The Indian War of 1864 - Chapters 34-36



CHAPTER XXXIV.
JANUARY 21, 1865.--BACK TO REPUBLICAN RIVER.--ZERO WEATHER.--GENERAL 
MITCHELL'S OPINION ON INDIANS.--A TERRIBLE NIGHT.--TWENTY FULL DEGREES 
BELOW ZERO.--LIEUTENANT TALBOT KILLS A BUFFALO.--JANUARY 25TH, TURNED 
BACK.--ARRIVE AT COTTONWOOD SPRINGS.--MARCH OF FORTY-TWO MILES.--THE 
INDIAN COURIER TO FORT KEARNEY.--GENERAL MITCHELL DISLIKES THE INDIAN 
SERVICE.--ITINERARY OF THE MARCH.--DISTANCES MARCHED.--THE GENERAL'S FINAL 
ORDER.

   THE weather was exceedingly cold when we returned to the Republican 
River; we had not got a very good night's sleep, but when we got back to 
the river on the evening of January 21st, where the main command was, we 
felt more at home. We were better able to cook our rations, and enjoy more 
safety in the camp. That night was very cold; the sky was covered with 
clouds; it was too cold to snow, and ice was falling in little frozen 
pellets. General Mitchell had among his camp equipment a thermometer, and 
that night the thermometer went down below zero. We stayed up during the 
night alongside of the fires, to keep from freezing, and dozed a little.

   On the next day, January 22, 1865, we marched down the river nine miles 
into the last bunch, down-stream, of the big timbers; that was a hard 
day's march. During the day we were joined by all the parties who had been 
sent out scouting. They all found about the same conditions that we found 
on our scout. The Indians were flying and separating purposely so that it 
would distract pursuit, but they had some place where they were going to 
rendezvous again; at least that was a fact upon which all the guides 
agreed, and the question was whether or not we should go back up the 
Republican River. There was a great deal of discussion as to where the 
Indians might go. It was agreed upon by all that the big timbers had been 
their great rendezvous and that we had driven them out; but, where they 
had gone, or where they would meet again, was a problem. This matter of 
chasing the Indians was discussed a great deal over the campfires. General 
Mitchell's idea was that such terms of peace ought to be made with them as 
would put them upon reservations, and make them dependent, but yet would 
feed them well and clothe them well. General Mitchell's argument was 
something like this: "It is a well-known fact that it costs a million 
dollars a year to keep a cavalry regiment in the field. It takes in my 
district, from Omaha to South Pass, three regiments of cavalry; that is to 
say, three million dollars a year. This is outside of the loss of 
productive labor, and loss of men by death and disease." Then the General 
added: "I would put these Indians on reservations, dress them up in 
broadcloth, feed them on fried oysters, and furnish them money to play 
poker with, and all the tobacco and whisky they wanted, and then I will be 
a million dollars ahead of the game in my little district every year."

   Along in the afternoon of this day the weather began to grow colder and 
colder. The wind came down from the northwest with the fury of a cyclone, 
and it blew the ashes from the fire so that, although we had large log-
heaps, we could only stay on one side of them with the wind blowing on our 
backs; we could only get warm by hugging the fire. As the night grew on it 
became dangerous to go to sleep. The horses were taken into the most 
sheltered part of the woods, and fires were built in log-heaps some little 
distance from the horses to the windward, so that the warmth would blow 
down onto them. Nobody went to sleep that night. The guards were changed 
every thirty minutes, and the men brought in. Guard duty was exceedingly 
severe, but had to be maintained. At 3 o'clock in the morning, General 
Mitchell's thermometer showed twenty full degrees below zero. The night 
seemed an intensely long one. Everybody kept in motion, nobody dared to go 
to sleep, and although we had log-heaps blazing, it seemed almost 
impossible to keep from being frost-bitten. Finally the wind ceased in the 
morning as the sun rose, and it rose clear and still. What such a streak 
of weather would do for the Indian fleeing across the country we could 
well imagine. It carried out Bridger's theory of the death of the women 
and children if the chasing of the Indians continued during a winter 
campaign. An Indian campaign in the winter is anything but pleasant. There 
is absolutely no fun in it.

   As there were but few trees up the river above the Big Timbers, and as 
the scouts all reported that the heaviest body of Indians seemed to have 
gone down the river, fleeing from our approach, we started the next 
morning, January 23, 1865, to march down the river. At headquarters a pail 
of water that had been brought up from the river to be used in cooking, 
but which had not been used, froze solid clear through that night.

[image caption: Route down the Republican.]

   And that morning when we started out, our artillery crossed on the ice 
which had been frozen that night. The wagon-train also crossed to the 
south side on the ice. The men were in no condition to march, nor were the 
horses in very much better condition, but it was not possible to let up, 
and we were obliged to keep on the go; so down the river we went. A march 
of thirty-two miles brought us down below the mouth of White Man's Fork. 
Four miles down from the mouth of White Man's Fork was a stream called 
Black Wood Creek, before referred to, coming in from the north. The mouth 
of White Man's Fork was marked by five cottonwood trees. Up White Man's 
Fork clumps of scattered trees were seen for about eight miles. The mouth 
of Black Wood Creek was marked by an immense undergrowth, with trees on 
the side, probably all willow. Eight-Mile Creek, on the south side, had a 
dense undergrowth at its mouth, and a forest of large trees, probably 
cottonwoods, extending miles up its course to the south. The trappers said 
that Eight-Mile Creek was a great beaver creek. Below that a stream came 
in from the north with a few scattered willow bushes and cottonwoods on 
its banks. We crossed the river twice on the march, with our wagons and 
artillery, on the thick ice.

[image caption: Map of Camp, January 23, 1865.]

   We went into camp under some rock bluffs where the course of the river 
deflected northerly, and went up near the bluffs. Our camping-line at this 
camp, January 23rd, ran north and south. The rock bluff was limestone 
without fossils. There was a heavy growth of very large willows here, 
quite tall and some of them two feet in diameter, with very heavy 
underbrush of willows. From the mouth of White Man's Fork down to this 
camp was twenty miles, and the river-bend and the bottoms were about five 
miles wide, covered with high rank grass. We were in this camp about four 
miles up from the mouth of Red Willow. Some of the most splendid hay lands 
that we had seen in the western country were along the river. The roadway 
was very fine -- no heavy pulls. Wood was not very plentiful, but 
sufficient for any amount of overland travel. Above I give a map as I drew 
it of the route down the river.

   Lieutenant Talbot, a Nebraska man -- I have spoken of him before -- 
spied a lone buffalo, and killed it. As we came down, fire accidentally 
got out, and swept the bottoms smooth, and clear from bluff to bluff. The 
night of that camp was again very cold. In the heavy cold of the night 
before I had frosted two of my toes, and this night I frosted two of my 
fingers. We had plenty of wood. It was not as cold as before; fortunately 
it was still, and we dozed around the fire all night. The two fingers 
which I frosted were the two front fingers on my left hand. It annoyed me 
very much, but there was not a person in the command who was not more or 
less frosted. General Mitchell got his ears very seriously frosted.

[image caption: Line of march down the Republican River.]

   But there was nothing for us to do except to push on; so, the next 
morning, January 24, 1865, over the burnt landscape down the river we 
went, a direct distance of thirty miles; but, by the route we traveled, 
thirty-five. We camped down the river a little distance east of Medicine 
Creek. It was sometimes called "Medicine Lake Creek," from a lake on the 
west prong. The bed of the river all day long was all about a uniform 
width of two and a half miles. The grass lands, although burned, showed 
plainly, down the river as far as we could see, a very fertile valley; and 
there was wood enough all the way. Our route was a little north of east. 
We marched on the south side of the river all day. Above is a line of the 
march as taken from my map made that evening.

[image caption: Republican River at mouth of Medicine Creek.]

   As there was nothing to be found going east, we turned back January 
25th. There was an island in the river just below the mouth of Medicine 
Creek, and avoiding the island we went across the Republican River on the 
ice, up Medicine Creek a little distance on the ice, and then came out on 
its east bank. We crossed the trains and artillery on the heavy ice. The 
stream was a very difficult one for us to march along, because its course 
curved backwards and forwards from bluff to bluff, and rock strata pointed 
out of the bluffs at several points. That day's march up Medicine Creek 
was twenty-four miles in a course north of northwest, and we went on 
bluffs or plateaus most of the way. The guides thought we would find 
Indians on the east of Medicine Creek.

   All this time the wind blew clear and cold from the northwest and the 
whole command led their horses until from time to time the command was 
given to mount, and then the horses would be run for a little while to get 
them warmed up, then the men would dismount and walk. And so we went, 
running our horses and then running on foot, all day. Riding against the 
wind was very unpleasant; all of us had our heads muffled up in the capes 
of our overcoats, and we kept our roadway by peering through openings in 
the folds of our capes. As we were riding against the wind we would look 
out through our capes with one eye. In a little while the tears of that 
eye would be frozen up, and vision entirely obscured; then we would shift 
our capes to the other eye while we warmed up with our hands and thawed 
the ice out from the other eye. We thus alternated all day, January 25th, 
and the result was that almost everyone frosted his eyelids. Mine got into 
bad condition, and every once in a while an officer would say to me as we 
rode along, "You will never see Omaha." In fact, whenever we got into any 
bad place someone was telling me that I would "never see Omaha."

   We crossed the Medicine twenty miles from our morning camp, and camped 
that night farther up in a valley, in a clump of timber which the Indians 
had been occupying shortly before. It was a most beautiful valley, where 
we camped, capable of irrigation and cultivation, and a stream came in 
which we named Mitchell's Creek, after General Mitchell. We made a total 
march that day of 26 miles, most of it in the face of a freezing wind. The 
place where the lake was is shown on the accompanying map. On this page I 
give the map exactly as I drew it that night.

   Medicine River forked, and we went up the east fork. The next day, 
January 26, 1865, we marched up the east fork of Medicine Creek, and made 
our noon halt within two miles of the head of the stream, a distance of 
twenty-one miles; thence we went up the stream, thence seven miles over 
the divide to the head of Cottonwood Canyon, then down Cottonwood Canyon 
twelve miles, and arrived at Cottonwood Springs at four o'clock p.m. after 
a day's march of forty-two miles.

[image caption: The route on Medicine Creek.]

   It appeared to me that this last march of forty-two miles was the 
longest march I ever made in my life. The keen northwest wind, the hard 
riding, the want of sleep, the inability to properly cook our food, and 
the fact that not a member of the command escaped being frost-bitten, 
contributed to make it a march long to be remembered.

   An incident happened when we were camping on January 20th in the Big 
Timbers, which I ought not to overlook. We had been out six days on the 
expedition, and General Mitchell was afraid that he might be snowed up or 
frozen in somewhere, and thought it safe to have a train loaded with 
supplies of corn for the horses, and rations for the men, all ready at 
Fort Kearney so that it could start out for our relief on a moment's 
notice, on receiving word from a courier: the question was, how to get 
such a message back to Fort Kearney. There was a little red-mustached 
Irish sergeant, but from what command I do not know, who volunteered to 
make the trip if he could have a proper guide, and he would strike right 
out across the country to Fort Kearney. I think he belonged to one of the 
Nebraska Militia companies. There were a couple of Pawnees with us as 
guides, and one of these Pawnees offered to go across with the sergeant, 
and act as scout, and deliver him safely to Fort Kearney, provided that 
General Mitchell would give him a horse. The General promised to do this; 
the Indian had no horse; said he preferred to go on foot anyhow, and that 
he could keep up with the sergeant's horse all the way in to Fort Kearney. 
This was a sort of a funny proposition, and I remember looking at the 
long, gaunt, slim Pawnee, a young buck about twenty-three, and wondering 
whether he could keep up all day with the cavalry horse or not. Leo 
Palladie said that the Indian would hold onto the sergeant's stirrup-
straps, and run alongside of the horse as fast as the horse could go, for 
a week. So the commissary issued them each four days' rations of bacon, 
hard-bread and stuff, and they were ordered to immediately get ready. They 
proceeded to cook up their rations; when they were cooked the Indian went 
to work and ate up every vestige of his four days' rations. He bolted down 
an enormous quantity of raw bacon, and he ate the other stuff as fast as 
it was cooked. The sergeant took an ordinary white man's dinner, and put 
the balance in his haversack swung onto his saddle, but as to the Indian, 
all he did was to buckle up his belt as tightly as he could get it, and 
start off on a trot alongside of the sergeant's horse and hold of the 
stirrup-strap. They started out after dark, and they both arrived at Fort 
Kearney, a distance of over a hundred miles in a straight line, on the 
afternoon of the second day.

   General Mitchell was sorely disappointed that we had not been able to 
find out where the Indians had gone, and what they intended to do. We had 
not killed a hostile Indian, and probably not less than fifty soldiers had 
to be discharged on account of freezings and injuries received on the 
trip. In addition to that, we had ruined about a hundred horses, and six 
wagons had been broken down and abandoned. The General, as we rode down 
Cottonwood Canyon, on the end of the trip, was quite melancholy, and all 
he could say was: "Well, what more could we do? What more could we do?" 
and he seemed disconsolate over the fact that there was not an Indian 
less, and he keenly felt the distress which his men had suffered. He was 
constantly referring to the "poor fellows," and how bravely they had stood 
the weather, and how awfully cold it was, and what enormous marches had 
been made under such suffering conditions. And then the General would get 
moody; and say that, while the war was going on down South, here he was 
fighting Indians; that there was no glory in it, and when the war was over 
all he could pride himself on was his former service down in the Southern 
Confederacy. That when he would reflect as to what good he had been to his 
country, he would say that he hadn't been any good while he was out in the 
Indian country. He said that he would make an application to be sent down 
to fight where there was some glory, and if he couldn't get it he was 
going to resign; that he would not have any more Indian-fighting in his 
military history; that this trip had demonstrated to him that he was no 
Indian-fighter, and that there was no glory in it, and the Government was 
wasting money in paying him a salary for trying to look after the Indians. 
It was really distressing to hear the General talk. I rode with him in his 
ambulance down Cottonwood Canyon, and as I was his aide-de-camp he talked 
to me in a very free and kindly way. As I had seen him after he was 
carried off from the battle-field at Wilson Creek, wounded, and had 
referred to it, he said that he had lots rather go down South and be shot 
to death than to stay up North and fight Indians and be frozen to death. 
And that although his superiors might order him to make another Indian 
campaign for the purpose of keeping the Indians moving, he was going to 
have a command farther south or else leave the service. The General soon 
after sent in his request for a detail farther south in the theatre of the 
war, or else that his resignation be accepted.

   A recapitulation of the trip is as follows: It had lasted from January 
15, 1865, to January 26th, inclusive, being twelve days. The men of my 
company had marched, owing to the side-trip they took down into Kansas, 
more miles than the Expedition had marched, and more than any other 
company had marched. The record of my company was as follows:

January 15th, 10 miles.   January 21st, 50 miles
  "     16th, 33  "         "     22nd,  9  "
  "     17th, 22  "         "     23rd, 32  "
  "     18th, 15  "         "     24th, 35  "
  "     19th, 37  "         "     25th, 26  "
  "     20th, 50  "         "     26th, 42  "
        Total                          361 miles

   This was a total average of thirty miles per day during a cold winter 
period. As about one-sixth must be allowed for detours, the distance in 
straight lines would be three hundred miles. My distances are guess-work, 
but we became able to guess with considerable accuracy. On our return to 
Cottonwood the General wrote out and issued the following order:

"HEADQUARTERS EXPEDITIONARY FORCES,
IN THE FIELD, January 26, 1865
COTTONWOOD, NEBRASKA TERRITORY.
SPECIAL FIELD NO. 8.

   PAR. 1. The General Commanding wishes to tender his thanks to the men 
of his command who were with him on his recent expedition against the 
Indians.

   PAR. 2. Especial credit is due:
      To Colonel R. R. Livingston, of the 1st Nebraska Vet. Vol. Cavalry, 
commanding.
      To Captain T. J. Majors, commanding detachments of the 1st Nebraska 
Vet. Vol. Cavalry, and First Nebraska Militia.
      To Captain N. J. O'Brien, commanding battery formed from artillery 
detachments.
      To Captain E. B. Murphy, commanding detachments of 7th Iowa Cavalry 
and 1st Nebraska Vet. Vol. Cavalry, for valuable services rendered on the 
march.

   PAR. 3. Although unsuccessful in meeting the enemy in battle, hardships 
were encountered which to overcome, required the highest order of 
soldierly qualities, patience and endurance. And during a march of over 
three hundred miles, over a wild and desolate country, in the midst of 
winter and during intense cold, not a word of impatience or complaint was 
heard.

   PAR. 4. The General Commanding further wishes to call especial 
attention to the admirable conduct of Captain Wild's Company 'B,' and 
Captain White's Company 'C,' 1st Nebraska Militia; who, although poorly 
equipped and supplied and their term of service expired, excited 
admiration by their soldierly conduct and cheerful performance of duty.

   This order will be read to each company that was on the 
expedition.      By order of

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

   General Mitchell had been revolving in his mind, and for seven days 
planning, a big prairie-fire. He had determined that if he could not catch 
the Indians he could at least fire the whole country and make it a lean 
place for them. On the morning of January 27, 1865, the sky was bright and 
clear, with a keen wind blowing from the northwest. "Just the day I want," 
said the General. "I will give them ten thousand square miles of prairie-
fire." He cleared the telegraph line early in the forenoon, and wired 
instructions up and down the river, and also requests to the officers in 
command of Colorado stations. The orders and requests were that fire 
details be sent up and down so as to connect, and that at sundown the 
prairies be simultaneously fired from Fort Kearney west to Denver. 
Instructions were sent to every ranch and post along the line. Each was to 
use its own method to accomplish the purpose, but the whole country was to 
be set in a blaze at sunset. The order was fully carried out. The country 
was fired for three hundred miles. At Julesburg the method used was to 
make light bales of hay, bound with chains and pulled, while blazing, over 
the prairie with a dragging lariat-rope. The bale would skip and set fire 
once in a while as the horses ran with it. The fire details had their 
horses loaded with hay, and each man had several boxes of matches. The 
wind took up the scattered beginnings; they were soon united, and they 
rolled as a vast confluent sheet of flame to the south. At Cottonwood 
Springs we rode out onto the plateau to see and watch it. The fire rolled 
on and on, leaving in its train only blackness and desolation. All night 
the sky was lighted up. The fire swept the country clean; three days 
afterwards it was burning along the banks of the Arkansas River, far to 
the south, over which river it passed in places and ran out down in the 
Panhandle of Texas. There were some islands of grass left in some places 
far apart, here and there, but not many. The Indians back-fired against it 
in places, and managed to save themselves, but the game was driven out of 
the country before the fire. It did much damage to some portions of the 
Kansas frontier, which was then far east of the middle of the State. Leo 
Palladie said, "Now, Mr. Indian has got to get north of the Platte River."

   The raid of General Mitchell, driving the Indians out of the Big 
Timbers on the Republican, and the subsequent prairie-fire, had shown them 
that they were in great danger. It made clear to them that they were in 
between two fires; that an expedition could at any time be sent north from 
the Arkansas River and south from the Platte, and that they could not 
expect to be at war, or carry on prolonged hostilities, along the 
Republican or Smoky Hill rivers, without final extermination. It was 
forced upon them by the Mitchell expedition, that, as a strategic matter, 
if they wanted more war, they must go north across the Platte into the 
vast "Shallow-water" country. General Mitchell's actions and plans worked 
out much better than he expected, and instead of being failures they 
worked out as great successes, for they practically cleared the country 
between the two rivers, and thereafter it was only subject to sporadic 
raids. The Indians recognized the fact that the white soldiers could go at 
any time, to any place, and that the road was never so long or the cold so 
severe as to stop them. Hence, between the two rivers there was no place 
to which they could at any time go and say that they were safe from 
pursuit and attack. Nor could they live in an area of territory which had 
been burned over and cleared of game; nor could the game stay during the 
winter in a country that was burned over. General Mitchell showed them 
plainly that they were in great danger, and that if they did not make 
peace they must move. They could all go north and join their brethren; but 
they were assured they would have a fight on the Platte, going north, 
wherever they struck it; and a pursuit, perhaps. The Indians were called 
upon to act promptly, and they did. They determined to go north, although 
some of them went south across the Arkansas River. We will see how they 
planned to go north.



CHAPTER XXXV.
RETURN OF COMPANY TO JULESBURG.--ORDERED BACK TO JULESBURG.--CAMPED AT 
MORROW'S RANCH.--ALKALI.--ANDY HUGHES.--BEAUVAIS'S RANCH.--DICK CLEVE.--
INDIANS IN SIGHT.--DRIVING OFF CATTLE IN THE VALLEY.--THE PRIMING-WIRE.--
DISCOVERY OF THE BURNING STATION.--THE RUSH FOR THE FORT.--INDIANS TAKING 
SHELLED CORN.--SAFE IN THE FORT.--INDIANS CAMPED ACROSS THE RIVER.

   WHEN we got back to Cottonwood on the 26th (January, 1865), we were 
told that war parties of Indians had appeared along the Arkansas River and 
on the Colorado frontier east of Denver, showing that they were on the 
wing. My company was immediately sent back, on the 27th, to Julesburg, but 
Captain O'Brien remained back at Cottonwood by order of General Mitchell, 
for the purpose of consultation as to some further movements. General 
Mitchell, the same as everybody else, took a great fancy to Captain 
O'Brien, and wanted to consult with him. Captain O'Brien always did his 
duty promptly and well, and his judgment was good. The company went up in 
charge of Lieutenant Brewer, who happened to be then at Cottonwood 
Springs. He was not on the recent expedition. A howitzer and ten men were 
left behind at Cottonwood as an escort for Captain O'Brien. I remained 
behind as aide-de-camp to General Mitchell. Lieutenant Brewer was ordered 
to push through as rapidly as possible to Julesburg. I was going now to 
Omaha with General Mitchell, and we were to start on the morning of the 
29th. I said to myself, "Now I will see Omaha or know the reason why," but 
several officers said to me, "You will never see Omaha." In fact, it got 
to be a matter of interest to all of the officers of the different 
regiments and companies to see how the premonition was going to come out; 
they were all watching my movements, and several of them wanted me to 
write them if I did actually get into the city of Omaha.

   Very strangely, on the evening of the 28th, General Mitchell was 
informed by wire that the Indians had been seen around Julesburg; that 
they had appeared at Gillette's ranch, nine miles west of Julesburg, in 
great numbers, and besieged it, but had been driven off; that they had 
also appeared east of Julesburg at Alkali station, and driven off some 
cattle in broad daylight; and that they had appeared at several other 
places. General Mitchell directed me to go up to Julesburg, and see what 
the condition of things there was, and report to him by wire. So, on the 
afternoon of the 29th Captain O'Brien and I, with the escort of the ten 
men of our own company who had remained behind to escort Captain O'Brien 
back, started up the Platte river with the howitzer; and as I went west, 
the officers, in bidding me farewell said, several of them, "Good-by! You 
will never see Omaha."

   This new trip of mine -- starting back to Julesburg -- connected with 
General Mitchell's announced intention of resigning, or going South, led 
me to immediately see that it was quite possible that the premonition 
which I had received might be correct. Nevertheless, I was beginning to 
feel a little bit skittish, but I argued to myself that I would be in 
Julesburg only a little while; that I was still aide-de-camp for the 
General; that he would go South, which he in fact, soon after did; that I 
would rejoin him, which I soon after did; and that through natural causes 
and in the proper order of things I would "never see Omaha."

   Captain O'Brien and I started out with our escort, and that night we 
stopped at Jack Morrow's, which, as stated, was ten miles up the river. 
The place was fortified and garrisoned by a lot of cowboys, trappers, 
ranchmen, and squaw-men; enough to hold the place.

   Captain O'Brien and I had a gay and festive time at "Jack's tepee," as 
it was called, on the night of January 29th. That night we ate antelope-
hearts and beaver-tails, and listened to the old pioneers tell Indian 
stories, Jack Morrow insisted on opening a quart bottle of champagne each 
for Captain O'Brien and me, but the Captain and I had business on hand, 
and touched it very lightly; and Jack Morrow, who always loved champagne, 
drank all the balance of it, and became very full and talkative. Among 
other things he told about how much money he was making and how the Indian 
scare had diminished it, and how he was going to put in a claim against 
the Government for not keeping the Indians where they would not restrict 
trade. Jack's legal ideas upon this subject were quite hazy, but he easily 
found out how, through the negligence of the Government he had "lost a 
million dollars."

   In the morning we pushed on to Alkali, and there overtook a stage which 
had been driven in, and kept there. Alkali was a mere sod stage station 
with a sod corral, and with some sod works to fight the Indians from. 
Captain Murphy of Company "X" was there with his company, together with 
Tom Potter, my old friend. I had formerly belonged to Company "A," and I 
was glad to meet the boys at this time. The First Lieutenant of Company 
"A" was named Smith, and he had learned the Sioux war-song from a Sioux, 
and he got so that he could sing it as well as an Indian. That evening he 
lay in his bunk with his clothes on, for we never undressed in the Indian 
country, and he sang that war-song pretty near all night. In fact, I heard 
it so much that I was able to sing it myself, after a fashion, but none of 
us could come up to Lieutenant Smith in the tones, quavers and curlicues 
of the song. In the station was one of the agents of the stage company, 
going through to Denver, by the name of Andrew Hughes, a royal fellow, 
brave as could be, and pushing his way through to Denver, from post to 
post, seeking to reëstablish his stage line and then attend to the duties 
of his position. And with him was a man named Clift. They had a stage of 
their own.

   We were furnished by Captain Murphy with an additional escort to go 
through on. Captain O'Brien and I had our piece of artillery and gun squad 
with us from Cottonwood Springs, making in all ten men. One of the men was 
taken ill, and we were furnished with ten more, and started on to 
Beauvais's ranch, which was twenty-five miles east of Julesburg. This was 
on the last day of January -- the 31st. The coach kept up with the 
procession, and in it were the two citizens referred to, and their camping 
outfit. They had two drivers on the box. Everybody was armed to the teeth. 
The provisions and bedding and baggage of the stage outfit were tied up on 
the rear of the stage on the trunk-rack. The stage had four horses. Our 
piece of artillery had only two, but they were large, strong horses.

   We had hardly left Alkali in the morning before we saw smoke signals in 
the valley, and in a little while we saw Indians on the other side of the 
river in squads of two, seldom more or less. They seemed to be searching 
the other side of the river for cattle and horses which had been turned 
out to graze. We saw two Indians driving about fifteen head of horses. We 
went along the road as rapidly as possible, keeping our eye upon the 
Indians across the river, but passing them rapidly, and they were soon out 
of sight in the rear. But we noticed that when the Indians had a bunch of 
cattle they struck north through the bills, as if going to the North 
Platte. We had no guide with us, but we knew the route perfectly, and were 
enough familiar with the Indian manners and customs to be able to know 
that we were in danger. From time to time some Indian would rise up out of 
a swale or out of the grass on the other side of the river, and defiantly 
fire a gun or a pistol at us; but the distance was such that no good aim 
could be taken nor much danger experienced, except as showing the 
threatening conditions of the march. We camped at Beauvais's ranch, where 
there was a detachment of one of the companies, and where there was a 
telegraph operator. We sat up late at night, and told our superiors, by 
wire, how the Indians were acting along the river. Colonel Livingston, 
commanding the eastern sub-district, in the meantime had come to 
Cottonwood Springs, with some of the First Nebraska Veteran Volunteer 
Cavalry, owing to the rumors that were coming down the river in regard to 
the appearances of Indians along the line of route. Livingston ordered us 
to proceed immediately to Julesburg, and await his arrival; that he feared 
the Cheyenne Indians were to make another effort to cross the river, and 
go north and join their brother tribe, the Northern Cheyennes, which, at 
that time, was up in southern Dakota somewhere near the Deadwood country. 
The garrison at Beauvais was so small that we felt that we ought to leave 
some men there to help protect it. We were in entire ignorance of what was 
ahead of us, as we shall see; so we left six men there.

   In the morning of February 2, 1865, we started out from Beauvais's 
ranch, and saw Indians from the very start. When we got to Dick Cleve's 
ranch, we saw some Indians rounding up his cattle on the other side of the 
river. There was quite a number of ranchmen gathered there, a sort of 
conglomeration left over from a train which, together with the garrison of 
a few soldiers, made a place which the Indians could not very well 
capture. But the Indians around Cleve's ranch were so numerous that we 
left them four men of our cavalry. They expected an attack, but we did not 
feel alarmed, because we had the piece of artillery, and our horses were 
the best.

   From Dick Cleve's we started on, and Captain O'Brien and I with the 
coach, the piece of artillery and nine men, being the gun squad and four 
others; with the four civilians we were fifteen men. We had not gone far 
past Cleve's when we saw ten or fifteen Indians on the other side of the 
river. Having a very fine Smith & Wesson target rifle, I thought I would 
go down towards the river, and give them a trial shot. They were some 
little distance on the other side of the river, and after I had made my 
shot, an Indian arose out of the willows on the bank on the other side of 
the river, and, pulling a revolver, fired six shots, and then he pulled 
another and fired six shots more, and then he fired a gun at me. It was 
evidence that the Indian was better armed than I was, and as I stopped to 
reconnoiter, he began to fire a lot of good American words at me, and they 
were shot in such good English that I became satisfied that the Indian was 
not a Cheyenne or a Sioux, and I concluded he was one of the Confederate 
emissaries sent from the Indian territory. I was afterwards confirmed in 
this supposition.

   As we got near to Julesburg but not in sight of it, we saw large 
bunches of cattle over on the north side of the river, being driven. At 
one time on the other side of the river there were five little droves of 
from five to ten cattle each, being driven separately by two or three 
Indians each. They seemed to be heading diagonally northwest towards the 
bluffs. That is to say, they were going up the river and obliquely to the 
right so as to strike the valley of Lodgepole. They paid no attention to 
us, and never attempted to rally and come over and make an attack on us, 
nor did they appear at all alarmed. We also saw Indians peering up over 
the hills far to the south, but they did not appear to be in motion or 
active. They just stood and looked at us. They made no signals and did 
nothing to alarm us, knowing we were marching right into danger.

   Our line of march was that the Captain and I marched at the head, then 
came eight men on horseback, then one man, the ninth, riding the near 
artillery horse, and behind them the coach. The captain and I had an 
anxious consultation as we went along. We determined to push forward, and 
get into the post at Julesburg as rapidly as we could, but we did not know 
what was ahead of us. East of Julesburg the plateau pushes a promontory 
north to the edge of the river, so that the view of the fort at Julesburg 
was shut off from us until we had got entirely around that plateau and 
promontory. On the other side was the arroyo of which I have spoken 
before, called the "Devil's Dive." As we got up to this promontory it was 
a little after noontime. We noticed a number of black specks far out on 
Lodgepole. They were Indians, but we could not see our fort, on account of 
the intervening bluff. We stopped there to reconnoiter a little as to the 
passage around this promontory. The ground was quite broken, and we did 
not wish to run into an ambuscade.

   While we stopped there I inspected the artillery fully, to see that 
everything was all ready for use; imagine my horror to find that the 
priming-wire had jolted out of its fastening and been lost. The priming-
wire was an absolute necessity, because the cartridges were in thick 
flannel bags, and when rammed down they had to be opened, so that the 
friction primer would throw the fire down into the powder. This priming-
wire had to be pushed down through the vent into the flannel or the charge 
could not be exploded. A feeling of great horror ran over me as I vainly 
searched in the chest of the howitzer. Near us ran the telegraph line. I 
told one of the boys to climb up a pole, swing out on that wire band over 
hand, and pull it down to the ground. With the aid and assistance of 
several, we finally got the wire swung down nearly to the ground, but not 
near enough. Thereupon, with an artillery hatchet, we chopped down a 
telegraph pole so as to give the wire more sag. We then cut the wire, and 
tying one end of it to the rear of the coach we had the four horses pull 
on it until we got all the slack that could come from that direction. Then 
we pulled the other line and got all the slack that could come from the 
other, and we managed to get off two feet of wire, and then put the wire 
together, and make a new connection. This took us nearly half an hour, but 
we got a priming-wire made out of this telegraph wire which was all right. 
We pounded it to a point on the iron tire of the howitzer, and were then 
ready to go ahead.

   When we had finished with this telegraph wire, Captain O'Brien observed 
a smoke over the promontory, and called my attention to it. He said: "What 
do you think that smoke can be? It is this side of the post, and yet 
beyond the hill. Go carefully up with your field-glass, and see what is 
the matter, and see what those black specks mean up the Lodgepole valley." 
I went up on horseback, looking in all directions, and could see no 
indications of Indians nor ambuscade, and finally peeped over the hill 
Indian fashion through a cactus bush. And lo, and behold I could see 
Indians scattered everywhere in front of us; they were crossing the river, 
running around the stage station, blacksmith shop and telegraph office, 
which were burning. The haystacks of the stage station were also burning. 
Back on the hills west of the post was a large group of Indians, 
apparently motionless, while between us and the fort was a body of Indians 
running around and evidently shouting and yelling and having a good time, 
although they were so far off I could hear no noise. I came down to see 
the Captain, and told him what I had seen, and I said, "You go up there, 
and see what you think about the matter." He came down, and said, "There 
is a large body of Indians crossing on the ice north, and a large body at 
the stage station a mile this side."

   The question then was what to do. What could 15 men do with a thousand 
Indians on the war-path in front with no outlet for retreat and no place 
for defense?

   There appeared in the present juncture only one thing to do that had 
any wisdom in it, and that was to make a bold dash for the fort; because 
if the whole gang of Indians got after us we could find no shelter and we 
could not hold them off. The Captain ordered the gun shotted with 
"canister." Canister was a large tin can fitting the calibre of the gun 
and filled with iron balls. The boys called it "canned trouble." The gun 
having been loaded, one of the soldiers carried a friction primer so as to 
be able to fire the gun quickly from horseback without dismounting. The 
Captain detailed me as an advance guard with my field-glass to go on ahead 
and feel the route along the cape of the promontory and to prevent an 
ambuscade.

   We started on, and we went just as fast as we dared. We went around the 
point, carefully inspecting the road. I went ahead about two or three 
hundred yards, and we were visible to the Indians up at the post only for 
a short time as we rounded the cape, but were not recognized, on account 
of the film of smoke from the burning stage station. Then there was a 
little rise in the ground ahead of us, that kept us out of sight from the 
post, and by following around the rim of it outside of the road, we were 
able to go unseen a little nearer to the post. And so it happened that we 
got up within much less than two miles of the post, and there did not seem 
to be any alarm among the Indians. We then rushed our horses, and 
determined to make a bold dash for the post. As we came over the hill we 
deployed at intervals of about twenty yards, with our artillery and coach 
up in the center of the line. Some of the Indians began to see us; then we 
went a-howling and yelling towards the post. It did not take us long to 
pass the burning stage station. The Indians were rallying on both sides of 
us, and shooting at us from a distance; they did not know but what a 
regiment was coming behind us. Around the cape behind us then came a squad 
of Indians on the run.

   When we got to the stage station it was a sight. A lot of the Indians 
were there before us, and they started away. We saw that a large number of 
Indians were carrying off corn from the stage station. There were so many 
of them that they had sanded a road across the ice of the river, and this 
road was about six feet wide. Their ponies being unshod, they could not 
carry the corn across without the road being sanded; it was too slippery. 
There were enough of them to sand the entire road, and there was a line of 
them all around the burning stage station. There were animals killed; a 
couple of horses; and a cow, that had been grazing around. Chickens were 
killed. It seemed as if the Indians thought it was a funny thing to shoot 
an arrow down through a chicken and pin the chicken to the ground. We saw 
chickens still fluttering that were thus pinned down to the ground.

   We fired the canister at the Indians ahead of us. The post was still a 
mile off, and they had evidently seen us coming. There was no use of our 
trying to compete with the Indians, who were flocking in on both sides, in 
pistol-firing. Captain O'Brien ordered all the boys to draw sabers, and we 
started. After we had gone about two hundred yards a group of Indians were 
in front of us. Our men at the post had run the other howitzer out, and 
began firing shells directly at us, and we stopped long enough to fire a 
shell towards the post. The Indians in front of us got out of the way, and 
the post kept firing in our direction. The Indians did not understand the 
situation. Our appearance had been too sudden. They did not know it was a 
bluff. They did not know what was behind us, or what the smoke might 
conceal. They did not dare to charge us, but got out of our way and 
hovered on our flanks. We, all the time, were going as fast as our horses 
would carry us toward the post. We went through with the Indians firing 
and cavorting all over the prairie. Not a man in our party was injured. 
The Indians, like a hive of bees, showed great alarm, and were dashing 
around in groups. Andrew Hughes and his companion Clift, on the stages, 
kept up with the procession in fine style; they seemed to enjoy the 
occasion. They kept their horses on the run -- yelled as much, and fired 
as often, as they could, kept the stages right side up, and seemed filled 
with hilarity. We made a royal bluff, and it won. I never felt so relieved 
in my life as I did when we got up nearer the post.

   When we got to the Post we found, besides our diminished Company "F," 
about fifty citizens there, all armed, who had been driven in. We were 
told that fifteen hundred Indians had struck the post that forenoon, and 
had run all around it, had fired at the post, at everybody whose head 
appeared, and that their camp was right across the river above the mouth 
of Lodgepole. I never could account for why the Indians did not make an 
attack on us sooner. But the smoke from the burning hay, which we had seen 
miles before, obscured the atmosphere, and the wind was blowing gently 
from the northwest and spread the smoke over the ground, and the Indians, 
who were running all over the country, failed to distinguish us as 
soldiers until we got up within a couple of miles or nearer. And then the 
alarm could not be conveyed to the body of Indians any faster than we 
could go ourselves, so we kept up with the information, and it was not 
until we dashed past the burning buildings that the Indians got any 
comprehension of the situation, and they were unable to get us before we 
got in, owing to the cooperation of the fort.

   A Colorado man, somewhat of an artist, happened to be among the 
citizens at the post on that eventful day, and many years afterwards I saw 
a picture that he had drawn at the time in commemoration of the event.



CHAPTER XXXVI.
INDIANS AROUND THE POST.--DUEL AT LONG RANGE.--FIGHT AT GILLETTE'S RANCH.--
THE BIG HAYSTACK.--BIG INDIAN CAMP-FIRE.--CAPTAIN AND I ON GUARD.--THE 
FIRE-ARROW.--JIMMIE O'BRIEN.--THE INDIAN DANCE.--THE WILD-FIRE.--THE 
RETREAT.--THE INDIAN HERD.--COLONEL LIVINGSTON COMING.--GILLETTE'S RANCH.--
THE TRAINS OF MACHINERY.--THE POISONED WHISKY.--THE WASTED FLOUR.--DIAGRAM 
OF POST.

   WE GOT into the Post about half-past three. The Indians in a very short 
time circled around the post, howling and yelling and shouting defiance, 
and later went across the river to the camp. The carrying of sack corn on 
ponies across the river did not cease, but we did not consider ourselves 
able to stop them, as it was a mile from the post.

   A little while before sundown I noticed a motionless Indian on 
horseback over in the bottom across the river from the fort, and I thought 
I would go and see what effect I could make on him with my target rifle. I 
started to walk from the post down towards the river, the boys of the post 
being out, ready to furnish me any protection I might need. The Indian on 
the other bank of the river dismounted and left his horse, and started 
walking towards me. He finally stooped down in the grass, which was quite 
heavy, but I could plainly see him. By throwing up the sights of my 
target, I pulled on him, but the bullet fell short, as I could see by the 
dust which rose where it struck. I had scarcely fired my gun when the 
Indian fired and a bullet went whizzing over my head in a way so familiar 
that I knew it to be a Belgian rifle-musket. I had heard them often down 
South. I then made three quick shots, to see if I could reach the Indian, 
but my rifle would not carry to him. I began to march obliquely back to 
the post, going somewhat to the left, so as to change the Indian's line of 
fire, but he got in two shots on me before I got back to the post, to 
which I went in a leisurely but somewhat interested way. The Indian had a 
better gun than I had, that is to say, one that would shoot farther, and I 
knew that the gun was one which had been furnished from some military 
command. The Indians did not buy Belgian muskets. This man had been 
standing out there making a target of himself so as to get somebody to 
come out and fire at him, and I had done exactly what he wanted me to do, 
and he had got three good shots at me before I was through with him. And I 
had to thank my stars that it was no worse.

   In talking with one of the citizens, I was told that these Indians were 
the Arapahoes and Cheyennes mixed, that had gathered together and come up 
from the southern country; and that they had struck the river some little 
distance above Julesburg, but that they wanted to go up Lodgepole Creek, 
cross over the divide, and go up the Bluewater River, called by the 
Indians, Minne-to-wocca-pella. The word "to" in Sioux language means blue. 
They always put the color adjective after the noun; for instance, Manka-
to, "Earth blue."

   These Indians coming down had driven everything before them, but at 
Gillette's ranch, nine or ten miles west of the fort, they had met a 
stubborn resistance. But during the night the occupants of Gillette's 
ranch had made a dash for the river, and had come down on the ice, going 
from island to island and defending themselves from time to time by 
rallies upon these little willow islands. On the outside of Gillette's 
ranch were eight large, heavy freight wagons that had been held up. These 
eight wagons were filled with bottled liquors for Denver, and the Indians 
the next morning had got these liquors, and had come down to visit 
Julesburg. They also had a large number of oxen which they had captured, 
and they had a large herd of beeves which they were driving down to 
Julesburg. There were those among them who knew how to hitch up oxen, and 
so the oxen and the wagons with the bottled liquors were driven on down in 
a herd along with the cattle. The wagons were zigzagging along the prairie 
according as the oxen were herded here and there on the route, and they 
had got the whole business across the river to their camp. They had cut 
down telegraph poles, and camped from time to time, and burned the 
telegraph poles for a long distance. They had cut them up and dragged them 
with ponies so that in the camp, which was now in plain sight of our post 
and on the north side of the river, they were having high jinks with fires 
made out of telegraph poles, drinking "S. T. 1860 X," "Plantation" and 
"Hostetter" Bitters, and all kinds of good stuff which they found in those 
wagons. This was the condition of things at sunset on the day that we got 
into the Julesburg Post, February 2, 1865. 

   The arrangement which we made for the evening was that the guards 
should go one hour on and two off. We got the civilians together, divided 
them into groups of three, and put a civilian in charge of each group, so 
that he could have his men ready, the object being to stay prepared for a 
rush on the fort, and to have one-third of the garrison, soldiers and 
civilians, ready and on guard to repel the first symptom of attack. As for 
Captain O'Brien and myself, we determined to stay up all night, except 
that we would take turns in dozing if everything was looking favorable. 

   The best point for observation was the haystack in the northwest corner 
of our Post. The stable was nearly as high, but was sort of in the center, 
so that a person upon it could not see well over the haystack. The 
haystack was a large, heavy, weighted-down stack of about eighty tons. 
Captain O'Brien and I got on top of it, and worked holes down in it so as 
to be somewhat protected from the weather, and yet to have a good 
observation, The stack was between thirty and forty feet long on the 
summit. It could be reached by getting up on the sod wall, which at that 
point was about eight feet high, and then getting up from that portion of 
the stack whence the hay was being used. Fearing that the Indians might 
come up and start to set fire to the stack we had down on the ground 
several camp-kettles full of water with a quart tin cup floating in the 
top of each. The weather had very much moderated, and the afternoon of the 
day had been quite pleasant for a winter day, although freezing. The sun 
set gloriously, with a livid burst of red which held quite late. We could 
see a large smothered camp-fire, and could hear yells and shouting, and 
every once in a while some Indian shot off a gun. The Captain and I took a-
plenty of ammunition and a lot of hard-tack to munch on, and as soon as 
dusk began to fall we got up into our holes on that haystack. Guards were 
also on the north end of the stable, and on the barracks, and on the 
headquarters building. Our fort, being made of sod, was incombustible, and 
we felt no real danger except as it might come to the hay, which, if it 
got on fire, might burn us all out. We had some of the men sheltered down 
under the sod wall on the inside at the end of the haystack, ready to take 
any action that might be required.

   About the time that nightfall set in the big camp-fire of the Indians 
began to blaze up strongly, and we could see the cattle coming in in 
droves, both east and west, and also bands of American horses, not large 
in number, but they were prancing about. We could see with our glasses 
quite plainly. In a little while the fire grew larger, and the Indians 
began to caper around it in a war-dance. We could bear them shrieking and 
yelling, we could hear the turn-turn of a native drum, and we could hear a 
chorus shouting as if there were squaws there taking a part in the 
exercises. Then we could see them circling around the fire, then 
separately stamping the ground and making gestures. It seemed as if the 
fire grew larger and more scattered, and the ring grew larger and the 
yelling grew stronger, and finally it was a perfect pandemonium lit up 
with the wildfire of burning telegraph poles. We knew that the bottled 
liquors destined for Denver were beginning to get in their work and a 
perfect orgy was ensuing. It kept up constantly. It seemed as if exhausted 
Indians fell back and let fresh ones take hold, and around that fire they 
did jump and scream, and make motions with lance and tomahawk, and caper 
and cut up, in a wild and picturesque way. 

   It was a very thrilling scene, except that we knew if they had courage 
to make a dash on the post there would not be any of us left by daylight. 
Pioneers told us, however, that the Indians would not make a dash on us in 
that time, but that we might look for them at sun-up. In the mean time our 
telegraph line was down, from the burning of the station, and from the 
destruction of poles west of us, so that we had no way of sending out word 
of the post further than had already gone. 

   The Captain and I stood in our holes in the hay up about to our waists, 
with our target rifles on one side of us and our box of ammunition and 
crackers on the other side, and watching with the field-glass what might 
take place. We were suffering somewhat from anxiety. We had also a couple 
of dogs up with us in holes in the hay, and the dogs seemed just as 
earnest and as excited as anybody. As late as twelve o'clock there seemed 
to be no diminution of the orgy. It seemed to keep on just as strong as 
ever, and we saw ponies coming across the prairie dragging pieces of 
telegraph poles chopped down, and every once in a while the sparks would 
rise as a new piece was thrown on the fire. 

   Our dogs were muttering and grumbling all the time, but the ground was 
practically clear in front of us for quite a distance, with the exception 
of some little clumps of sagebrush and cactus, and these were scattering. 
We kept our eye, however, well upon the prairie in front of us, so that no 
skulking Indian might come up and pick us off. Some of the time we were 
crouched down so that we could just plainly see over the hay with our 
field-glasses.

   All at once a spark came before our eyes. I could not understand it for 
a second. It seemed as if a star fell. it came in a curve, and fell into 
our hay. An Indian had crept up, in spite of us, back of a sage-brush, and 
had fired a fire-arrow right into our haystack. I was taken much by 
surprise, but by the time it struck the stack I knew what it was. Captain 
O'Brien happened to have his gun in his hands, and with great presence of 
mind he drew up and fired the best he could in the direction of the arrow. 
The hero of the occasion was Jimmie O'Brien. The arrow had scarcely struck 
the hay when it flashed. I struck the spot with my carbine, but Jimmie 
O'Brien grabbed a cup, jumped up on the wall, and with one dash he made a 
center shot with the tin cup and put the entire fire out with one effort. 
It was the prettiest thing I ever saw. The boys on detail all cheered, and 
Jimmie O'Brien never got over being complimented for his presence of mind 
and his steady nerve upon the occasion. But we saw no Indian arise from 
where the arrow came, and the Captain was almost an unerring shot. We all 
believed that the Captain killed the Indian, but we never got the Indian's 
body, because as a matter of fact, the Indians were skulking around the 
post that night and we never got a chance to see them or get a shot at 
them. What they did may be imagined from the fact that the next morning 
out on a telegraph pole within twenty feet of our sod fort the Captain's 
dog, "Kearney," was found with its throat cut, and tied hanging about six 
feet up on the telegraph pole. So that, if the Captain killed the Indian, 
they could have got him away that night, because towards morning it was 
cloudy and dark.

   After the fire-arrow episode we kept a still closer lookout. Once in a 
while we would think we saw a moving form or something crawling on the 
ground, and we kept plugging away with our rifles at all such symptoms, so 
as not only to get an Indian if we could, but keep them on the qui vive, 
to let them know we were waiting for them. About one o'clock the orgy 
seemed to reach its height. The yells were the most blood-curdling and 
frantic I ever heard, and although we were a long distance off, perhaps a 
half-mile, we could hear them all upon the midnight air quite plainly. And 
we discussed among ourselves whether or not the bottled liquors would not 
get them finally worked up to a point that would lead them to besiege us. 
Suddenly the fire began to grow brighter, and greater, and the Indians 
circling around it seemed to form a larger ring. We soon saw that the fire 
had spread to the prairie-grass, and that the Indians were not trying to 
put it out. The night was perfectly still. There was no breeze of any 
kind, and the prairie-grass burned slowly, and the Indian ring kept 
growing larger and larger as the fire increased. And still the thing went 
on until the fire was an acre in extent, and still an undiminished ring of 
Indians were going around it shouting and yelling, and it kept growing in 
extent until there were at least four acres of this burning prairie in a 
ring, and still the Indians were shouting and prancing singly and in 
groups. Then we all began to think that the thing was going to break up 
with an attack. The fire finally spread and spread until it lit up the 
whole country, and all at once the Indians were not seen between us and 
the fire, and the smoke prevented us from seeing where they were.

   We concluded they were all coming towards the post. The smoke began to 
bang sort of in a pall, not being borne in either direction. We got the 
bugler up, and had him sound the assembly. We got him up on top of the 
stable to blow bugle-calls. Everybody turned out, everybody was assigned 
to a duty. One of the howitzers we got on top of the stable, which was 
really heavy enough to hold a cannon. At the corners of the fort several 
sentinels were placed to watch carefully, and still we watched, and still 
the prairie-fire spread. It finally struck the river on the south, and 
stopped; then it struck up Lodgepole on the east, and stopped; and then it 
started up the river, going quite slowly, but still no Indians. We 
imagined a short time before daylight that we saw some Indians south of 
the post, and then we imagined that we saw some among the hills. It turned 
out, however, that they were simply reinforcements of Indians, few in 
number, coming with great speed. They passed west of the post, going 
towards the river.

   Finally it became dawn, with us all on the watch. There were no Indians 
in sight. It was impossible for so great a number of Indians to be hidden, 
and Captain O'Brien and I determined that we would get on our good horses 
and make a survey of the condition of things; and we sent some men on down 
to the telegraph station, which had been burned, to repair the wire. We 
had a telegraph operator in the post by the name of Holcomb, who was one 
of the most capable young men I ever saw. After we had got the line up 
running east we had no instruments, nor any means of telegraphing. Yet 
this man Holcomb succeeded in sending off a message and in receiving one. 
First he chopped an ax into the ground, and taking hold of the wires with 
gloves, he alternately played the ends of the wires upon the iron poll of 
the ax in such a way as to telegraph, and then he put the wires in his 
mouth and read the dispatches. At least he said he did, and the message 
was: "Get ready to follow. Am coming. Livingston." But we could not send 
or receive any telegrams to or from Denver or Laramie.

   The Captain and I got on our horses and rode over the river to the late 
Indian camp. There were places where the grass had been trodden down so 
that it was not burned near the camp-fire. We saw there the business cards 
of the manufacturers of various kinds of liquor, together with pamphlets, 
and advertisements, great quantities of broken bottles, and heads of one 
hundred and fifty-six cattle, that had been slaughtered. The fire had died 
down, and was only going up in a narrow streak on the west side of 
Lodgepole. The Indians had driven off a great quantity of beef cattle. It 
looked as if there were at least five thousand head. Along with the beef 
cattle that had been driven were the irregular and waving lines of the 
wagons drawn by oxen that went along with an undulating track because the 
draft oxen hitched to the wagons had been herded along with the balance of 
the cattle. The wheel-tracks were sunken, indicating that they had got the 
wagons loaded with something. They had gone up Lodgepole, and there were a 
great number of them. Elston believed that it was the whole Southern 
Cheyenne nation that was on the move, together with the Arapahoes and some 
Sioux.

   As a matter of fact, we did not know it but Colonel Livingston, with a 
large detachment, was within thirty miles of us that morning. The Indians 
knew it, and that was why they started off as they did. Their signals had 
told them a story which we did not know, or comprehend. 

   After having viewed the late Indian camp, and got the telegraph line 
restored to the east, Captain O'Brien thought we ought to scout the hills 
and see if there were any Indians in hiding that might become dangerous to 
the post. So he took a squad with a bugler to go south and east, and sent 
me with a squad to go west. A signal to come in if necessary, was a shot 
from the twelve-pound howitzer at the post. Everything was to be done as 
fast as possible, and we all started off on the gallop. I was told not, on 
any account, to go west farther than Gillette's Ranch, which was nine 
miles. The Captain started for the hills on a rush, and I started with 
eight men for the west. At a point one-half mile west of the post we found 
the telegraph wires all cut and the poles gone; they had been used for 
cooking at the Indian barbecue which I have described, across the river. 
The valley was wide before us on our trip west; we saw no Indians in the 
hills south of us, and we kept up the south bank of the river and were 
soon at Gillette's Ranch. Most of the telegraph poles all the way from 
Julesburg were gone. The posts were up one-half mile west of Gillette's 
Ranch, but the wire was down, how much farther we could not see. The grass 
around Gillette's Ranch clear down to the river had been burned off, 
evidently a month or two before. The whole country looked black and 
desolate. Out on the plain were 24 large freight wagons, not parked, but 
scattered out separately as if they had been run in hastily and abandoned. 
They were loaded principally with mining machinery, bar-iron and cast-iron 
piping. Apparently no effort had been made by the Indians to burn these 
wagons; in fact, there was nothing for them to burn the wagons with; there 
was nothing inflammable to use within a half-mile. On one of the wagons 
was a large cast-iron wheel, with a wide, smooth rim which projected over 
the sides. On it was written in a large bold hand, "Go to Hell." The words 
were freshly written in charcoal, and had been done by someone among the 
Indians. I have briefly stated that the vanguard of the Cheyenne incursion 
first struck Gillette's Ranch, and that the people there made a fight 
until dark, and in the cover of the night retreated to the river and came 
on down to Julesburg. These fugitives told of an Indian, with the 
attacking party, who wore a hat, blanket cape and high-top cavalry bouts, 
and who shouted loud swear-words in English, and had a rifled musket of 
the new United States pattern. He was probably the man who wrote on the 
flywheel. He was probably an ambassador from the Southern Confederacy sent 
to keep the Indians fired up, and was an Indian from one of the 
"civilized" tribes of the Indian Territory. We heard of him several times 
and in several different ways. Off to one side a little east of Gillette's 
Ranch were several large wagons with a lot of whisky and liquor 
advertisements in. They had been in little burlap-covered bales, and had 
been ripped open and scattered.

   Standing out on the prairie not far from the house was a barrel of 
whisky, all by itself, untouched. One of my men said that it was poisoned; 
that he had heard one of the men who came down from Gillette's Ranch say 
that they put a lot of strychnine in a barrel of whisky and stuck it up 
where the Indians could get it; that the Indians never touched it but 
helped themselves to other goods of the same kind, in the wagons. I shot 
out the bung and emptied the barrel. All over the prairie were large white 
spots leading down toward the river. These spots were in pairs, and quite 
many. Upon investigation I found that they were of flour, and it happened 
in this way: There was at the ranch quite a lot of flour, and it was 50-
pound sacks in heavy paper and 100-pound sacks in muslin. The Indians 
threw these sacks across their ponies and started off; if the ponies got 
to trotting, or bucking, the sacks would break in two and fall on opposite 
sides of the pony, and maybe the Indian gathered up the flour and maybe 
not. There was a great waste of flour. We led our horses around and got 
them a good feed each of this flour, and then on a gallop started home, -- 
where we arrived at just about the time that Captain O'Brien did. We both 
reported no Indians seen, no smoke signals, or anything to indicate the 
presence of any Indians south of the Platte River. A party had been sent 
up Lodgepole composed of soldiers and citizens, to see what they could 
see. They came back reporting that the Indians were making the fastest 
time possible up Lodgepole; that the cattle were making lots of trouble 
for the Indians, who were hurrying them forward on the run; that the 
scouting party could hear the Indians yelling and shouting furiously in 
the distance; that the dust rose up in clouds; that the Indian line from 
front to rear was about five miles long; and that the tracks of the wagons 
were zigzagging all over the prairie. This party brought back more than 
500 head of cattle which they had picked up from those that had escaped or 
bolted the herd. The Indians had no time to stop and round them up. We 
afterwards got a lot more. Our post was packed as full as it would hold of 
people and horses; when all of the scouting parties had got in and 
reported, and when it was found that there were no more Indians and no 
more danger, there was general rejoicing among the civilians, and some of 
them, by means of concealed supplies, got gloriously drunk, and had to be 
put into the guard-house.