The Indian War of 1864 - Chapters 22-24



CHAPTER XXII.
DEPARTURE FROM LARAMIE.--POINTS ON THE ROAD.--CAMP SHUMAN.--SHAD-BLOW.--
CHIMNEY ROCK COURT HOUSE ROCK.--TABLE OF DISTANCES.--MUD SPRINGS.--CAMP ON 
LODGEPOLE.--SEPTEMBER 4, 1864.--JULESBURG.--THE INDIAN SITUATION.

   I WILL give a better description of the country over which we marched 
on our return than on our march up, because on the march up it was cloudy 
and we were very tired and fagged out; but we started down with our horses 
well shod, rested, and well fed, and everything in good condition for a 
rapid march.

   That day we marched thirty-seven miles, passing the ranch of Beauvais, 
five miles from Fort Laramie; Bordeaux ranch, ten miles from Fort Laramie; 
the "First Ruins," so called, eighteen miles; and the Woc-a-pom-any 
agency, twenty-eight miles. We camped at the mouth of Horse Creek which 
was thirty-seven miles from Fort Laramie. This Horse Creek was the scene 
of a celebrated ancient treaty with the Indians, but which was no longer 
observed or recognized. But there had been heretofore many provisions in 
it which were referred to as the provisions of the "Horse Creek Treaty."

   The ruins, first and second, were ruins of stone stations which had 
been put up by ranchmen for the overland express company running through 
to Salt Lake; but the express company, for the time being, was knocked out 
of existence, so that there was at the time of which I speak no mail, 
stage or express carried over the road except by soldiers. There was also 
a pile of stone about two feet high and ten feet square, where the 
celebrated Gratton massacre had taken place. This has been written of so 
often that I will not refer to it except to say that a lieutenant with a 
few men was sent to deal with some Indians, several years before, and make 
them surrender some property, and having a piece of artillery, the Indians 
being obstinate, he fired over the heads of the Indians to scare them, and 
the Indians immediately massacred the whole detachment.

   The Woc-a-pom-any Agency was a little grassy flat consisting of several 
acres of land on the Platte river, susceptible of irrigation. In fact, 
there were old ruins of the irrigation ditch. The Indian agent at the time 
for that agency was named John Loree, so I was told, but he did not stay 
around the agency, and confined his time and services, as was said, to 
keeping in a safe place, and drawing his salary.

   The road from Fort Laramie to Horse Creek, almost the entire distance, 
was sandhills and deep dust. The dust was almost insufferable. There was 
but little air stirring, and the long line of horsemen kept the dust in 
the air so that it was very difficult to breathe. Horse Creek, when we 
reached it, was absolutely dry, although there was said to be plenty of 
water up ten miles, and the guide said that forty miles farther up it was 
a very rapid and beautiful stream. But the stream sinks down in the sand, 
and in dry weather disappears. We were very much disappointed to get no 
water at the Horse Creek crossing, and tried to dig for it with our 
sabers, but could not make much headway, although we went down a couple of 
feet. We then went down to the Platte River and camped on its banks, where 
there was no wood, and where we ate a dry supper of bacon sandwiches made 
up of sliced raw bacon between pieces of hard-tack.

   We got up September 1, 1864, at four o'clock, but did not get started 
until half-past five. On our road down we passed Camp Shuman. The men were 
busy building sod quarters with adobe trimmings on the North Platte River 
bank, south side, three miles west of the gap of Scott's Bluffs. Captain 
Shuman had just received a box marked "Saint Croix Rum Punch," and he 
opened a bottle in our honor. He introduced us to his First Lieutenant, 
named Ellsworth, and showed us the outline of the proposed walls which 
they were hurrying to build before cold weather set in. While there I 
noticed a young man who appeared to be the busy man of the occasion. He 
was ordering the men around, and keeping them at work, All at once he 
recognized me. He was First Sergeant, afterwards Lieutenant, of the 
company. We had a most fraternal meeting, because two years before that we 
had parted down in Arkansas, both being members of an Iowa cavalry 
regiment. I didn't know what his real name was when we met this time, 
because in the army the enlisted men all had "army names," and this young 
man's army name was "Shad-blow." I ought to stop to tell how this happened.

   Shad-blow was the chief bugler of a battalion of Iowa cavalry in the 
invading army under General Curtis, who was marching down through Arkansas 
from the Pea Ridge battle-ground to Helena. We had reached Batesville. I 
at that time, as Sergeant, had been detailed as forage master of the 
brigade, and being out with a large number of wagons, and a detail of 
cavalry, had scouted up Black River, Arkansas, and not finding forage 
enough, and supposing that we were going to fortify at Batesville, I had 
loaded in the balance of the wagons with slaves. They said that they could 
live on corn, and they were not adverse [sic] to going with us to camp. 
This was early in July, 1862, and I came stringing in on that day with 
four hundred husky negro slaves, cotton-growers, almost all of them grown 
men, and a few old negro mammies among them. I dumped them down alongside 
of the river (White River) and dumped out a wagon-load of corn to begin 
on, expecting the quartermaster to do the rest. Major-General Curtis's 
headquarters were not far from there, and his Adjutant came over to 
protest. He said I ought not to have brought those people in, and I said 
they were just what we wanted. We had been coming down through the 
mountain country where there were no slaves; we had been in favor of 
abolishing slavery from the beginning of the war, and that was the first 
time the occasion had come up in Arkansas. The negroes had some banjoes 
along, and the boys got some boards and doors and end-gates, and started a 
lot of them dancing, and "patting juba." In the evening, about as the 
dancing was over, this sergeant, Marsh, came down to see the fun and look 
at the colony. He was a nice trim fellow with a bright uniform, and with a 
burnished bugle, which hung over his shoulder with a yellow cord. He was a 
very conspicuous-looking young man. He was so tall and lean that the army 
name had been given to him of "Shad," and we all called him "Shad." He had 
been called that about a year. The darkies clustered around him with great 
admiration, and not knowing but what he was a brigadier-general, they 
asked him a lot of questions, and among them some one asked him what his 
rank was. Several of the men of our regiment were down there. Marsh, in 
order to bring his rank within the understanding and conception of the 
bystanders, said, "I's the chief blow-man of the regiment." The soldiers 
all laughed, but the darkies all stared with wonder. The remark of Marsh 
was evasive. The chief blow-man might be the man who gave the command to 
the army through the bugle, and they looked at him with much awe and 
admiration. The boys afterwards told this story, and Houghton, the 
Sergeant Major, treasured it up in his mind. The boys began to call Marsh 
"Chief Blowman," and finally, "Mr. Blowman," but Houghton with great 
sagacity combined the two names, and called him "Shad-blow," which tickled 
everybody, and Marsh always afterwards went by the name of "Shad-blow." 
When by order of the War Department there were mustered out all non-
commissioned staffs of cavalry battalions, Marsh was mustered out, and 
went back to his father's home in Ohio and reënlisted. So it was that we 
parted at Helena, Arkansas, and less than two years afterward met at 
Scott's Bluffs, in Idaho Territory, as it was then called. We hugged each 
other. He could only remember my army name, which was "Link," abbreviated 
from Lincoln, which I was formerly called, not by way of compliment, but 
because I was tall and lean. The customary nickname for one who was tall 
and lean in those days was "Shanghai," which was abbreviated to "Shang," 
but as we had one Shang in the company I was called Lincoln, abbreviated 
to "Link." So that when Marsh and I met, and hugged each other there at 
Camp Shuman, he called me "Link' and I called him "Shad-blow"; then we 
explained what our real names were, and got back onto a true personal and 
military basis.

   Leaving Camp Shuman, we passed through the gaps of Scott's Bluffs, 
halting at Ficklin, where a detachment of the Eleventh Ohio was stationed, 
and reported by telegraph our whereabouts to Major Woods in command at 
Fort Laramie.

[image caption: Alcohol Butte, on the North Platte.]

   The marching down along the Platte River was indescribably beautiful. 
The days were tranquil, and ahead of us there seemed to be old castles, 
ruined cities, and vast cathedrals strung along the route. The plateau of 
the country, formed of what the pioneers called "joint clay," seemed to 
stand up in columns, joined closely together. The wind and storms of 
centuries had worn the plateau in places in to the most beautiful and 
fantastic shapes, and we could see everything depicted in the outlines of 
these hills and bluffs that could be seen along the Rhine or amid the 
ruins of Europe. The weather was most delightful. A haze hung over the 
whole country, the mirage was in front of us, and ever surrounding the 
foot of these worn rains were lakes and moats of water. We saw wild sheep 
sporting on Scott's Bluffs. We saw a lot of deer on Alcohol Butte, which 
was separate from the Bluffs at no great distance. We camped three miles 
east of Ficklin's, on the river, and in front of Alcohol Butte. We were 
apparently near the base of Chimney Rock, but were in fact some distance 
from it. We had marched this day about forty miles. The story about 
Alcohol Butte was that some half-breeds had "cached" some alcohol there to 
be used in making up "pilgrim whisky," and that the wolves dug it out.

   Upon September 2, 1864, we got up as usual at about 3 o'clock, and 
started at 4:15. The names of all the hills and objects along the river 
had been named long before by the army officers, pioneers and trappers, 
and Charles Elston, our guide upon this occasion, told us the names as we 
passed by.

[image caption: Chimney Rock, on the North Platte.]

   Most of the names had some tradition connected with them. When we 
started in the morning Chimney Rock was apparently quite near us, but we 
were two and a half hours reaching it. The air was so clear that the 
distance was very deceptive. Off to the south we saw lots of deer, and 
great droves of antelopes, and an occasional wolf. Our dogs jumped up 
rabbits from time to time near the highway, but we kept on without 
stopping for anything, General Mitchell being in a hurry. He was going 
down with us.

   Of Chimney Rock we talked considerable, and it was the general opinion 
of all at that time, making the best calculations we could make, because 
we could not climb it, that Chimney Rock was three hundred feet above the 
bed of the river. We estimated the height of the chimney itself to be 
eighty-five feet. Elston said that it was the belief of the trappers that 
during the last fifteen years it had crumbled down from the top about 
thirty-five feet. The chimney was of a square appearance, and we estimated 
it to be thirty by fifty feet through. It is situated three miles from the 
river and a third of a mile from the main bluff. The grand plateau back of 
it was projected out into a peninsula, which threw a bold headland towards 
the river. A vertical view of this headland from above it would make it 
look something like a written letter I, and the Chimney Rock was the dot 
above the "I" like this:

[image caption: OUTLINE OF BLUFF, CHIMNEY ROCK; ALCOHOL BUTTE; SCOTT'S 
BLUFFS. The road is marked by dotted line, and on the right of the picture 
runs through the gap in Scott's Bluffs. Next is Alcohol Butte.]

   Chimney Rock had at one time been the terminus of this projected 
headland, but had been worn away from it so that it stood out alone as a 
conspicuous feature of the landscape. It is nothing but clay, but it can 
be seen plainly from Scott's Bluffs, coming east. It is visible fully 
twenty miles, and when first seen it emerges from the atmosphere which has 
shrouded it. The trappers said that it could be faintly seen several miles 
west of Scott's Bluffs, coming east, which would make it visible twenty-
four or twenty-five miles. It is first seen going west, from the summit of 
the hill a mile and a half southeast of Mud Springs.

   Court House Rock is first seen from the west five miles west of Chimney 
Rock, being twenty-three miles distant. As that country down the valley is 
quite level, to make an object visible at twenty-three miles it must be 
nearly three hundred and fifty feet high. We marched on down, and halted 
at Punkin Creek, two miles from Court House Rock. I have already described 
Court House Rock. I do not remember of a march that was so thrilling and 
entertaining as the march down from Laramie. Everything was so absolutely 
wild. There was nothing there but nature as originally created. The 
scenery was the handiwork of the Almighty, and a man as he rode along knew 
that he, the man, was the master of the situation, and that the whole 
business belonged to the Almighty and him. The men in the ranks enjoyed it 
as much as anyone. They thought they were leaving it for good, and they 
drank in the scenery and the situation as if it were champagne.

[image caption: Court House Rock, on the North Platte.]

   Any private citizen could then, if he wanted to, come and settle where 
he pleased, could fence up all the land he pleased, take everything which 
he saw in sight, and be a king, providing some wild beast or wild Indian 
or wild white man did not seek to kill him, which they probably would in 
short order. But these hostile forces were nowhere to be seen. I asked 
General Mitchell what he would give for ten miles square amid that 
beautiful scenery, and he said: "All I could do would be to look at it. I 
have now looked at it. I would not give a dollar for a hundred square 
miles of it. It is of no use to anybody but animals and Indians, and no 
white man can live here unless he becomes both an animal and an Indian." 
There was no help from concurring in his views as we looked over the 
scenery. It was good for nothing but to look at. None of us ever dreamed 
that it could ever be cultivated or settled up, or become the home of 
white people, and made up into townships and counties and organized 
society. The very idea would have seemed preposterous. We were from humid 
lands, and here everything was a beautiful desert. Near Ficklin was a 
large cold spring. There were occasional cold springs in the country, but 
to us they were only phenomena. They prophesied nothing of the hereafter.

   A short distance up from Court House Rock along the river stood a round-
top butte which was called "Rankin's Dome Rock." It is about the same size 
of Court House Rock, which is about four hundred feet above the river. 
Shortly back of the Dome Rock come the outlines of the bluffs through 
which the river runs. Both Court House Rock and the Dome Rock are in 
slight bends of the river. Eight miles east of Chimney Rock is the 
junction where the old California Crossing road through Ash Hollow comes 
up the Platte. This was the route of travel until Jules, as stated, wanted 
to start a new and profitable ranch at Julesburg, and being an old 
mountaineer laid out the Pole Creek road and cut-off, taking the road past 
his ranch and within two miles of Court House Rock.

   It is eight miles from Court House Rock easterly to Mud Springs. Half-
way between is Punkin Creek, a prong of Lawrence Fork, which was dry where 
we crossed it, but it had plenty of water higher up, also some splendid 
grazing bottom-land where large herds of deer, elk and antelope could 
always be found. Mud Springs was a splendid watering-place, but without 
good grazing near it. Here was where another telegraph station had been 
planted. Lieutenant Ellsworth of Co. H of Eleventh Ohio, above referred 
to, had been made superintendent of telegraph lines, and he came down with 
us to this point. He was the one who told us that Captain Shuman posted 
pickets on Scott's Bluffs, and kept a picket stationed there always alert, 
and from that picket station on Scott's Bluffs, Laramie Peak, over one 
hundred and twenty miles distant in the west, could be plainly seen.

   The table of distances which Elston gave, at that time, was as follows: 
Fort Laramie to Horse Creek, forty-two miles; Laramie to Scott's Bluffs, 
fifty-eight miles; Scott's Bluffs to Ficklin, nine miles; Scott's Bluffs 
to Chimney Rock, twenty miles; Scott's Bluffs to Court House Rock, thirty-
eight miles; Scott's Bluffs to Mud Springs, forty-six miles.

[image capton: Scott's Bluffs, as seen at a distance of 25 miles.]

   Lieutenant Ellsworth gave the telegraph distances, that is by the wire, 
as follows: Laramie to Ficklin, sixty-five miles; Ficklin to Mud Springs, 
forty miles, making a distance of one hundred and five miles, while by the 
road given by Elston it was one hundred and four miles. These distances 
were the approximations of various methods of measurement. Elston said 
that the difference arose in this way; that from Laramie to Ficklin the 
telegraph line was a little shorter than the highway, but that from 
Ficklin to Mud Springs it was longer.

   At Mud Springs we reported by wire to Major Wood. On this day we 
marched from three miles east of Ficklin to Mud Springs, being thirty-
seven miles. On September 3, 1864, we started early in the morning, and 
ascended the Bluffs to make the trip across to Pole Creek over "Jules 
Stretch." The sight northwest was as beautiful as ever. Court House Rock, 
over twenty-six miles distant, seemed close at hand, and Scott's Bluffs, 
over forty-six miles distant, were plainly in view. We had watered our 
horses all they would drink, before we started across. When we reached 
Pole Creek our horses were very thirsty; the men were not so much so, 
because they had filled their canteens, and most of the soldiers on the 
road poured water from their canteens into their hats and gave the horses 
drink, dividing water with them.

   The horses would drink every drop of water out of the bottom of the 
hat, and then lick the inside of the hat. We reached Pole Creek, and that 
night camped seven miles below the crossing, which made twenty-eight miles 
from Julesburg. Antelope were seen by thousands upon thousands in the 
Lodgepole valley. The plains were literally alive with them. Upon the 
evening of September 4th we arrived at Julesburg. On the whole trip from 
Laramie to Julesburg we had not seen a single Indian. Our guide, Elston, 
and I myself with my field-glass, kept a constant lookout. We saw two or 
three smoke signals on each side of the Platte, but coming down Lodgepole 
there was never a signal of any kind; and at night no fire-arrows went 
up, -- so we came to the conclusion that the Cheyennes were all far south, 
and the Sioux had all gone far to the north. Yet, nevertheless, we never 
met a traveler nor a team nor a train on the entire march from Laramie 
down to Julesburg, a distance of 175 miles, which we made in five days, 
averaging 35 miles per day. The country was absolutely deserted by both 
Indians and white men.

   We camped near the river at Julesburg station, and the men put up their 
"pup tents," as they were called, and slept under them. We had no regular 
tents, but only the little canvas sheet that had been invented during the 
war, and was called a "shelter tent." It was just long enough for a man, 
and wide enough for two, and stood from eighteen inches to two feet high 
according to the way the soldier put it up. We stretched our picket-rope 
between our company wagons, and the boys spread their pup tents wherever 
they wanted to, without any order or regularity, and, quite tired from the 
long and rapid ride, they went to sleep and rest. We found quite a 
collection of people at Julesburg station. They had fortified, and the 
road was being patrolled by soldiers from both ways. The Colorado soldiers 
patrolled down to Julesburg and our regiment patrolled from the east up 
the river that far, and brought through little trains consisting of rapid 
traveling horses or mule wagons, and stages; but there was no traveling 
either way on the road, owing to the lateness of the season, by "bull 
trains." It was too late for oxen to come up from the Missouri River, and 
it was too late for them to have started back, so that the road was 
practically clear of the usual freighting trains; but horse trains and 
mule trains going rapidly under escort were passing almost daily to Denver.

   While we had been up at Fort Laramie, there had been great inroads made 
upon the ranches along the line between Kearney and Cottonwood. Many 
ranchmen and freighters had been killed, several ranches destroyed, many 
horses and cattle run off, and a great deal of destruction done in the 
Platte valley, but it was all east of us, none of it along the line where 
we then were, but everybody was prepared to resist Indians. Nobody was 
particularly afraid of them when in a ranch or doby house, or wherever 
gathered together in squads of armed men. But, nevertheless, there were no 
white men going out to trade with the Indians, nor were they hunting out 
in the hills or trapping along the rivers and streams. On the contrary, 
they were all bunched together in little nuclei along the river, and going 
from place to place, when they went anywhere, with an escort. But around 
Julesburg at that time there had been no indications of Indians, and it 
was believed that the Indians who had inhabited that portion of the 
country were far off, either to the north or south, and either afraid or 
without a desire to make any attack in the neighborhood of Julesburg. But 
this all changed.



CHAPTER XXIII.
JULESBURG.--WOOD.--ASH HOLLOW.--SEPTEMBER 7, 1864.--WOLF AND BACON.--THE 
SHOOTING STAR.--BANCROFT RANCH.--BUILDING-SOD.--PAID OFF.--DOCTOR NOSELY.--
THROWN FROM HORSE.--BUGLER.

   AT THIS time the telegraph station at Julesburg was in good working 
order, and there were two operators. General Mitchell had gone down the 
road, and was inspecting different points with a view to the distribution 
of cavalry troops. We were told to scout the country around Julesburg, and 
keep advised as to the presence of Indians. So details were made that went 
out daily in different directions to the south, from which at that time 
the trouble was apprehended. The Cheyennes were singing war-songs in their 
camps, and were "making medicine" as it was called; that is to say, 
getting ready for a military campaign. It was difficult for us to get 
information, but we got it from time to time through half-breed Indians. 
We had the guide Charley Elston with us. We were told that we would have 
to stay at Julesburg over the winter, and that some arrangement would have 
to be made for winter quarters.

   The first thing we had to do was to get some wood for cooking. We had 
been using "bull-chips," and the boys had not had much cooked food. 
Captain O'Brien directed me to take the company wagons and an escort, and 
go for wood. There were no cedar canyons, and no trees anywhere in the 
neighborhood of Julesburg. The nearest point at which there was anything 
like a tree was over at Ash Hollow, and that was a day's march to the 
northeast, on the North Platte. The Captain was a little fearful that 
Indians might be found over in that neighborhood, and he suggested that I 
should take the two company wagons and a couple of idle freight wagons 
that were at the Julesburg station. These were mule teams, and he directed 
that I take along one of the twelve-pound howitzers, and an escort of 
thirty men.

   Ash Hollow was a very rough piece of land; it was a wide gulch with a 
dry arroyo running from the south nearly north, into the North Platte 
River. The distance in a straight line was about thirty miles from 
Julesburg to the North Platte at Ash Hollow, but it was some little of a 
detour to get up onto the plateau, and down again to the North Platte, 
making the road about thirty-five miles. There were no roads in the 
country, and Elston, the guide, gave me the best of his information in 
regard to the direction, and very accurate, too, it was. He said that the 
mouth of Ash Hollow was ten miles east, and about twenty-five miles north; 
and he stood facing the north, and pointed the direction in which he 
believed it was, and I may say he pointed it out exactly as it was.

   Bright and early in the morning of September 7, 1864, I started, and 
with four teams, picket-rope, howitzer, and provisions, taking the boxes 
off the wagons, and driving with only the running-gear, I started as 
nearly as I could direct in the line, crossing South Platte, going a 
little up the east valley of Pole Creek, and bearing off to the right so 
as to go through the hills. There was a sort of knob on the east side at 
the junction of the two valleys of Pole Creek and South Platte. We went 
around to north and west of this mound. It occurred to me that I would 
ride up to the top of this knob, which was a very conspicuous lookout, and 
see what sort of a place it was. When I got up there I found the top of it 
covered with water-washed gravel, some of it very large pebbles, and 
others smaller, as if at one time the river or the creek had washed over 
it, and it had been a stream-bed. I found a pile of "chips," and little 
light stuff that had been used in the making of a fire, and I found 
indications that the Indians had been there recently. This gave me an 
impression, for I saw that it was a signal station for the Indians, with 
preparations for use.

   From there I struck out in a straight line for Ash Hollow. There was 
hardly an object upon which I could fix my course, but with a little 
attention I made the line practically straight. When I was well over on 
the plateau I came across a depression in which there were several acres 
of mud and a little water, and all around it were horse-tracks; some of 
them were recent. Shortly afterwards, not knowing but what these might be 
signs of Indians, I sent one of the boys on ahead, and he said that he saw 
at a great distance a horse without a rider. Afterwards I was told by 
Elston that this shallow pond was a place where the wild horses 
congregated, and I think that must have been the truth, although we saw no 
wild horses. There were also tracks of wolves and antelope and rabbits, in 
the mud.

   We had gotten a good early start. We stopped at one place and let the 
horses rest, and pick up what they could of the dried buffalo-grass, and 
then pushed ahead. We struck the upper breaks of Ash Hollow, and the sun 
was nearly setting. We went down upon an old piece of trail which was 
badly washed out, and saw trees scattered on both sides of the Hollow -- 
an excellent place for ambuscades. We drove the wagons two abreast, and 
the men were deployed all out to the right and left, so that we might not 
run into an ambush. I went with a bugler in the advance, and we finally 
emerged out on the plain of the North Platte with a great deal of relief, 
and went clear out far from the hills, so that we could not be troubled.

   We had cut some branches to be used for wood, and, putting the wagons 
together in a quadrangle, stretched the picket-ropes around on the inside, 
and were about ready to start to cook supper when one of the boys said he 
saw a fire-arrow go up from the bluff on the north side of the river. This 
worried us, and I was not sure that we ought to build a fire; it was best 
not to attract attention. But finally we dug a pit down in a little washed-
out hollow, and by spreading blankets around, and making a sort of canopy, 
we made a fire and cooked some coffee. We always carried a pick and spade 
for the purpose of making our road, if needed, and we got our supper 
cooked without having a visible fire, but we had camped some little 
distance off upon a flat that had no deep ditches or arroyos near it. Then 
the men, leading their horses, grazed them around for a couple of hours, 
then fed them a quart of corn apiece which we had brought along, and got 
the horses all inside of the quadrangle after dark. We then put out four 
pickets extended from the corners, with instructions not to fire under any 
circumstances unless in self-defense, but to come in on the first 
apprehension. I was only a little over twenty-three years of age, and felt 
the responsibility heavily.

   Coming down Ash Hollow we saw a great number of deer, and in the valley 
were a great number of antelope, and wolves without limit. As each wolf 
can make as much noise as ten wolves ought to make, the chorus, after 
dark, began. It must have been after ten o'clock before we rolled up in 
our blankets. Each man had his saddle-blanket and accouterments all in a 
pile by itself, and the horses were on the inside of our extemporized 
corral. We fixed it so that each man would know where he was to go in case 
of an alarm, and we went to sleep pretty close to each other. I slept on 
the outer line, about twenty feet from my men.

   About the time that we were going to sleep, one of the boys who 
happened to look in a certain direction, thought he saw a fire-arrow go up 
on the south side of the river, which was the side we were on. None of the 
others had seen it, but it was something that we could not take chances 
on, so I ordered the men all to get up and saddle their horses, but not to 
buckle the girths very tight, so that if we had time we could tighten 
them, and put on the bridles in case we needed our horses. Each man was to 
sleep with his bridle and his carbine under his head. I also saddled my 
own horse. In order to get a pillow, not having a saddle, I went and got a 
sack of bacon. The bacon had been cut in slabs about eight inches wide, 
two of them put together, and covered with gunny-sacking. I made up my 
mind that I would not sleep very heavily, and told the sentinels to come 
in and notify me of anything which might appear suspicious. So I put my 
head on this sack of bacon with my blanket over me, and put in my time 
looking at the stars and listening to the wolves. They kept up the wildest 
chorus that I ever heard. It seemed as if there were a million around us. 
I tried to see if I could ascertain whether any of the voices were Indians 
instead of wolves. The men had all gone to sleep, and I was studying up 
all the various things I might do or could do, or ought to do, in case an 
attack came from this side or that side, and indeed I was working my brain 
very actively, when all at once out from under my head went the bacon. I 
jumped up in a second, There was a wolf backing over the grass, pulling 
that sack of bacon, and making a sort of low growl. I did not dare to 
shoot him, and he was making small headway with the bacon. But I got my 
saber out, and made a pass at him without hitting him. He finally let go 
of the bacon, and lapsed back into the darkness. I then saw that the 
wolves were very hungry, and that the pillow which I had was not a very 
secure one. I went to the wagons, and put this bacon upon the rear running-
gear of the wagon, and got part of a sack of corn. I was afraid that the 
wolves would make an attack on the mules and horses. Every once in a while 
a sort of dusky blur would whisk past the wagons, and as I wanted to keep 
awake anyhow so as to give the men a good sleep, for they had a big day's 
work to do, I from time to time, with my drawn saber, walked around the 
wagons, so as to be sure that the gang of wolves did not pitch onto some 
animal and have a feast. When morning came I was very tired and sleepy, 
but felt better after I had drunk a quart of hot coffee.

   We then drove the wagons up Ash Hollow, put out pickets, and started 
cutting and loading the wood. It was a kind of cedar. I really don't now 
remember whether it was the piëon pine or whether it was cedar. The trunks 
were thick at the base, short and bushy, and hard to cut. But the men 
worked hard, and reinforced each other, and the pickets came in, and were 
relieved, and took turns, and in the afternoon about three o'clock we had 
as much on the wagons as could be safely loaded to get out of the gulch 
with. We then left them standing, and took all the mules and horses and 
everything down to the river, grazed the horses, cooked supper, and went 
back so as to get out of the gulch before it was too dark. Along in the 
afternoon a smoke signal was plainly seen to go up from the bluffs on the 
North Platte. We came from the river, hitched up the teams, and started to 
get out of the gulch. We deployed in a sort of circle. We went slowly, for 
the teams had to keep together. In some places we had to unhitch the 
animals from one wagon, and double team, to get up steep grades. But we 
kept at work with it, and by ten o'clock at night we were up on the 
plateau; but the men were very tired.

   We parked the wagons together in quadrangular shape, took the saddles 
off from the horses because we now had wagon-loads of wood to fight behind 
if necessary, and we were not in any wise afraid that we could be taken 
in. We put out four sentinels at a considerable distance from the wagons, 
and one of them came in, saying he had seen a fire-arrow go up southwest 
of us. This was in the direction of Julesburg. It happened this time that 
I was looking in that direction; it was the apprehension of the soldier; 
what he really saw was a shooting star. The next morning we followed our 
road back, gave the horses a little of the dirty water that we could find 
at what we called Horse Lake, and got into Julesburg late that night. The 
boys chopped up the wood, saving every little splinter of it, dug holes in 
the ground, cooked coffee and bacon, and got a good square meal, which was 
the first one that they had had for a long while. In fact, the boys had 
not had a good square meal since we had left Laramie on the evening of 
August 31st, and it was now about the 10th of September. I told Captain 
O'Brien the wolf story; be just hooted at it, and I had to bring up one of 
the boys to prove it to him.

   About a mile west of Julesburg station, and almost exactly south of the 
mouth of Lodgepole, a man had started a ranch which had been almost 
completed during peaceful times. He had an adobe house one story high, an 
adobe store-room, and a sod corral not entirely finished. The man's name 
was Samuel D. Bancroft. A fine well had been dug in front, and was curbed 
up; it yielded very good water. The road led straight past the house. 
There was also a stock well in the rear. We were ordered by telegraph to 
make a fortification, and prepare to hold the place at any odds. The 
weather was getting chilly, and we came to the conclusion that we could 
not get a fort built in time for the cold weather, and by aid of the 
telegraph, we got permission to negotiate for Bancroft's ranch. Captain 
O'Brien carried on the negotiations; we got a provisional agreement, and 
went immediately to work on the ranch to enlarge and strengthen 
everything. There was a large sod-plow at the station, which had been much 
used. Our blacksmith took the share of the plow, drew it out wide and 
thin, and proceeded to harden it very hard all through. We put the company 
mules onto this plow, and, going down into the bottoms where the sod was 
tough and fibrous, we began to plow it in slices twelve inches wide. The 
tangled grassroots that had been forming for centuries were tough as felt, 
and we had to plow at least six inches deep in many places to get under 
them. The way we worked was systematized as follows: A soldier rode the 
front team of mules to the plow. We had about five spans of mules. Another 
man held the plow, and another with a gad kept the mules almost on the 
trot. The furrows were long, and the slices were thrown up over-lappingly. 
Men came behind with broadaxes, and, guessing at a three-foot length, 
chopped down through with a blow onto the furrow-slices. Men and teams 
followed, who hauled this sod up to the Bancroft Ranch, and others there 
laid it up as fast as it came, while others were puddling mud to make a 
mortar junction. The sod was laid up, breaking joints, and there were 
alternate running and cross layers, and it was rammed down as fast as 
laid. There was lots to do, and everybody worked well. Bancroft continued 
to occupy one of the houses, and let us go ahead and build, but he would 
not surrender complete possession until he got a Government voucher. 
Captain O'Brien and I went into one of the houses, and Bancroft in the 
other.

   By telegraph we got a lot of cedar poles cut down at Cottonwood Canyon, 
and the post wagons there brought us up a lot under escort. There was 
nothing growing along the Platte of much consequence. The statement used 
to be that one could not get a riding-switch for seventy miles on each 
side of Julesburg along the Platte. It was thirty miles south of Julesburg 
to what was called the White Man's Fork of the Republican River, but it 
was seventy miles, nearly, to the Republican River. Pioneers had said that 
there was nothing on White Man's Fork and nothing until we went seventy 
miles to the Republican, and there only cottonwoods.

   Inside of the corral we started to build our stables, and company 
quarters; the rear of the company quarters was the sod wall around the 
outside of the place. These we divided into rooms. On following page is a 
plan of the post as we established it.

   Bancroft, during the summer, had cut down a great quantity of grass, on 
the north side of the river, and raked it up for the purpose of selling to 
the pilgrims, but he had been disturbed, and could with difficulty get 
assistance. He still had the grass, and was fearful that a prairie-fire at 
any time would sweep the country. We hauled up and piled the hay on the 
inside of our inclosure, and we set the mowing-machine at work upon the 
grass that now remained. There was plenty of it, but it was somewhat 
frosted, and dry. We continued however, to cut that grass so as to carry 
us through the winter, and it was brought up and stacked inside of our 
fort.

   Down at Julesburg station was a great quantity of shelled corn. There 
had been an intention of trying to put the stages to running on the Salt 
Lake trail, in which event a large amount of shelled corn would be 
necessary. So there were stored at Julesburg station many thousand bushels 
of shelled corn. As the stage line on the Salt Lake trail was not yet 
restored, via Fort Laramie, we confiscated and took what we wanted, giving 
vouchers for it, which were honored and paid by the Government; so that we 
had hay and corn for our horses.

   On the 15th of September 1864, we were busy at work, as busy as bees, 
when, under an escort, along came Major Fillmore of the army, and paid us 
off. We had not been paid since back in the spring sometime, and there was 
no money left in the company. The boys were in the habit of lending to 
each other, so that the members of the company always went broke about the 
same time. Now that Major Fillmore had paid us up the boys felt better, 
but there was nothing they could buy. All that they could do with their 
money was to play cards for it or send it home. Those who wanted to send 
home money notified us, and the money was put in separate envelopes and 
duly sealed, for we had plenty of sealing-wax, and I wrote my name across 
the back of the envelopes as a witness to the amount which was put in. 
After all the money which the boys desired to send home had been fixed up, 
Lieutenant Brewer waited until a train and escort were going down, and he 
took the money down as far as Fort Kearney, where it could be safely 
turned over to a responsible express company.

   It is interesting to note, as illustrating the conditions of the times, 
that there were issued to us, as a company, so many quills for pens, and 
so much red sealing-wax, and so much tape, as stationery supplies for the 
company. No mucilage was issued, because that had not yet become a matter 
of scientific manufacture, but the druggist sold gum-arabic in the cities; 
and as for us, we made boiled paste from flour. Our muster-rolls used to 
come in sections, and we boiled the flour, pasted them together, and then 
with some smooth piece of hot iron, would iron down the junction smooth; 
we had no difficulty.

   There was but very little sickness in our company. There were sick 
civilians from time to time who needed attention, and our application for 
a post surgeon was granted.

   There was sent to our post a doctor named Wisely. My recollection is 
that he came down from Denver to us, but the first thing I knew of him he 
appeared at the post, and went directly to work on some of the sick who 
were there, and he was a very satisfactory doctor. His title was Acting 
Assistant Surgeon. He was thoroughly and loyally devoted to his 
profession, didn't know anything or talk anything but medicine and 
surgery, stayed with the boys carefully and attentively, drank no whisky, 
played no cards, and was in fact as satisfactory an army surgeon as I ever 
saw. He had a peculiar face. His nose was the most grotesque and 
disproportionate nose that I ever saw on a man. It was more than a nose -- 
it was a combination of beak and snout. The boys, quickly catching onto 
these things, started to speak of him as Dr. Snout; but Dr. Wisely would 
have received no permanent nickname had not one of the boys one day called 
him Dr. Nosely. This appellation stuck. The Doctor received it good-
naturedly, and we always after that called Dr. Wisely, "Dr. Nosely."

   Our dogs here were a great benefit to us, and much society. Captain 
O'Brien ever and anon would direct me to go over into the hills with my 
field-glass, and see what I could see. The Captain was wide awake, and 
always on the alert. His natural mental and physical activity were so 
reinforced by nature that he had to be doing something or saying something 
at all times, and this made him so exceedingly valuable as an army 
officer. The Captain desired himself to get acquainted with all the lay of 
the country south of us, and desired that I also should; so I frequently, 
after the work of the day was almost over, say a couple of hours before 
dark, would whistle up the dogs and run my horse over into the hills. I 
could make a good deal of a reconnoissance in a couple of hours. The 
wolves were exceedingly plenty, and we could always find one. These 
reconnaissances were generally accompanied by a wolf-hunt; that is, the 
dogs would go after a wolf, and if they went in anywhere near the 
direction I desired to go, I followed them a reasonable distance. The 
ground rolled considerably, and the plateau was a good deal broken.

   On one of these occasions after I had got about four miles south of the 
post, seeing nothing and starting west, the dogs jumped up a wolf which I 
kept up with, my horse going at full speed. Going down an incline at a 
rapid gait, my horse stepped into something where there had been an old 
hole. He was going as fast as he could run. He about turned a somersault 
and when I gathered myself up I felt as if I were all broken to pieces. I 
was stunned. In a few minutes I was able to sit up. My horse was much 
strained, and stood still. I began to feel of myself all over to see 
whether I had broken any bones. I could with difficulty get my breath, and 
things were in a good deal of a whirl. I sat there as much as ten minutes, 
collecting myself together. I saw the fresh-made dirt where the horse had 
stepped. I finally made up my mind that although I had bounded and rolled 
considerably, I was still intact. I marked the place where I was sitting, 
and got up and with some degree of pain and effort, was able to walk to my 
horse, and I made an examination of him. In the meantime the dogs and wolf 
were out of sight. I walked around and led the horse, and came to the 
conclusion that he was pretty badly shaken up, but had no broken bones. I 
then measured the distance from where I had landed, back to the hole. It 
was thirty-two feet. I walked slowly, leading my horse back towards the 
post. He limped some little, and I finally succeeded in mounting him and 
we went back to the post slowly, leaving the dogs to take care of 
themselves. I was a week getting over it. The prairie-dogs would dig 
holes; then the badgers would dig down and eat the prairie-dogs; and then 
the wolves would dig out the badgers, and leave dangerous holes.

   The Captain, when he made his explorations, generally killed a wolf, 
and he often got an antelope. We could get an antelope with our dogs 
almost any day if we took the time. In the breaks among the hills we often 
lost a wolf on account of the fact that a wolf would disappear over a 
ridge, and by making a flank movement would get out of sight, and stay out 
of sight of the dogs. We acquired a tramp dog that some one had lost. He 
was a genuine Virginia stag-hound. He ran by smell and not by sight, and 
he would go along the trail yelping at every jump. We called him "Bugler 
No. 2." We had lost "Bugler No. 1." The greyhounds ran by sight, and when 
the wolf eluded their sight they stopped, and were unable to proceed in 
the right direction. They could outrun Bugler, so he followed in the rear 
yelping, and if at any time the dogs were puzzled Bugler would follow 
right off on the trail, and lead the other dogs to the point where they 
could see the wolf. Then they would dash on ahead, and if they could keep 
sight of the wolf they could catch him; and if they lost him again Bugler 
would find him again, so that "Bugler No. 2" became as valuable an 
addition to our pack as was his predecessor.



CHAPTER XXIV.
THE HERMITAGE.--"OLD BILL".--ELDER SHARPE.--COLONEL SHOUP.--THE DEVIL'S 
DIVE.--ATTLEBORO JEWELRY.--LIEUTENANT WILLIAMS.--TRIP TO LARAMIE.--THE 
HEAD WIND.--BRIDGER.--THE GLEE CLUB.--ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON.

   WHILE I was pretty well bunged up over the fall from my horse, above 
mentioned, General Mitchell was going up and down the road with an escort 
making reconnoissances and plans for the reëstablishment of trade and 
travel. Captain O'Brien sent me down to Beauvais ranch with a 
communication and a report concerning things at our post. While there I 
met the Lieutenant Talbot who shot at the telegraph poles down at Fort 
Kearney, as before described. Also there was with him Major Armstrong, the 
chief inspector of the cavalry of the Western army; also Lieutenant 
Rankin, Aide-de-Camp. Beauvais ranch was about 25 miles east of Julesburg 
and about 15 miles south of Ash Hollow, and was at what was called the 
"Old California Crossing."

   I concluded that I wanted another horse, and Rankin had a nice large 
horse, jet black all over, with curly mane and tail. Rankin told the 
history of this horse briefly as follows: When Rankin was in the army 
invading Kentucky and Tennessee, they had made a raid upon Andrew 
Jackson's old Hermitage farm, and had taken away all the stock that was 
there, and this horse, captured there, was turned over to the Government. 
As it was customary then, horses were appraised by the quartermaster and 
sold. The purchasers at these sales generally were officers who needed a 
remount, and Rankin had bought this horse, and had kept it as one of his 
horses all of the time. A pretty good horse could be bought for $100, and 
a very fine horse could be bought for $200. 1 asked Rankin to sell me this 
black horse. Rankin, being at headquarters, had no scouting to do; the 
horse had been having no more work than was necessary to promote its 
health, mere exercise, and was plump and full of life. He was an 
exceedingly showy animal, and a very large one, and a very strong one. 
Rankin did not very much like to sell the horse, but as I had been 
recently paid off, he consented to let me have it for $300, and I believe 
that it was the best horse that I ever rode or ever saw in the cavalry 
service. I called him "Old Bill," and had him all through the balance of 
my time, took him into civil life, and finally buried him, many years 
after the war, with pomp and ceremony, and planted a grape-vine over his 
grave. He was the most intelligent horse I ever saw, and he got so he 
would come when I called him, and understood every duty which he was 
called upon to perform. I did not like him at first as well as I did later 
on. He was a horse that seemed to be wanting to keep his mind active. When 
he was tied up by a halter-strap, he immediately began to pick the knot, 
and it was almost impossible to tie him with a knot which he could not 
untie, if he were given a little time. He was in some respects a fighting, 
vicious animal. When turned out with other horses he soon made them all 
know that he was king. He loved to chase wolves and antelope as much as 
rider or dogs did, and for durability he had no superior.

   On September 25, 1864, we noticed a train coming down Lodgepole. There 
were about a half-dozen wagons; it was a Mormon train. General Mitchell 
had ordered us, at the Julesburg post, to let no train go east to Fort 
Kearney that did not have a hundred armed men in it, because the Indians 
had been seen around Cottonwood Springs, and had been doing great 
depredations east of there. So we held up this Mormon train. In it was an 
Elder named W. H. Sharpe. He was a very bright, quick-witted, 
companionable sort of man. We directed him where to camp down by the 
river; he came on up and got into conversation, and finally invited 
Captain O'Brien and me to go down and take supper with him. As a matter of 
curiosity we went, and were introduced to the other members of his party. 
We had no more than become acquainted than he began to talk Mormonism to 
us, and started missionary work. He told a great deal about the beliefs of 
the Mormons, and explained how they were sent to reclaim the lost tribes 
of Israel, which, as he stated, were the Indians of North America, and he 
gave me a copy of the old, original Mormon Bible, and desired me to read 
it, which I promised to do when I had time.

   Several small trains under escort came down to Julesburg from Denver. 
It was several days before we could send them through solidly with a 
hundred armed men. One evening I took Elder Sharpe out, together, with one 
of our sergeants, and had a jack-rabbit and antelope chase in which he 
participated with great pleasure. While we were riding out over the arid 
desert watching the dogs, I asked him what he was going to go back at this 
time of the year for. He said: "My first and original wife is a most 
estimable woman, and lives in Baltimore. I joined the Mormon faith, and 
married a second wife; my first wife would not go to Salt Lake with me, so 
I go back to Baltimore every fall to see her." He says: "I have business 
for the church which takes me back, and I use the occasion to go and see 
her, and see if I cannot get her finally to come out to Salt Lake." He 
spoke of her in the very highest terms, and said that she was misguided in 
her views, and influenced by her relatives; that they both thought a great 
deal of each other, and he hoped to finally persuade her to live in Salt 
Lake City. He was a very nice gentleman to all appearances. He refused 
cigars, and drank no liquor of any kind.

   Finally a train with a hundred armed citizens was organized, and strung 
out on the road. Captain O'Brien gave them a very rigid inspection, gave 
them a speech as to what to do when Indians appeared, and how to march, 
and off they went. Sharpe was with us five days. I have never seen him 
since, nor have I ever heard of him, but in spite of his foolish creed, I 
took a good deal of a fancy to him.

   While he was there Colonel Shoup of the Third Colorado Cavalry came on 
down escorting some travelers, who afterwards went into the train of which 
I have just spoken. Colonel Shoup was a rollicking gentleman. One evening 
he had a fine silk buffalo-robe which I offered to buy. He said that he 
would play "freeze-out poker" for it. He valued it at $50, and would take 
one-fifth of the chips; so Captain O'Brien and I and two civilians took 
hold. Captain O'Brien won the buffalo-robe. Then one of the civilians, who 
thought he was a very fine poker-player, put out a $25 silver watch, as 
watches then sold, and put it up, and we took $5 apiece in it, and I won 
the watch. This watch made me a supernumerary watch; I sold the new one to 
one of the sergeants in the company at what the poker game had cost me, 
$15. The next time I met Colonel Shoup he was Senator from Idaho, but it 
was many years afterwards. Since that time his marble statue has been 
placed in the Hall of Fame in the rotunda of the National Capitol in 
Washington.

   The train of which I spoke, started out on September 29th with more 
than a hundred armed men. They were a jolly lot. Elston and a detachment 
were sent down ahead of the train to where it would pass a very bad piece 
of road, a few miles east of Julesburg; there was at this point a very bad 
arroyo coming in from the south, and the hills of the plateau protruded 
north to the river-bed, obliterating the valley at that point. This place 
at the arroyo went by the name of "The Devil's Dive." When the train had 
passed that, it reached open country, and could see where it was going. 
These scouts of ours who went ahead, ran onto some questionable characters 
who were camped alongside of the river. One of them was an Indian who was 
called Shah-ka, another was a half-breed by the name of Frank Solway, and 
another half-breed by the name of Joe Jewett, of whom I have spoken 
before. These were arrested, and turned over to this train to be taken 
down to Omaha. Such matters as these, of which I have spoken, were merely 
diversions; the work went on steadily all the time at the post, and the 
sod was being piled up and winter quarters were being established. We had 
no doors or windows yet for the company quarters, and the men hung up 
blankets. To our repeated calls for clothing we got no response. October 
came, and the men were wearing their July and August uniforms, now quite 
ragged, and the nights chilly.

   At last, about October 10, 1864, in a train which was being escorted 
west, there were some mule trains that stopped at our post and left us a 
hundred uniforms, rations enough to last until the next summer, a lot of 
bridles and repairs, a lot of ammunition, half a dozen good tents, a few 
pistols and carbines, and a good supply of howitzer ammunition. But in 
this whole supply there was only one barrel of whisky. The men had not had 
any for a very long time, and as the Irishman said, "What is a quart of 
whisky among one?" The first thing we did was to have that barrel of 
whisky rolled into the place where Captain O'Brien and I were bunking, and 
we issued to the men a good jigger all around, and got everything braced 
up. We were now ready to spend the winter as soon as we could get some 
doors and windows for our quarters. Through the efforts of General 
Mitchell the stages began to run again with light escorts, two or three 
and sometimes as many as six together, so that the stage service was again 
on its feet, and they went past crowded full, going to Denver and the 
west; but they were not permitted to go separately, nor up Lodgepole. The 
stages always stopped at our post. We knew most of the drivers, and we 
generally took an inventory of the passengers by name, and their 
destination, and where from, and this the passengers were always ready to 
give. Through this means I met a good many people whom I afterwards met 
again, and I made many acquaintanceships which were preserved for years, 
Among others was a man and his wife and daughter who had been out in the 
mountains. He was from Attleboro, Massachusetts, and was engaged in making 
what was then called, "Attleboro jewelry." This Attleboro jewelry was 
plated in a way that the stuff looked very fine, but the gold was so thin 
that it soon wore off. In fact, it used to be said that the wind would 
wear the gold off from Attleboro jewelry. I asked this man how it was he 
could put the gold on so thin, and this is the way he explained it. He 
said they took a piece of brass, as soft as it could be made, and say 
three inches wide, six inches long, and an inch thick; upon this brass 
there was a film of adhering precipitated gold. Then this block was run 
through a machine, and rolled down and continually rolled until it was 
quite thin, and from this rolled plate the jewelry was made.

   On October 13, 1864, there appeared at our post quite a train of mule 
teams going through to Denver, and in that party was Lieutenant Williams, 
the Provost Marshal General of the department. Mr. Williams was a very 
brave young Lieutenant of about twenty-seven. He had with him an orderly 
with an extra horse, and he also had a very fine ambulance. He was going 
up to Fort Laramie for the purpose of making some arrests, with the 
directions that when he got through with that he should inspect the 
military posts on his return. On his arrival at Julesburg he had an order 
from headquarters directing me to take a sergeant and eight men, and 
escort him to Fort Laramie, a distance of 175 miles and back. We were 
exceedingly busy at the time that Lieutenant Williams came, and we 
persuaded him to wait for several days. We sent him out on a wolf-hunt, 
and he remained with us until the noon of October 18th. We had to get the 
men fitted with their new clothing, and get equipment in order, and have 
the horses shod that were to go on the trip. I did not like to make the 
trip; it was too small a number of men to go through so dangerous a 
country. The weather was not good; the trip was a long one of 350 miles, 
and we were busy getting winter quarters; but I said nothing and got 
ready. We did not get off until noon of the 18th.

   I had just drawn a heavy new woolen undershirt from the supplies that 
had arrived, and when I put the undershirt on it was very harsh and 
prickly, and I determined to take it off and have it well washed. Our 
laundress, "Linty," had rejoined us with Lieutenant Brewer from Cottonwood 
Springs. The Lieutenant had been down to take the boys' money home, as 
stated. I gave this shirt to Linty and told her to give it a good washing, 
and to wash the starch and stuff out of it. When it came time to start 
with Lieutenant Williams, the shirt was hanging up trying to dry, but it 
was still quite damp. It was almost damp enough that water could be wrung 
out of it, and the question with me was whether to wear the shirt or not. 
I concluded to take my chances with the damp shirt, so I put it on, and we 
started for Laramie, and I with the nine men went up Lodgepole, eighteen 
miles, and camped beside Lodgepole at a place where there was some ruined 
work indicating that somebody had started in to make a habitation. The 
report was that the stage company had begun to erect stables there, but 
had not completed them. At supper-time my shirt was still not dry, and we 
laid down and slept in the open air. During the night a strong wind came 
up from the northwest that was quite cold, and I slept in a shiver about 
all night. In the morning we went up Lodgepole to the crossing, seventeen 
miles farther, and started across Jules Stretch.

   All day long that head wind blew, increasing in violence until the air 
was filled with sand and pebbles. It seemed almost impossible to stem the 
wind. We started early in the morning. It was cold, and as we rode on our 
horses, we wrapped the capes of our overcoats around our faces, and only 
exposed one eye at a time, and most of the time we had our eyes shut, and 
leaned forward to give the horses the advantage of the wind. We could not 
see a hundred feet ahead of us. Two men kept the road, and we told them to 
keep a mile ahead of us, if possible, so that we might not run into any 
Indians. The Indians could not see us any better than we could see them. 
Every half-hour we stopped and gave our horses a rest. It was a snail's 
pace. We had on our horses five days of cooked rations, which consisted of 
boiled beef, raw and fried bacon, and hardbread. I never experienced a day 
of misery that impressed itself more upon my mind than that day. The 
horses could hardly be made to face the gale, and every once in a while 
would turn as a particularly swift wave came, and they would go milling 
around among themselves, and we had to straighten out the cavalcade and 
start again. The men in the ambulance, Rulo and Lynch, of Co. D, Eleventh 
Ohio Cavalry, suffered as much as we. The mules were continually leaving 
the track, and it was impossible for a person to hold his eyes unprotected 
against the wind, and the wind grew colder and colder. I made the 
following comment in my diary in regard to that wind: "Awful headwind; 
never suffered so much in my life from cold. Made fifty miles this day. 
Camped at Mud Springs."

   We did not get into Mud Springs until long after dark. I had got my 
woolen shirt dry by this time, but I had a cold that was about as severe 
as anything I ever had. I coughed and rolled and tossed all night, and 
only got to sleep at some time towards morning. The next morning 
everything was clear and pleasant. The wind had subsided, and the 
beautiful castellated landscape charmed me again as it had before. I never 
mentioned my feelings, and tried to pretend that I was all right, and I 
commenced the procession, and rode at its head all day. We made forty 
miles, and camped that night at Ficklin ranch. That night I was aching all 
over. The men themselves were all used up. I asked Lieutenant Williams to 
make a short march, but he had got to riding in the ambulance and dozing 
as he went along, and consequently was not tired. I regret to say that he 
marched us, or rather he insisted on our marching, and we rode on that 
day, October 20, 1864, fifty-six miles. I then told Lieutenant Williams 
what I thought about his way of doing things; that while he had the right 
to set the pace, and command the squad, that he ought to be cashiered, and 
I told him that my men should have a rest even if he had to go on alone. 
He got up in the morning bright and fresh, and ordered me to follow him. 
My men were complaining considerably, and I was feeling used up myself, 
and I told him that I was going to rest my men until noon. He told me that 
he was going to report me to the General for disobedience of orders, and I 
told him that I was going to report him to the General for not 
understanding his business. The result was that he started out on 
horseback and with the ambulance alone, and I let the men get all the 
sleep they wanted in the morning, and a good hearty breakfast, and let 
them rest their horses, and after dinner I rode them into Fort Laramie, a 
distance of ten miles from Bordeaux Ranch. When I got into Laramie I got 
good quarters for my men, saw them all well established, and they started 
in eating and sleeping, and getting rested. I went around to the doctor 
and he took my case. He began feeding me with quinine and whisky, and 
cured my cold, from which I fully recovered in a couple of days, although 
I was up and around all of the time. I put in most of my time at 
headquarters with Major Woods (afterwards of Ottumwa, Iowa), who was still 
commander of the post, and in the evening we all gathered at the sutler 
store. Williams told me that he would go back with me in less than a week.

   While at Fort Laramie I ran across my new friend Bridger, and in 
conversation with him there we talked a great deal about the country, and 
the Indians, and he told me over again his Buffalo Dam story, and his 
Diamond Mountain story, and I recognized the fact that he told them 
verbatim as he told them before. That is to say, that he had told each 
story so often that he had got it into language form, and told it 
literally alike. He had probably told them so often that he got to 
believing them himself.

   There were among the soldiers at Fort Laramie several very fine voices, 
and they had organized a glee club who were accompanied by musicians. And 
they were in the habit of going around and serenading various officers, 
and places, and among others the sutler store. There was an old ordnance 
sergeant at the post who was a sort of permanent detail. He was one of 
those who had been left over from the regular army, a perfect martinet, 
knew everything which there was to be known about the details of post 
service, and he looked after the ordnance and ordnance stores. I 
recognized a piece which I had heard sung two or three times before, and 
when I heard it this last time the old ordnance sergeant asked me if I 
knew what that was; when I told him, No, he said that it was the favorite 
piece of General Albert Sidney Johnston. He said that on the Salt Lake 
campaign, before the Civil War, Albert Sidney Johnston had a headquarters 
brass band, and that he used to ask them every night to play that piece of 
music. It was a rather nice piece, pleasant and easy to learn, and the 
refrain to it when sung, at least all I remember of the refrain, was:

"Ever through life's campaign
I'll be a soldier still."  

    The ordnance sergeant used to describe Albert Sidney Johnston in very 
kind terms as a melancholy man of great genius and ability, apparently 
cramped by his jurisdiction and command, bigger than the flower-pot in 
which he was growing, devoted to duty, and, in matters outside of duty, 
very orderly and very kindly. He arrived at considerable distinction in 
the Confederate army, and had been killed in battle at the time when the 
sergeant had told me of this, his favorite piece of music. I had heard 
that piece of music down at Fort Kearney. I have never heard it since I 
left Fort Laramie.