the agency, and several of the 
officers came up, and came to the Council house to look through the window 
about sundown and see the money scattered around. These officers had 
evidently provided themselves with "W. W. W." before leaving Columbus, 
because they were quite talkative, and wanted to bet on something, and 
bragged on their horses. About dark two of the officers got to betting as 
to the relative speed of their horses, and bantered each other for a race. 
Finally it was agreed that they were to run down with their horses to 
Columbus, and back, forty miles, and the one that came out ahead was to 
have $100. So in the gloaming of the twilight near the Council house, the 
word "Go!" was given, and a lot of Indians, squaws and papooses standing 
around, and most of the soldiers of the different companies. When the word 
was given both of them started off like the wind, and they were soon lost 
to view. Each one of them had a canteen swinging over his shoulder. It is 
my impression that they did not go over two miles, because about midnight 
they both came back slowly, riding together in a hilarious condition, 
pretending that they had gone to Columbus, and had just got back, and that 
it was an even race, and nobody won anything. They soon had everybody in 
the camp around them, and Captain O'Brien, who was the senior officer, 
ordered them both under arrest back to their quarters, to which they 
proceeded to go. One of them, however, objected considerably, and said 
that he had been a staff officer of General Quimby's and didn't like to be 
treated that way. General Quimby was one of the noted Brigadier-Generals 
of the war at that time. Both of these officers turned out to be of no 
account, and the Quimby young man succeeded afterwards in getting himself 
dismissed from the service. I was guarding the Council house and had 
considerable responsibility. It would have taken no flight of imagination 
if half a dozen of the soldiers, with good horses, had broken into the 
Council room, driven off the guards, and carried away the money. There 
were two or three in my company I felt would do it if they had an 
opportunity; they were toughs, and afterwards deserted. So I stood on post 
until towards morning, when, the money having got dry, the paymaster got 
it back into the safe. At a late hour in the morning with a guide we 
crossed the Loup Fork and started south to hit the road along the Platte. 
A prairie-fire, a few days before we came there, had swept the country 
between Prairie Creek and Loup Fork, and for many miles we marched over a 
black, barren and desolate country. On the night of October 1st we camped 
at Warm Slough. I cannot tell from any map that I can now find, where Warm 
Slough was, but it was not far from the river, and I would say in the 
eastern part of what is now Merrick County.



CHAPTER III.
OCTOBER 1, 1863.--HUNTING PRAIRIE-CHICKENS.--A ROW IN CAMP.--THE TEXTURE 
OF THE COMPANY.--THE O. K. STORE.--ANTELOPE.--A CROWDED STAGE.--WOOD 
RIVER.--THE CENTER.--LAZY INDIANS.--GREYHOUNDS.--BUFFALO.--CENTER.-- 
ARRIVE FORT KEARNEY.  

   On the evening of October 1, 1863, as stated, we went into camp early 
at Warm Slough, and there were a good number of travelers on the road. We 
passed train after train going west, and several trains passed going east. 
While we were in camp I took Captain O'Brien's shotgun, and went out to 
get some prairie-chickens. It was a good deal of a feat to shoot prairie-
chickens on the wing from horseback but both the Captain and I became 
quite expert owing to the intelligence of our horses, who, the moment a 
bird flew up or we made a demonstration, stood stock-still. As I was 
coming in at twilight by myself, Captain O'Brien, who had remained in 
camp, came up to me, and told me to go and put on my saber, and both 
revolvers loaded, right quick, and join him. He said the whole camp was 
drunk; that they had got some whisky from a passing train, and were 
raising Cain. I was soon equipped, and went with him. The Captain pulled 
out his saber, and went among the men, and began to take them by the neck 
and shake them up, and order them to be still, and I followed at his side. 
The Captain went at it rather violently, but succeeded in getting the men 
hushed up. Order was restored, and we returned to our tent, which was 
pitched about three hundred feet from the men. In a little while yelling 
and shooting broke out, and the Captain jumped up and put on his saber and 
revolvers, and bade me do the same. We went over to the tents, and the 
Captain began to punch some of the men around, and compel them to be 
still. There were several of the men and some of the non-commissioned 
officers who were sober. Some of the men were ugly, and the Captain 
immediately detailed five sober men with picket-ropes, of which each man 
carried one (which was a thirty-foot rope with an iron pin for picketing 
horses), and he took one man after another, who was ugly drunk, to the 
wagon, and compelled the sober men to tie them to the wagon-wheels. This 
was an exceedingly dangerous performance, but the Captain had all kinds of 
nerve and never feared to do his duty, and never feared his men. I 
accompanied him on the round backwards and forwards to the wagons, until 
some of the men gathered around the wagons with their guns and threatened 
to loosen the men who were tied up. So the Captain stationed me to guard 
the men while he brought others up and tied them. I walked up and down 
with a revolver, and had the men stand back. He tied up sixteen of them to 
the wagon-wheels of six loaded wagons which we had at that time. There was 
an appearance of a mutiny, so the Captain went in and out of the tents 
giving the men considerable harsh talk, and saying that he would shoot the 
first man that did anything that looked like a mutiny; that he proposed to 
handle the company as it ought to be handled, and didn't intend that 
drunkenness should impair its discipline. In a little while several shots 
were fired inside of a tent up through the canvas. Then the Captain gave a 
great "bluff," and went up and down through the camp ordering silence. He 
and I together kept things going, guarding the prisoners alternately and 
walking around among the tents, until finally the whisky died out, and the 
men became more sober, but not less ugly. We released the men who were 
tied up after about all of them had fallen asleep from drunkenness. Things 
quieted down about midnight, and finally the men were all released, and 
the next day matters went along as if nothing bad happened; but it was a 
very trying situation. We put our soberest man on guard that night at the 
picket-rope where the horses were tied, so that none of the men could go 
and saddle a horse and desert. The Captain's prompt and decided vigor had 
a good effect upon the company. And although we had many troubles after 
that, we never had at any time a difficulty which seemed so likely to 
break up the company. The Captain expressed gratitude for the assistance I 
gave him, and the men made up their minds as to who was in command of the 
company. A considerable while after that I had occasion at midnight to go 
in front and stop a large detachment of my men bent upon a vicious purpose 
which I will hereafter describe, but the incident at Warm Slough enabled 
us afterwards to command the attention of the men, and to keep them fully 
in line of duty. A company of volunteer soldiers will grow clannish and 
inclined to hang together for good or evil, and to see how far they can 
disobey the military law, and how far they can scare or baffle their 
officers; and when they are all out by themselves with no other corps or 
regiment or strange troops to bring them into line, and when they are by 
numbers the masters of the situation, they are liable to play havoc with 
all military principles, and to run over an officer, if they possibly can. 
When on detached service, such as we were on, it is sometimes about all an 
officer's life is worth to maintain his own standing, and the discipline 
of his company.

   Ought I to tell these things in writing of my illustrious company? 
Well, it is history, and future times will want to know what manner of men 
wrought out the surprising details of that age.

   Captain O'Brien was exceedingly rough, but his conduct was exactly the 
right thing. There was no better man in the company, physically, than the 
Captain, and next to the Captain in that respect I thought I was a very 
close second. The troubles we had with the men came largely from whisky. 
As to the doing of any dangerous duty the men had no lack of courage, nor 
of will to go into any fight, or into any dangerous place, or to do any 
valiant military act. They were all right as fighters, and as soldiers, 
with the exception that being volunteers and being taken out of the great 
body of people along with their officers, they felt that they were about 
as good as their officers were, and that they had a right to a will of 
their own. They thought that if they wanted to drink and raise Cain it was 
all right, providing they were ready to fight when the emergencies of the 
service demanded it. The volunteer soldier of that day was a very 
strongheaded, willful, obstinate fighter. He had been brought up from his 
boyhood to fight. The men fought around among themselves, pounding each 
other up, and exercising the same sort of a feeling of emulation that a 
lot of roosters would in a barnyard. When they wanted to stand off in a 
ring, and fight each other according to what were then considered "prize 
ring rules," we as officers never interfered. They had to fight somebody 
at some time, and little private fisticuffs were only an outlet for the 
energy and vigor of the men individually. In fact, one night without our 
knowledge, one of our sergeants got into a fist fight with one of the men, 
and they went at it, when a ring was formed, "hammer and tongs." I never 
knew anything of it until the next morning at roll-call, when I noticed 
the sergeant's face all black-and-blue. I asked what was the matter; he 
said he had been hurt. I guessed immediately how he had been hurt, and 
pursued the inquiry no further. It was, of course, against good order and 
military discipline that a private soldier should pound up a non-
commissioned officer, but I did not deem it wise to take notice of such 
things if the non-commissioned officer did not care to say anything upon 
the subject. We took occasion some time afterwards to reduce this sergeant 
to the ranks, on the ground that when he made out his reports he did not 
write plainly enough. Our non-commissioned officers were sturdy young 
fellows, and kept pretty good order, and assisted us very greatly to keep 
and establish discipline.

   Every man in the company could sign his name, and the large majority of 
them could write well. Although the company was a sort of fiery and 
untamed company, still the Captain and I could not help having a good deal 
of affection for the men, because there was one thing they wouldn't do -- 
they wouldn't get scared. And they wouldn't dodge any hardship or danger, 
and would march all night and all day, and all night again, with perfect 
composure, and the more difficult and dangerous the work and necessities 
of the occasion, the more good-natured they seemed to be. But whisky 
changed it all when they got too much of it.

   In the morning of October 2, 1863, the Captain desired me to go on 
ahead to Fort Kearney, and arrange for quarters at that place, or pick out 
a camping-ground, and see about rations. I moved along with the command 
until we got to a place called the O. K. Store, which I think was the 
beginning of what is now the city of Grand Island. I remember hearing 
Grand Island spoken of, and remember of one of our Corporals going down to 
what he called the "North Channel," at which place he killed somebody's 
hog, skinned it and brought it into camp with all appendages cut off, and 
called it "antelope." Captain O'Brien and I had some of it for our supper, 
and having served in the army down South, we distinctly identified the 
flavor, and knew that it was pig. We sent for the Corporal and asked him 
about it, and he said that it was wholly wild, and nowhere near any 
habitation, and he thought it was too good a thing to let go by. Upon 
which we told him that if anybody made complaint we would pay for the hog 
and see that it came out of his pay-roll, to which he with apparent 
readiness consented.

   At the O. K. store there was a telegraph station of the Overland 
Telegraph, and the Captain desired me not to wait, but to take that 
night's stage and go through to Fort Kearney. In order to do that I had to 
telegraph on down to Fremont or Columbus to know what the condition of 
things was, and whether there were any vacant seats in the coaches. I was 
up that night trying to get this information until two o'clock in the 
morning, at which time a stage came, loaded down to the guards with 
passengers. Every available person that could get on the stage was there. 
On the inside they were sitting by turns on each other's laps. The 
settlement around the store seemed to be German. The person in charge of 
the store was a German, and they had a very large stock of goods. There 
was another stage coming along, shortly after the two o'clock stage, as 
was believed, but I could not reach it by wire, and finally, having sat up 
all night, I went around to the company and took breakfast.

   On October 3rd we marched along the road and camped on Wood River at a 
place which was then called "Center." On Wood River, near where we camped, 
Major Wood, who had rejoined us, took us out and showed an old crossing of 
the river where his train had a fight with the Indians over fourteen years 
before. These Indians he thought were the Pawnees. Upon the trip this day 
we passed a camp with several tents of Indians. The Indians which we had 
seen farther down called themselves Omahas. These Indians called 
themselves Ponkas, and we were told that they were a part of the same 
family as the Omahas. These Ponkas seemed to be a kindly, lazy, 
inefficient set of Indians, but the women had the same industrious 
appearance as other squaws. The men had a sort of effeminate look. They 
seemed to have small feet and to be more feminine than the women. They 
were strutty, with a sort of Indian pride. The women did all the work and 
appeared to think that it was the proper thing for them to show off their 
husbands all fixed up; they thought that they would not be considered good 
housekeepers if they could not show a well-dressed, idle husband. The 
squaws all appeared to be of such fiber that they could trounce their 
husbands easily, and throw them out of the tent when they wanted to. In 
fact, it seemed to me that the women were about fifty-five per cent 
masculine, and the men about fifty-five per cent feminine. I think that 
some of the contempt which the early settlers had for the Indian was due 
to his effeminate actions and appearance. In addition to this, the Indian 
grew no whiskers, and had a general inefficient manner, and was not in 
stature and build the equal of the white boys that were in our company.

   The travel on the road continued incessant. The greater part of the 
travel, however, was towards Omaha. I was told that the heaviest trains 
and the greatest travel westward started with the grass in the spring. It 
now appeared as if the main travel was back towards Omaha, it being 
autumn, and that the trains had herded and left the greater part of their 
oxen somewhere west and with ox teams reduced in number were hauling back 
the empty wagons coupled together. With them were a great many returning 
travelers riding on horseback with their trunks in the wagons. These 
travelers were engaged in having a good time on their return and in 
hunting game along the route. There were a good many greyhounds with the 
trains. Jack-rabbits had become very plentiful after reaching Wood River, 
and antelopes were seen from time to time in great numbers towards the 
hills. These travelers and riders wore no coat or vest. They wore heavy 
woolen shirts with silk handkerchiefs around their necks, and one or two 
revolvers buckled on. I always stopped and talked to the wagon-masters of 
the trains, and it was the custom of the plains to give each other all the 
information possible in regard to the routes. As these people were all 
very observant, we could always tell pretty nearly what there was ahead of 
us. The Indians had entirely disappeared from the route. We were told that 
there were buffalo over in the hills both north and south of the river, 
but they seemed to stay away from the valley, being frightened by the 
hunters. Many of the wagons began to have large pieces of buffalo-meat 
hung up on the bows which supported the wagon-covers. At one point about 
noon of this day (October 3rd), I saw in the very great distance the black 
specks indicating buffalo, but they were too far off for us to bother with 
them.

   A little while before we went into camp at Center we made a halt to let 
the horses graze upon the luxurious grass down in the valley. The wagons 
were parked and the horses unsaddled and picketed. The Captain and I went 
out into the road to await the coming of a train which was ahead of us. 
Suddenly we heard a lot of shooting, and the Captain and I immediately 
with great anxiety directed our steps in that direction. It seems that a 
buffalo had been discovered down near the river-bank, and, endeavoring to 
escape, had plunged into the water and quicksands, and the boys had 
rallied around it and killed it. It was pulled out onto the bank and 
skinned and put into our wagon, and that night we camped at the place 
called Center, where there were a couple of houses, and the whole company 
sat up until late at night frying and eating buffalo-meat. We divided some 
of the meat with a party of "pilgrims" as they were called, who overtook 
us going west. Everybody traveling west in those days was called a 
"pilgrim." The next day, October 4th, we marched, crossed the river to the 
south side, and went into Fort Kearney, where we arrived shortly after 
noontime.