The Indian War of 1864 - Chapters 31-33



CHAPTER XXXI.
JANUARY 1, 1865.--ORDERED TO COTTONWOOD SPRINGS.--NO ESCORT.--DRIVER DRUNK 
ON PRAIRIE.--THE NEW RECRUITS.--FEBRUARY 6, 1865.--DETAILED AS AIDE-DE-
CAMP.--THE MAN-FROG.--THE PREMONITION.--DRILLING CO. "I" ORDERED TO 
JULESBURG.--ORDERED BACK.--ALKALI.--RETURNED TO COTTONWOOD.--INDIAN 
EXPEDITION FORMING AT COTTONWOOD.

   ON THE first day of January, 1865, I received a telegraphic order to 
proceed immediately to Cottonwood Springs and not wait for anything; to be 
there to receive instructions by wire at noon on the third. In a little 
while afterwards I received a specific telegram to be in Cottonwood 
Springs at 12 o'clock, noon, January 3rd, with the addendum to it, "This 
order is peremptory."

   I saw that it would not be possible to make it in the winter on 
horseback without great inconvenience, and I went down to the stage 
station to see if I could get a stage with four horses, to run me through, 
night and day; which would bring me in in good time. There was an old 
driver there, a reckless fellow, the man who got the arrow through his 
coat collar, of whom I have spoken. He said that be would hitch up as soon 
as he could have a couple of horses shod, and he would start off with me. 
I told him I would have ten men detailed as an escort. He said, "What in 
thunder do we want of an escort? I'll drive you through all right." I 
said, "Suppose some Injun shoots you off from the box?" He said: "Well, if 
they get me they get you; but I'll take you through all right. The Injun 
won't trouble us at night, and I can get you through to O'Fallon's Bluffs 
before morning; then if you want an escort at O'Fallon's Bluffs we can get 
it there."

   Of course, it would never do for me to appear scared, if a stage-driver 
wasn't scared. I would have eternally lost my reputation if I had said 
anything more about an escort. If my men should ever hear that I had 
wanted an escort when the stage-driver didn't, they would have probably 
called upon me to resign. I thought it very unsafe, but still I told him 
that if he didn't want an escort I didn't, so I put up the "bluff" that 
all I wanted of an escort was for his benefit; that I could take care of 
myself. This seemed to please him.

   About nine o'clock on that evening, all by our lone selves, on the 
stage, we started for Cottonwood Springs. There was no snow on the ground 
anywhere to be seen. It had all gone. The whole landscape was slate-gray 
as far as could be seen; there was no moonlight -- just a bright starlight.

   The stage-driver told me to get inside, which I did, with a little 
bundle of blankets and paraphernalia done up in a strap; a Smith & Wesson 
carbine, two revolvers strapped on, a box of ammunition, a field-glass, a 
big heavy overcoat, and two buffalo-robes. The driver primed himself with 
ranch whisky before we started, and asked me to keep the windows of the 
coach down so that I could fire out on either side, and be ready to get 
out whenever he shouted.

   So we started, I with a revolver on the seat on each side of me, and 
with the carbine across my lap. The wind whistled in with a strong 
December chill through the open sides of the coach door, and it was 
anything but pleasant and comfortable. We heard wolves yelping from time 
to time, and I kept on the lookout for fire signals. On and on went the 
coach at a mad rate. Every once in a while the driver would shout back to 
me, "Do you see anything?" or "Do you hear anything?" or "How are you 
getting on?"

   At about broad daylight I woke up. I had been asleep. The stage was 
stopped. It took me a little while to gather myself together. I looked 
out, and saw that we were right close to the hills. From the other side I 
saw we were two or three miles from the river, and the horses had their 
heads down to the ground, nipping the dried grass. It immediately occurred 
to me that the driver had been killed on the box. The next thing occurred 
to me was that there were some Indians around; so I began to peer 
cautiously around the sides from one side to the other, and I could see 
the driver's foot sticking out on one side above me. I spoke to him, then 
again and again, louder and louder, and got no response. I soon, by gazing 
around, was satisfied that there was no Indian around the coach nor under 
it, and I got out. And there lay the driver extended out on the box. The 
horses were nipping along, and the reins were tangled up with the horses' 
heels of the rear span. I got up and shook the driver, and saw no blood, 
but I did smell a good deal of whisky, and saw the cork end of the bottle 
sticking out of his overcoat pocket. I pulled it out, and it was empty. I 
then shook him some more. He stupidly aroused himself up, and I saw that 
he had got drunk on the box. I got the lines up as fast as I could from 
the horses amid the tangle, and, unaccustomed to driving a stage, I 
managed to get the horses twisted around, and started back to the road. I 
got them back there as fast as I could. I expected every minute to see 
some Indian rise up somewhere or come over the hill. In a little while the 
stage-driver began to come to, after I had got the horses into the road. 
They were galloping down, and I with my foot on the brake was trying to 
keep the stage in the road, and right side up. The driver came to -- 
slowly and painfully, but he came to. Come to find out, we had not made 
much progress. He had got primed up high, and in a little while the coach 
had slowed down; I, with the carbine across my lap, had gone to sleep, and 
we had been camping out a couple of miles off from the road all night. And 
when we got back to the road we found that we had come only about twenty 
miles.

   We finally got down to O'Fallon's Bluffs. We got breakfast, and I sent 
a telegram to my orderly to come down with the next train that came to 
Cottonwood Springs, and bring my stuff and the two horses with him. At 
O'Fallon's Bluffs a regular stage-coach pretty full of passengers overtook 
us, under escort. I preferred to let my stage-driver go back, and I got 
aboard the crowded stage, and went on down to Cottonwood Springs, where I 
arrived about nine o'clock in the morning.

   The object of my mission and the order for me to go to Cottonwood, was 
this: Recruiting officers in Iowa had forwarded to Omaha a lot of recruits 
for our regiment, and they were to arrive, one hundred and sixteen of 
them, that day from Fort Kearney, whence they had been brought in six mule 
wagons. I was to take command, and immediately organize them into a 
company, and go to work drilling them as rapidly as possible. I was told 
privately that an Indian expedition bad been organized to go down and 
drive the Indians out of eastern Colorado and northwestern Kansas. That 
the object was to keep the Indians on the go; that an Indian expedition 
for that purpose had been arranged, and that these new recruits had to be 
drilled, so that when they were divided up and put into the companies they 
would be able to know what to do. I was authorized to appoint corporals 
and sergeants, was told to drill the company on foot in all the cavalry 
movements, and to instruct the non-commissioned officers in their duties, 
so that by the time the horses would get there, which they thought would 
be in a week, the men could go to work drilling on horseback. I was 
further told to drill them all they would stand, clear to the point of 
exhaustion. Of course, this meant exhausting myself as well. When I found 
out what I was detailed to do I did not like the job.

   I received the men, drew them up into line on their arrival, told them 
that they were a company, and that we would call it Company "I" (The real 
Company "I" of the regiment was many miles off, up at Sioux City, Iowa.) I 
told them that they had just come in time to get in a glorious Indian 
campaign, and would all be covered with glory; that I wanted them to be 
drilled in shape before they went, and wanted their hearty cooperation, 
for I would drill with them and do just as much as they. I then went and 
telegraphed my arrival and the assuming of the command, and that I had 
begun work, and suggested that someone be sent to relieve me, as my own 
company demanded all of my services. My telegram received no response.

   The weather turned off blusteringly cold. The poor young recruits 
dressed in their overcoats were got out for a drill right after breakfast, 
and I drilled them all over the country until noon. Then I gave them an 
hour in which to get dinner, and an hour to play poker, and then I drilled 
them until supper-time. After supper-time I opened at the post 
headquarters a school of instruction. With wrapping paper and charcoal I 
made a wall blackboard, and demonstrated to them the calls, and the 
movements. The boys took hold of it all in a strenuous way. There was no 
grumbling; they were tired out every day, but learned quite rapidly. They 
learned it theoretically at night by the lectures I gave them, and in 
daytime by the drill.

   On the morning of January 6th, I received a telegram from General 
Mitchell, commanding the district at Omaha, asking me if I would act as 
his personal aide-decamp; and, if so, for me to proceed immediately to 
Omaha. I wired him that I would be glad to serve as aide-de-camp, and that 
I would start early the next morning. In the mean time my orderly and two 
horses had arrived, and I was all ready to proceed to Omaha. Owing to the 
crowded condition of the post, I was sleeping on the floor which was 
temporarily used by the adjutant of the regiment, Mr. Sheffield, who had 
moved his headquarters to Cottonwood Springs. Cottonwood Springs had 
become in point of strength and equipment the largest and most important 
post at that time from Fort Kearney to Denver, but in point of importance 
and danger Julesburg, or, as we called it then, "Fort Sedgwick," was of 
the most consequence. The post had been named "Fort Sedgwick" from Major-
General Sedgwick, who served in the Civil War. On the forenoon of the 6th 
of January a band of Indians made a dash on a train near Julesburg, killed 
four men, and retreated. It could not be ascertained what tribe they were 
of, or whither they went.

   That evening I went to sleep rolled up in a blanket, and lying upon a 
buffalo-robe stretched upon the dirt floor. I had all my equipment and 
worldly possessions right there, and the next forenoon was going to start 
according to orders with my orderly and an escort for Fort Kearney. I was 
tired, had eaten a hearty supper, and during the night I had a very 
strange sort of nightmare. It is not unusual for soldiers to grow 
superstitious, but I think that I had gained as little of it as anyone. 
But in the night I was awakened by something like a great man-frog jumping 
upon me, with knees and feet, and weighing about a ton, and saying to me 
in a stern and threatening tone, "You will never see Omaha." I woke up, 
making an effort as if to throw off the incubus which was heavy on top of 
me, and in a little while went again to sleep. After having slept soundly 
for a while, this incubus was weighing me down again with its knees on my 
chest, and its hands on my shoulders, looking me in the face, and saying, 
"You will never see Omaha." I knocked him off again, and after lying 
awake, and thinking of what I had had for supper, and imagining my nerves 
were a little bit unstrung at my very sudden and unaccounted for promotion 
to being aide-de-camp for the General, I went again to sleep. And in less 
than an hour the whole thing was done over again; this frightful object 
which was holding me down, told me again, "You will never see Omaha." This 
third time scared me. It seemed so natural, vivid and real, that I 
couldn't sleep. I floundered around a little, started a chip fire in the 
sheet-iron stove, got up and smoked some pipefuls of tobacco, and began to 
philosophize on the whole business, and think of all the strange things I 
had heard in regard to spiritualistic manifestations and premonitions. I 
remembered how in another regiment an old Mexican war soldier had always 
said that the initial of a man's name was on the bullet which killed him, 
and that people always had premonitions about these things. During the war 
the newspapers were full of premonitions, most of them written up by 
imaginative novelists. As dawn came I rolled up and got a little bit of a 
nap, and was called for breakfast. Here is a copy of my order.

Head Quarters District of Nebraska,
OMAHA, N.T., January 6th, 1865
   GENERAL ORDERS
   No. 2.

   2nd Lieut. Eugene F. Ware, Co. F, 7th Iowa Cav. is hereby detailed and 
announced, as Aide de Camp upon the staff of the General Commanding, and 
will be obeyed and respected accordingly.

   By order of
BRIG. GENL. ROBT. L. MITCHELL.
Jno. Pratt,   
A.A.G.
Official.

/s/ Jno. Pratt,
      A.A.G.
 

   As I had a march of several hundred miles to make on horseback, I 
started to have my horses shod with great heavy shoes. I counted and 
inventoried the ordnance stores, pistols, and everything which my company 
had been drilling with, and took a receipt from the post commander. I also 
turned over all the stuff which I had received in shape of quartermaster 
stores for the company, and by the time I had got through getting receipts 
for the public property, and got ready to go, in the forenoon, a telegram 
came that the Indians were besieging Fort Sedgwick, and that my company 
had lost several men, killed, and wanted help. I immediately received an 
order from General Mitchell by telegram to take a detachment of forty men, 
and a piece of artillery, and proceed to Julesburg; and before I got 
started the commander at O'Fallon's Bluffs telegraphed that the Indians 
had run all around his post, and had halted a train and killed several 
persons. It was difficult to organize the new detachment quickly, and word 
came that the Indians had been seen around Gilmans' ranch east of us, at 
which place a company of Nebraska cavalry had been stationed.

   The Post Commander at Cottonwood did not want to give me more than ten 
men, but I finally succeeded in getting twelve mounted men, a twelve-pound 
mountain howitzer, and thirty-two of Company "I." The latter were armed 
and put into covered wagons with three drivers, making twelve cavalrymen 
and thirty-two infantrymen, and four drivers. I determined also to throw a 
wagon-sheet over the artillery, so as to make it look like a wagon. This 
would lead the Indians to believe that twelve mounted men were escorting 
four wagons loaded with supplies, and might induce them to pitch onto the 
train, and try to take it. The men on the inside all had their guns and 
ammunition, and the wagons were filled with hay as forage for the horses, 
and shelter for the men.

   We started out, and rode all night against a northwest wind, making 
good time. We saw a fire-arrow go up from the "Sioux Lookout" near Jack 
Morrow's ranch, and we saw a fire-arrow go up in the air ahead of us, 
farther on. We stopped at O'Fallon's Bluffs, and were told that a train 
had been wrecked and burned within three miles of there by the Indians, 
the horses all lost, but none of the white people killed. They had all got 
to the post.

   The ride had been very hard upon my twelve cavalrymen, and the drivers 
of the howitzer and wagons. It was about 40 miles. Some of the men in the 
wagons had frosted their feet, or thought they had, and had suffered a 
great deal from cold. They had been obliged to get out in little 
detachments, and hold on to the end-gates of the wagons and run, to keep 
up their circulation.

   At O'Fallon's Bluffs I received a telegraphic order to come back with 
the detachment immediately to Cottonwood Springs. In fact, this order had 
got to O'Fallon's Bluffs before I got there. We stopped to cook a meal, 
and give the men some sleep before starting back, when all at once the 
order was countermanded, and I was ordered to proceed on immediately to 
Alkali Station, which was being threatened by Indians, and to lose no 
time. Thereupon all the men were waked up, and, amid a great deal of 
grumbling, we started out for Alkali Station, getting in there late in the 
afternoon. I then said to myself: "I see now what the premonition meant. I 
was ordered to go back to Omaha, and here now I am under orders going 
west. It was a very wise and sensible premonition that knew what was going 
on. I may never see Omaha."

   When I got to Alkali I wired my arrival, and told them that there was 
news that the Indians were dancing around Julesburg, said to be Arapahoes 
and Cheyennes, and that Alkali Station was all right. I thought I had 
better be permitted to go on to my destination. The word was that quite a 
battle had taken place at Julesburg, but the telegraph line was so 
occupied that I could not get into it. As soon as I had reported my 
arrival at Alkali I was immediately ordered to send back the men and 
artillery to Cottonwood Springs. Hearing of the trouble my company was 
having at Julesburg, I did not obey the order, and protested to Colonel 
Livingston, commanding the sub-district, asking him to rescind it, and let 
me go to the relief of my company. At 10 A.M. on January 10, 1865, Colonel 
Livingston sent me a very cross and peremptory order, telling me to send 
back the whole detachment immediately. I construed the words "send back 
the detachment" to mean that I need not go back myself, but that it could 
go back under any proper commander so it got back. So I sent the 
detachment back in the charge of a sergeant, and I remained at Alkali to 
get into communication with Captain O'Brien, and ascertain what the 
trouble was at Julesburg. Finally I heard from Captain O'Brien the full 
reports of the battle.

   I quickly received a peremptory order to return to Cottonwood Springs. 
I rode that night all by my lone self down to O'Fallon's Bluffs on my 
horse "Old Bill." I knew no Indian could catch me as long as I rode him. 
At O'Fallon's Bluffs a caravan going east had been halted for some little 
time, and with ten men belonging to Captain Wilcox's company, that was 
stationed at O'Fallon's Bluffs, we started late in the afternoon, marched 
all night, and arrived in the morning of the 13th of January at Cottonwood 
Springs, and there I found General Mitchell, and to him I reported for 
duty. This riding all night up and down the dreary, arid wastes of 
Nebraska in winter was no fun. The General detailed me as Acting Assistant 
Adjutant-General of the district, and told me that an Indian expeditionary 
command would march on the second day, January 15, 1865.

   All this time companies of cavalry were arriving from the East. The 
Indians had disappeared, having committed great depredations all along the 
route from within fifty miles of Denver to Cottonwood Springs. Almost 
every ranch had been besieged or had had a fight with the Indians. The 
Indians had captured a number of horses, killed a lot of people, and had 
disappeared, going south. And while this was going on on the Platte, they 
had raided the Arkansas River, and had done great damage. They had burned 
trains, and great quantities of stores and supplies. Newspapers said that 
a million dollars of damage had been done on the Platte, and another 
million had been done on the Arkansas River. I think it must have been 
overdrawn considerably, but yet much damage had been done. The Indians had 
had a fight wherever they had appeared. They had either struck 
frontiersmen, pioneers or soldiers, and they made no movement without they 
had a fight. The country was all ready for a fight, and every man in it 
expected to fight. I will stop now here to tell of the fight at Julesburg, 
in which my company was engaged. It was a matter of great regret that I 
was not with my company at the time it happened, but it was all unexpected 
at Julesburg. I will make it the subject of the next chapter.



CHAPTER XXXII.
CHIVINGTON FIGHT.--JULESBURG FIGHT.--LIST OF LOSSES.--PRICE.--INCIDENT OF 
THE BUTTE.--JANUARY 15, 1865.--GENERAL MITCHELL'S ORDER.--THE FROGMAN AND 
THE PREMONITION.--GENERAL MITCHELL'S VIEWS.--CAPTAIN O'BRIEN'S VIEWS.--THE 
TRADER'S TRAIL.--THE FIRST NEB. V. V. CAVALRY.--THE NEBRASKA MILITIA.--THE 
BUTTE.--THE MEDICINE RIVER.--MARCHED 33 MILES.

   THE battle of my company at Julesburg with the Indians came about this 
way:

   After the Chivington battle, November 29, 1864, down on Sand Creek, in 
Colorado, the Indians immediately put the Platte River under surveillance. 
The true extent and result of the Chivington fight was not as first 
understood. It was supposed that Chivington had about ended the Indian war 
as far as the Cheyennes and Arapahoes were concerned. The number of 
Indians killed was much less than reported; the size of the victory was 
greatly overstated, and there were several bands of the Cheyenne and 
Arapahoes that Colonel Chivington did not reach or injure. But runners 
were sent out by the Indians, and the whole Indian country between the 
Platte and the Arkansas River was ablaze with war-paint and fight. Some 
Indians reconnoitered Julesburg and little squads of soldiers there went 
out and dashed after them, and chased them through the hills. But on the 
morning of January 7th there were about a thousand of these Cheyenne 
Indians and a lot of Arapahoes in the hills near Julesburg, and a few 
scouts were by them sent in, enough to call forth about the strength of 
the garrison. So, these Indians being seen, the garrison sounded "boots 
and saddles," and about sixty of the men were soon in line and started out 
after them, but in a somewhat prudent way. They had not got far from the 
post when the Indians came forward, first a hundred or so, and these the 
soldiers engaged, but the Indians were continually reinforced, and the 
soldiers were borne back towards the post, and a single-handed battle 
ensued. Those that were left back at the post got out the howitzer and 
joined in the fight, but the whole body of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes got 
into the engagement, numbering a thousand or twelve hundred, and our men 
could not repulse them, even with artillery.

   The number of men killed that forenoon was fourteen, whose names were 
as follows:
 
Sergeant, Alanson Hanchett.
Corporal, William H. Gray.
Corporal, Anthony Koons.
Corporal, Walter B. Talcott.
George Barnett.
Hiram W. Brundage.
Henry H. Hall.
David Ishman.
James Jordan.
Davis Lippincott.
Edson D. Moore.
Amos C. McArthur.
Thomas Scott.
Joel Stebbins.
 
   It will be noticed that we lost a sergeant and three corporals; this 
crippled the company very much, because these four non-commissioned 
officers were of the very best. George Barnett, who was killed, had served 
over a year and a half in Co. "D," Thirteenth Illinois Infantry, and was a 
brave, daring fellow, and was on the list for promotion. In my narrative I 
have forgotten to say that when we went up to Fort Laramie in July, 1864, 
we left behind us Bluford Starkey, at Cottonwood Springs, who had been 
hurt by the kick of a horse; he soon recovered, but could not reach us, 
and was put on duty at Cottonwood Springs with another company of the 
regiment. We returned, as stated, to Julesburg about September 5, 1864, 
and a few days after that we got news that Starkey had been killed by 
Indians while in a fight with a body of them up among the cedars in 
Cottonwood Canyon, on September 8, 1864. In addition to this, a young man 
who had come into camp and wanted to be a soldier was John M. Pierce. I 
have briefly referred to him hereinbefore, in chapter 29. He was about 20 
years of age, was from western Illinois; at least, he used to talk about 
the Mississippi River and about Illinois people. I swore him in verbally 
and issued him horse, arms and clothing. In short, he was a soldier and a 
member of our company, but we had no blank enlistment papers, and we had 
to wait until we could get some from Omaha. His muster-in would have dated 
November 25, 1864. The young man had been out in the Western country two 
or three years, as I would suppose, and he was full of fight. He seemed to 
understand Indians. He dashed in among the Indians as bravely as anyone on 
that unfortunate day of January 7th, and lost his life. We never had an 
inquiry afterwards from any friend or relative of his, and he has ever 
remained practically unidentified. He was an excellent young soldier, with 
great pride in doing his duty well. He was cheerful, companionable, and 
well liked, and was ever afterwards missed; but who he was and whether his 
name was "Pierce" was always a mystery. Hence it was that our company lost 
killed in battle first and last with Indians, sixteen men -- much more 
than any other company lost in any other of the regiments that I have 
named. The loss of these men and non-commissioned. officers was a great 
misfortune to the company, but it was war, and was the only way the 
country could be made habitable, or possible for settlement. Whether or 
not this battle should have been fought is a question that may arise in 
the reader's mind; but, Captain O'Brien was full of fight and was devoted 
to duty, and the fight had to be.

   The number of Indians killed and vouched for was fifty-six. That may or 
may not be correct. At any rate, the Indians held most of the battle-
field; the fighting was not far from the post; within the range of the 
artillery the Indians did not come, on that occasion. Some of our men were 
killed in the territory of their control, and were scalped. The Indians 
carried off their dead, and disappeared. As soon as they disappeared, 
reconnoitering parties were sent out on horseback from the post, and the 
next day the whole country around the post was scouted, and not an Indian 
was to be seen. It was reported that they had all gone down in the country 
southeast of Julesburg, heading for the Republican River, in southwestern 
Nebraska. On the evening of the 8th of January, Captain O'Brien had 
reported that the Indians had entirely left his part of the country, and 
that was the reason why I was ordered with my detachment back to 
Cottonwood Springs, because it was supposed that the body of the Indians 
going south of there might try to take the post at Cottonwood Springs. It 
was fortunate for me that they stayed off from the main traveled road 
while I was going.

   Upon the 10th, Captain O'Brien was ordered to put the post of Julesburg 
in charge of the invalids and dismounted men; to garrison the post from 
the caravans that might come, and from the people who were already there, 
and proceed with all available force to join General Mitchell at 
Cottonwood Springs for an Indian campaign.

   The Julesburg fight was considered by the Indians as an exceedingly 
bitter and unexpected resistance on the part of the white men. The Indians 
were repulsed and injured so that they did not try to take or capture the 
stage station and the stores and supplies a mile down the river. In fact, 
it was believed that the Indians were endeavoring to cross the river above 
our post, and go up Lodgepole, and off into the northern country; that 
their object was to capture and kill what they could and get through the 
lines north, and hence the resistance which they met from the soldiers 
turned them from their purpose, and although they were quite numerous, it 
started them back again into the great wilderness of country which lay 
south between the two rivers.

   Of the events of the fight many strange stories were told. The Indians 
were all well armed, and in one sense better armed than our soldiers. They 
had firearms, and they also had bows, and quivers full of arrows. A bow-
and-arrow is a much more dangerous and effective weapon than a revolver in 
the hands of an Indian. While a revolver could shoot six times quickly, as 
then made, it could not be loaded on horseback on a run with somebody 
pursuing, but the Indian could shoot six arrows that were as good as six 
shots from a revolver at close range, and then he could shoot twenty-four 
more in rapid succession. And so, when a soldier had shot out all his 
cartridges, he was a prey to an Indian with a bow-and-arrow who followed 
him. In addition to this, the Indians carried lances, which they used to 
good purpose. Our boys had sabers; an Indian could not hit a soldier with 
a lance if the soldier had a saber, nor could a soldier saber an Indian if 
the Indian had a lance.

   All during this fight an Indian upon a hill nearest the post handled 
his red troops by signal, using at times a looking glass, and at other 
times a buffalo-robe. He swung his men around in very good style. Our 
soldiers were deployed during part of the fight, and the Indians had a 
drill not very much unlike it. During the fight James Cannon had a 
cartridge in his carbine, which would not explode; after snapping it once 
or twice, while the soldiers and Indians were cavorting around among each 
other, Cannon took his carbine by the muzzle, and, using it as a club, 
started in, and finally got to chasing an Indian. As the Indian was about 
to get away from him, Cannon threw his carbine at the Indian and struck 
him in the back with it. Cannon said the Indian "howled like a tomcat," 
but of course Cannon couldn't hear anything or make any observations at 
that time. He got out of the melëe without injury. Several of the boys 
were slightly wounded, in addition to those killed. Several of the horses 
were wounded, and some died of their injuries.

   One of our boys was shot with a frying-pan handle. It struck him in the 
rear part of the hip. The frying-pans of that day as used on the plains 
were little, light steel utensils, with slender, heavy hoop-steel handles 
with a ring in the end. The Indian had a large arrow, and about nine 
inches of this frying-pan handle sharpened on both sides, and pointed, was 
fixed into it. This arrow went in several inches, and through the pelvic 
bone. Although the soldier got out of the fight alive, he could not pull 
the arrow out. He succeeded in getting back to the post. Then one of the 
soldiers got the company blacksmith's pinchers, and, laying the wounded 
man down on his face, he stood on top of him, got hold of the arrow-bead 
with the pinchers, and finally succeeded in working and wrenching it out. 
The poor fellow was in great pain, but subsequently recovered all right. 
We had no anesthetics in the army in those days.

   All of the stage-drivers and civilians around Julesburg flocked into 
the fort, and made up their minds to hold it against all odds that should 
come. All the available men of my company, about fifty in number, turned 
up at Cottonwood Springs, ready to march with General Mitchell, on the 
evening of January 14, 1865, about a week after the battle.

   On the 15th of January, 1865, the command was drawn up in line, and 
consisted of 640 cavalrymen. This was in addition to about 100 mule-wagons 
lightly loaded with rations, corn, tents, and supplies. There was also a 
herd of about fifty extra horses that were fastened together close at the 
bit, and driven by fours. There were also four twelve-pound mountain 
howitzers, and two light three-inch Parrott guns. Captain O'Brien was made 
chief of artillery under General Mitchell. Colonel Livingston was the next 
in rank to General Mitchell, and to him was confided the looking after, 
and taking charge of, the line of march. On the evening of the 15th of 
January we went up the river to within three miles of Jack Morrow's, and 
spent a cold, unpleasant January night on the flat plains, without any 
fires, but we had tents which furnished us a good deal of shelter.

   At Jack Morrow's ranch General Mitchell drew up and handed to me a 
paper which read as follows:

HEADQUARTERS, EXPEDITIONARY FORCES IN THE FIELD,
January 15, 1865.
SPECIAL FIELD ORDER NO. 1.
   "PAR. 1. Lieutenant E. F. Ware, A.D.C., is assigned to duty as Acting 
Assistant Adjutant-General during the Expedition now in the field, and 
will be obeyed and respected accordingly.
   "PAR. 2. Captain O'Brien, Co. 'F,' 7th Iowa Cavalry, is hereby assigned 
to the command of the artillery in the field. All detachments in charge of 
artillery ordered to the field will report to him immediately for orders, 
with such officers as have been detailed for the artillery service.
   "PAR. 3. Colonel R. R. Livingston will have the immediate command of 
the troops in the field, and all orders issued from these headquarters, 
for record, will be transmitted through his headquarters to regiments and 
detachments.
   "PAR. 4. Lieutenant Thompson, First Nebraska Vet. Vol. Cavalry, will 
act during the expedition as Acting Assistant Quartermaster and Acting 
Commissary of Subsistence, and will be obeyed and respected accordingly.

ROBERT B. MITCHELL, Brig.-General,      
Comdg. District and Expedition."

   That evening I told General Mitchell about my visitation and 
premonitions, and how the frog-man got down on me, and told me thrice that 
I would "never see Omaha." We had quite a talk in regard to it at 
headquarters. I had made a memorandum of the circumstance in my itinerary, 
as I wanted to put it down and have proof in black and white, so that, in 
case anything should happen to me, the premonition would stand in writing 
as of the proper date and show something definite as to what had occurred. 
But in the discussion that evening with General Mitchell, in which Captain 
O'Brien took part, the doctrine of premonition was pretty thoroughly 
riddled. Said Captain O'Brien, who had about him no savor of cowardice, or 
superstition: "These premonitions and prophecies are all bogus. Now," he 
said, "if any spirit, seen or unseen, any ghost or any angel, knows 
anything, why in thunder don't he tell it and tell it straight? Why does 
he give it to you in such a dark and veiled manner? If he knows you are 
going to be killed or die on such a day or hour, why doesn't he say so, 
tell it plainly, and leave the thing open to positive proof? No," said 
Captain O'Brien, "that isn't the way it is done. These things are always 
put into some sort of equivocal, double-dealing shape. Now, in your case, 
the message is, 'You won't see Omaha.' That doesn't mean that you are 
going to be killed, nor that your death is going to take place. You may 
never see Omaha, you may never see the North Pole, and may yet live a 
hundred years. Supposing, for instance, we should march on down to Fort 
Leavenworth, and didn't have to go to Omaha. Now that would be an every-
day, unromantic fact, and entirely unimportant. And it would be just the 
same as if you were never going to see Davenport, Iowa. There are lots of 
places you are not going to see again. Now to pay attention to any such 
things as these is cowardice."

   Then said General Mitchell: "These things are always double-barrel and 
meaningless in one sense, and very full of meaning in another. It looks as 
if somebody was guessing, and waiting for the guess to turn true. Take all 
the oracles of which classic language speaks: they were always put into 
such shape that nobody could understand them when given, and if they 
didn't turn out, no notice was taken of them; but afterwards something 
happened, and some deep and new hidden meaning was found in it. It's so 
with the prophecies of the Old Testament. If the prophecies of the Old 
Testament are read in a plain, sensible, straightforward way, then you 
will find they are not prophecies at all. The prophetic part of them was 
studied out long after the thing had happened; as a lawyer might say, 'It 
was a prophecy after the fact.' Now," said General Mitchell, "I don't 
suppose there is anybody that ever lived who hadn't had a lot of these 
premonitory experiences, but sensible men never pay any attention to them. 
If it should happen that you never do see Omaha, and should be mustered 
out and go home, you would always think there was something in the nature 
of prophecy to this nightmare of yours, -- that it was a revelation. Now, 
I think you ought to see Omaha anyhow, and I think I'll have you down 
there alive and well inside of thirty days."

   I said: "I have no confidence in premonitions, and I'll go to Omaha 
anyhow, just as soon as we make this raid down on the Republican River. If 
I get killed in it, well, then it can be said there was something to the 
premonition."

   This ended for the evening the discussion of that subject. But there 
were some of the officers who were superstitious, who had heard the 
conversation, and had heard my statement of the fact. They said, "Now, 
there may be something in it, and you better go mighty careful. What's the 
use to go to Omaha anyhow?" Said one, "My advice to you is to resign as 
aide-de-camp and go back to your company." Another said, "Be on your guard 
all the time, and it may be that the premonition is intended only to put 
you on your guard."

   In the morning of January 16, 1865, we started early, and took the road 
up Morrow's Canyon. We took what was known as the "Trader's Trail." Our 
troops were composed of the Seventh Iowa Cavalry, the First Nebraska 
Veteran Volunteer Cavalry, and Companies "B" and "C," First Nebraska 
Militia (mounted). The First Nebraska was an excellent regiment; it had 
been in the service for a long time. It had been down in Arkansas doing 
duty, had got pretty well cut up there, but had been filled with recruits. 
As I had been with the invading army in Arkansas, it was a great pleasure 
for me to talk with the officers of the First Nebraska. We had been over 
the same trail. I told one of them about bringing in the negroes at 
Batesville down on White River, as hereinbefore related, and that I got a 
lot of them from a large plantation owned by a man named Le Neve.

   "Yes," said one of the officers of the regiment, "the Le Neves were 
ruined by the war, and Mrs. Le Neve and daughter came into Batesville to 
be under protection, and we had to issue them rations as 'needy persons.' 
They were on our ration-list all the time we were at Batesville, 
Arkansas." This officer said: "I well remember a young lady riding up to 
the post quartermaster, and saying, as she whipped her dress with her 
riding-whip, 'Please, Captain, can Mamma have a little coffee this 
morning? She is not feeling very well.' Coffee was high-priced and 
difficult to get, and was not included in the rations which were issued to 
refugees. My recollections of the Le Neve plantation were that it was one 
of the finest in that country. I heard one of the negroes say that they 
were raising that summer, four hundred acres of corn for the Rebel army. 
This was in addition to a large quantity of cotton. The Le Neve home was a 
very fine one, with a village of negro quarters and smokehouses situated 
near it."

   The First Nebraska Cavalry had "veteran volunteered," as it was called. 
After a person had served in the field eighteen months, then he could 
"veteranize," as it was said, and enlist for three years longer and get a 
bounty of $300, so that soldiers and sometimes regiments "veteranized." 
The First Nebraska was a regiment in which the men had veteranized to such 
an extent that it was reorganized as a veteran regiment, and bore the name 
of veteran volunteer in the title of the regiment. The incursions of the 
Indians, and the vast damages which they had done in Nebraska, raised such 
an outcry that the Government had to send Nebraska troops home for the 
protection of Nebraska, the same as a portion of our regiment was 
stationed in Iowa. And so it happened that the "First Nebraska Veteran 
Volunteer Cavalry" was drawn from the field, and the Confederacy, and sent 
out to fight Indians in the Northwest. The Seventh Iowa and the First 
Nebraska got along together very well.

   The Nebraska MILITIA were frontiersmen who furnished their own horses 
and arms. They were, as soldiers, first-class in every respect. The 
companies were small but efficient.

   As stated, on January 16, 1865, we went up the Trader's Trail seven 
miles. There was a small canyon on the left, very full of cedar. We 
crossed a basin up at the head of the canyon about two and one-half miles 
in diameter, and turned to the right after crossing it, striking 
southwest. We passed at the base of a butte, which from one scraggly tree 
being in sight, was called "Lone Tree Butte." It was a sand butte, scooped 
out and ragged by the action of the wind. This butte is about ten miles 
from where we turned off after having crossed the basin referred to. 
Thence our course was southwest by south a few miles, then we turned 
around the base of another sandhill, and went southwest by west, and 
passed a tree with an eagle's nest on it, on our left about one mile. We 
marched then about southwest and struck the Medicine Creek ten miles from 
its source. The Indian name for this stream was Wau-kah Woc-ca-pella. Woc-
ca-pella in the Sioux language meant "stream."

   In the crossing of the Medicine we were obliged to get out the picks 
and shovels and make a crossing, because the stream was sunk down so far 
below the level of the prairie. We made the crossing at what appeared to 
us as the only available place for miles up and down. There were little 
cottonwoods, water, and a considerable grazing-spot, although the grass 
was dry and frosted. Nevertheless, we led our horses around, and let them 
eat what they would of it, and then fed them corn. The distance marched on 
that, our first day out, January 16, 1865, was thirty-three miles.



CHAPTER XXXIII.
JANUARY 16, 1865.--MEDICINE RIVER.--THE RED WILLOW.--INDIANS IN DISTANCE.--
THE LO-CA-PO.--THE SKULL.--PLACE FOR A FORT.--THE BIG TIMBERS.--THE SCOUT 
INTO KANSAS.--THE REE FORK.--THE BOUNDARY.--THE SPLIT HILL.--THE INDIAN 
DASH AT NIGHT.

   WE WERE now on the west bank of the Medicine River. The stream as we 
viewed it from the northeast was the arc of a circle marked by a high line 
of ragged bluffs. The march that day had been a cold and severe one. 
Indian signals had been noticed during the night, and from time to time in 
the distance we saw smoke signals, and some of the scouts saw at a 
distance some straggling Indians. In fact, from long distances on both 
sides of us the Indians were viewing and sizing up our expedition. Of 
course, the more they saw of it the less they would want to tackle it. We 
were sort of groping our way through the country; but we wanted to get in 
west of the Indians and drive them east and cut them off from retreat to 
the mountains and the north.

   The bugle called us at 5 o'clock, and we were all up and ready to 
start, January 17th, as soon as it was daylight. We crossed the ridge west 
of our camp, marched one mile southwest by west, came to a dry ravine 
filled with scattered trees, thence southeast a half-mile, when we struck 
a stream. The main canyon running west was narrow, with high banks in 
which was cottonwood timber. It was marked for about a mile with springs, 
which formed the stream; above them the canyon was dry. We moved up this 
canyon about two miles, where it forked into three prongs. We took the 
left one running southeast by south, followed it up three-quarters of a 
mile, and came upon the plateau by a gradual slope. Without much work we 
made a road through the ravine and canyon, that was good. This canyon 
would have made an excellent place to camp. Up on the plateau we marched 
about three miles east of south, then about two and a half miles west of 
south; then we marched southerly ten miles, gradually swinging around to 
the west until we struck the Red Willow. When we struck the Red Willow we 
were marching due west. We struck the stream at a place where there was a 
large clump of trees in a bend of the stream that made a reverse curve. 
The following is a diagram of it:

[image caption: Red Willow Crossing.]

   We found the old trail crossing two hundred fifty yards above where a 
ledge of rock jutted out over the stream, but it was too difficult to fix 
up and make passable, so we did not cross here. It was evidently an old 
buffalo trail, much traveled by the Indians, and all right for ponies, but 
it could not be utilized by our wagon train, so we went down the stream 
three miles farther. At this old trail-crossing was a clump of timber 
where an Indian camp had been, but which had been deserted a short time 
before. The guides said the camp could not be over a month old, and might 
be newer.

   On this day's march, January 17, 1865, we saw observing Indians far in 
the distance, but we only got glimpses of them, and they disappeared so 
that we could not tell which way they were going. But as we went scouting 
through the country, several of us who had field-glasses and good horses, 
rode up on all the highlands in the neighborhood to scan the horizon with 
our glasses. This camp on Red Willow had been a large Indian camp, and the 
indications were that they had gone down the stream. The three miles which 
we went down the stream from the old trail-crossing were along deep 
buffalo trails, cut wide, and we followed these trails until they struck 
the stream. We utilized this buffalo trail across the stream, and in a 
short time with picks and shovels made an excellent crossing. In fact, if 
it had not been for these buffalo trails we would have had a great deal of 
trouble; the banks of the stream were very precipitous, and it would have 
delayed us much to have had to make wagon-roads across. But where the 
buffalo trails had worn down the banks, we made a good crossing without 
very much difficulty. Four miles down the stream from this crossing, on 
the other side, we camped.

   From our camp down on the Red Willow as far as we could see, the 
cottonwood timber along the stream was very dense. The stream was sunk 
about four hundred feet below the level of the plateau, and along the 
stream were signs of great Indian camps. We had evidently got right into 
the country where the Indians lived, and where they had their permanent 
villages. We could see where they had been cutting down the limbs of the 
cottonwood trees for their ponies to browse on, and the grass was pretty 
well eaten off around in the neighborhood. There were many large 
cottonwood trees lying on the ground. The weather was very cold, and we 
chopped up these logs, and snaked them around with mule teams so as to get 
them in position, and we cooked supper and sat around discussing Indians 
until we crept into our tents at night. We had marched that day about 22 
miles.

   We emerged on the morning of the 18th from the canyon at the mouth of 
which we had camped, and went on southwest, leaving the river. There was 
an endless succession of sandhills. These hills had just enough clay in 
their composition to keep them from blowing entirely away; and they 
supported a slim lot of grass and weeds. On our left was a chain of ragged 
sand-bluffs. The road was rough on account of the many branches and 
ravines that struck it perpendicularly every quarter- or half-mile, many 
of them almost impassable. Our route was a succession of digging. We had 
to keep back as far as possible towards the sandhills, and we had to make 
a crossing at every ravine.

   During this day's march three wagons broke down, showing the rough 
treatment which they had received in going across these ravines. An army 
wagon for Indian service had to be made out of the very best kind of 
stuff. It had to be made from old, well-seasoned timber, which in turn had 
to be kiln-dried before it was put into the wagons, otherwise, out on the 
plains, during the dry and cold weather, woodwork would shrink. Once in a 
while a wagon had been made of timber not sufficiently seasoned. This 
would be discovered upon a march such as the one we were on, and then 
great trouble was occasioned by it, because the wheels had to be taken 
off, and thrown in the stream overnight so as to soak and swell up, and 
this occasioned work and delay. If the wheels were not kept tight, the 
wagon was bound to collapse under the hard usage which it had to sustain. 
As we were eating up rations and horse-feed rapidly, the three broken 
wagons were left as empties. The wheels and some of the woodwork, however, 
were distributed through the train to furnish repairs in case of trouble.

   This day's progress was only ten miles in a straight direction, but our 
journey was fifteen miles; we made a good road as we went. We crossed 
Blackwood Creek and a bad ravine going in a very crooked southwesterly 
course. Camped on the south side, where water was standing in pools.

[image caption: Dotted line indicates route to Blackwood Creek.]

   The recent presence of large bands of Indians was noticeable, but there 
were none to be seen except an occasional scout far distant. The day's 
march, with few exceptions, ran on high ground.

   On the morning of January 19, 1865, the cavalry started out ahead of 
the train. We did not believe there were any Indians who would attack the 
train, and as a few of the men were badly mounted, their horses having 
shown signs of weariness, they were left back with the train and a piece 
of artillery. We made a dash across the plateau a little south of west, 
headed for the big timbers of the Republican River. A march of twelve 
miles, about ten miles in a straight line, brought us to the L'eau qui 
Peaue. That was a French phrase, and it was called briefly, "Lo-ca-po." 
The translation of it from the French name is borne on the modern maps as 
"Stinking Water," but the old name of Lo-ca-po should have been retained.

   We struck this stream two or three miles above its junction with White 
Man's Fork, went down its east side, and crossed the "White Man" below the 
junction. At the time we struck the Lo-ca-po its volume of water was 
twenty-four feet wide by sixteen inches deep, with a velocity of three 
miles per hour. The main stream of White Man's Fork had a width of eighty 
feet, by two feet deep, with a velocity of three and a half miles an hour. 
The Indian name for White Man's Fork was Wah-Seecha Wocca-pella. A short 
distance below where we crossed, a stream came up from the south called 
Ten-Mile Creek, which was small and impassable. Along the "White Man" at 
this point there were high bluffs on the south side, and a short distance 
down the river below our crossing the rock jutted out of a bluff and the 
river ran up under it at its base. The name of the stream is from the 
Sioux language. In that language Wah-Seecha means "white man." "Seecha" 
means "bad," and "Wah" means medicine; therefore a white man was, in 
Indian parlance, "bad medicine."

   We then came in a southerly direction up on top of the plateau from the 
bed of the stream, and after about five miles of travel came to the head 
canyon of Ten-Mile Creek bent around to the west. This we crossed, and 
kept on to the Republican, our course from White Man's Fork being west of 
south. I give all these names as they were then used by traders and 
guides. I do not know present names.

   In going across the upland upon this march, the advance guard, with 
which I happened to be marching, right at the highest point came onto a 
skull. It was the skull of an Indian and was very much decayed. Skulls 
upon that high, dry, hilly country lasted for a great many years. This one 
looked very ancient. It might have been a hundred years old. The skull had 
an iron arrow-point penetrating it from the upper side, the parietal 
region, entering the skull about an inch and a half. The arrow on the 
outside was almost rusted away. No other bones were visible. It was 
probably the relic of an ancient combat. We struck the Republican five 
miles below the upper end of the "Big Timbers," near a stream, and camped 
one-half mile below. The distance from White Man's Fork to the Republican 
would be about twenty miles direct, but by our line of march it was twenty-
five.

   A short distance above where we camped was a most excellent place for a 
fort; the contour of the country and stream was as follows. I give it from 
the drawing I then made:

[image caption: Route to the Republican River.]

   The distance we marched that day, January 19, 1865, was thirty-seven 
miles, and the line of march was principally on high plateaus. We made 
splendid time, and it was fine scenery, and everywhere we saw signs of 
Indians. The trails were running in every direction. They seemed to be 
coming and going, backwards and forwards over the country, but 
nevertheless we saw none of the Indians except a few fugitive scouts.

   General Mitchell directed me to prepare recommendations for the 
establishment of a fort at the place just above described. The details 
were as follows: On the bench of land above where we camped the stream 
came into the Republican, with a curve from the north. Up along the stream 
above the junction was a beautiful level table, with bluffs high and rough 
but well back. The streams were very heavily timbered with cottonwood, and 
the little one came down through a ravine filled with heavy cottonwood 
timber as far as we could see. This table was about a quarter of a mile 
wide, and ran up the river about two miles. The bluffs were about a mile 
from the edge of the Republican river, and a fort there would be fully 
thirty feet above high water, and surrounded on three sides with water and 
difficult, abrupt banks. It was stated by the guides that the "Big 
Timbers" at the Republican practically ceased five miles above this place. 
The big timbers were enormous cottonwood trees that were along the 
Republican in and around here. Above them there were only scattering trees 
on the river. These trees finally ran out into nothing, towards the west. 
Nine miles below this place the big timbers almost entirely ceased, so 
that this camp was in the very midst of the big timbers. These big timbers 
were therefore about fourteen miles long, and filled most of the bottom-
lands. There were several springs coming in at this place, and on the edge 
and through the timbers were dense growths of grass. The guides told us 
that this camp was about thirty-five miles below the "Ree Fork" (that was 
the common expression for Arickaree) and thirty miles up from the mouth of 
"White Man," but I think that this estimate of distance by the guides 
could be only guess-work. Above this camp five miles, and ten miles on the 
north side and ten miles on the south side, streams came in from the 
hills. These big timbers were all cottonwood trees averaging and exceeding 
two feet in diameter, and located on an average of about one to every 
fifty yards square, without a particle of underbrush, but a dense growth 
of high bottom-grass. Here was where the buffalo used to live, and here we 
found Indian signs everywhere prevalent. The location of the Big Timbers 
was as follows:

[image caption: Big Timbers on the Upper Republican River, fourteen miles 
along the stream.]

   From this camp in the big timbers scouting parties were sent out to see 
if we could find the Indians. Very great numbers of them had been 
hibernating through the heavy timbers scattered along the river at this 
place, and the question was where had they gone.

   Joe Jewitt had been brought along, and he was sent out in one direction 
to guide a party; Charley Elston was sent out in another direction; Leo 
Palladie was sent out in another.

   The latter command consisted of most of my company, and I went with 
them. We were sent southwest to go across the plateau, and follow a tree 
line which ran up the south fork of the Republican River, and then go 
south to the headwaters of the Sappa rivers. There were then the North and 
South Sappa; now the north one appears on the map as Beaver Creek. Sappa, 
in Sioux, meant "black." These creeks were full of beavers then.

   We started, and as we came near what is now the Kansas line, Leo 
Palladie, who was riding with me at the head of the company, looked up and 
surveyed the landscape, and said: "We are now in Kansas. We have crossed 
the line, and we are not very far from the northwest corner." As we rode 
up to the plateau he pointed to the west, and said: "There is Ree Fork. 
You see where it strikes that other stream? Well, that high ground on the 
other side is across the line. The northwest comer of Kansas is up near 
where those two streams come together." I asked him how he knew, and he 
said that one time he was going over the country with some Indians and a 
white man who knew about the survey, and the white man pointed out to him 
where the northwest corner stake of Kansas was driven. It was not far from 
the water-bed of Ree Fork.

   We went up onto the plateau. The country was as poor and arid as it 
could be on the upland; there was grass growing on the bottoms. Looking 
some little distance ahead, I saw a hill which was split down from the top 
like a Bishop's mitre. I said, "What hill is that?" and he said, "That is 
a sandhill." As it was in our course we soon reached it, and there I found 
a large hill of sand, through the middle of the top of which the wind both 
ways (north and south) had excavated the same, and spread it over at least 
a half-mile square on the north and south sides of the hill. I asked 
Palladio how that could happen, and he said: "Well, it happened like this. 
Deer are very curious animals, and the old bucks do guard duty for the 
herd, and give signals of danger. These bucks will go up on the tops of 
the hills, and will wear out with their sharp hoofs, while stamping off 
flies, whatever coat of grass happens to be there. Perhaps a single file 
of buffalo have gone over the top of the hill, as they are prone to do. 
Then the winds come and get a start, and hollow it out." This hill was a 
very large mound, and the excavation which the wind had made was one in 
which vast quantities of sand had been carried away.

   During the whole scout we had seen in the far distance from time to 
time, single isolated Indians. In one case, off at a distance of perhaps 
three miles, we saw a pony running with a lodge. The Indians place a lodge-
pole on each side of a pony, allowing the ends to drag, and upon these 
ends place their tent and equipment, and it goes over the ground dragging 
as fast as the pony can go.

   We got down into Kansas at what would now be called Sherman county, 
went into camp on a little stream, and the next day returned to the 
Republican river, making about 100 miles in two days. We found nothing in 
the nature of a large trail. The trails were all small, but very numerous, 
seeming to indicate that the Indians had scattered every-which-way, each 
one for himself. The difficulty of this condition of things was that we 
could not scatter out ourselves, and follow the individual trails. The 
Indians in all directions had scattered out like a fan. They probably had 
some place arranged for meeting again, but we could not follow those 
tactics. We had to keep together, and be ready for them upon all 
occasions. There was a large migration Indian trail coming from the 
southwest, but it appeared several months old.

   One of the other scouting parties that went west had a different 
experience from ours. They were up amid a nest of timber, had taken a 
wagon along with tents, and at night went into camp, but with due 
precaution they had their horses tied up closely in camp all night. But a 
body of Indians, not large in number, ran through their camp at night, 
shooting off firearms, breaking tent-ropes and pulling up pegs, but doing 
no damage. No soldier was injured nor an Indian hurt, and they went off in 
the dark night as rapidly as they came. Although the soldiers had guards 
out, the guards could give no intelligent account of the matter.