The Indian War of 1864 - Chapters 37-38



CHAPTER XXXVII.
ARRIVAL OF COLONEL LIVINGSTON.--POLES ORDERED FROM COTTONWOOD.--"CHIEF OF 
ARTILLERY".--NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE.--REBUILDING THE TELEGRAPH LINE.--BUFFALO 
SPRINGS.--VALLEY STATION.--THE SHELLED-CORN BASTION.--GERMANS AND 
OYSTERS.--FORTY HOURS' WORK.--LINE REESTABLISHED.--RETURN TO JULESBURG.

   ON THE evening of February 3rd, 1865, after dark, in came Colonel 
Livingston from the east, with fully four hundred cavalry, four pieces of 
light artillery, telegraph instruments taken from some station along the 
road; and also forty-six mule-wagons loaded with supplies of various 
kinds. The Colonel had organized on his own account a little dwarf Indian 
expedition to keep the Cheyennes in motion. The forces were composed of 
Seventh Iowa Cavalry and First Nebraska Veteran Volunteer Cavalry -- about 
half-and-half each. The Iowa troops were in command of Captain Murphy, of 
Company "A," and the Nebraska troops were in command of a captain of that 
regiment, named Wetherwax, a very fine officer. The horses were in good 
condition and well shod; the men were tired, but full of zeal. The weather 
late in the afternoon turned quite cold; the tents were pitched on the 
windward of the post. The men crowded by invitation into the post and 
barracks. The Lieutenants and officers, several in number, together with 
Colonel Livingston, crowded into our headquarters room, where at night we 
all slept on the dirt floor. Our visitors were tired because they had been 
making forced marches to reach us for fear the Indians would capture our 
fort. The Indians knew of their coming. I reported promptly to Colonel 
Livingston on his arrival, and told him of the destruction of the 
telegraph to the west as I had seen it. I estimated for two hundred and 
fifty poles and a mile of wire. The Colonel, by telegraph to Cottonwood 
Springs, ordered wagons to be taken or impressed, to be quickly loaded 
with the lightest poles, started as soon as possible and pushed through 
night and day to Julesburg, as fast as the animals could stand it. There 
were a lot of cedar poles cut and stacked at Cottonwood and Jack Morrow's, 
ready for repair work along the line.

   Then the next thing that Colonel Livingston did was to issue a special 
order detailing me as "chief of artillery." I did not know what particular 
use he had for a "chief of artillery," and I told him that I was already 
an aide-de-camp on the staff of the General commanding, and was not 
subject to his detail; but he paid no attention to my objections, and told 
me to immediately proceed to get my artillery corps together and drill 
them, in view of a proposed Indian expedition to the north.

   Four of the guns were twelve-pound mountain howitzers and two of them 
were light three-inch Parrott guns. On the morning of February 4, 1865, 1 
got the gun squads all together and had everything hitched up, and we 
drove around and drilled so as to get the men acquainted with one another 
and their duties. I found that a large wrought-iron bolt was out from the 
trail of one of the Parrott guns, and that if the gun were fired it would 
probably break itself to pieces, or turn a somersault. I went to the 
blacksmith of the company and told him to fix it if he could. After 
running around a good deal, he came and reported to me that he didn't have 
anything that he could use to fix the gun with; so I reported the fact to 
Colonel Livingston, and he, without discussing the matter, said to me, "I 
want you to go and have that gun fixed and put in shape, and don't fail to 
report to me that you have done it." I went, but after exhausting all my 
resources and getting the blacksmith to exhaust all of his, I saw no 
possible way in which the gun could be fixed, unless we could get the iron 
to fix it with. As we could get nothing to fix it with, I finally with 
great regret, some hours afterwards, went to the Colonel, after I had 
about run my legs off, and told him that it was impossible to fix the gun; 
that we didn't have the material to do it with and couldn't find any. He 
turned to me in a gruff manner and said: "I want you to have that gun 
fixed, and don't you report back here without it is fixed. So now attend 
to it right away." This was a novel proposition, and after I got over 
being angry and feeling that the Colonel was much displeased and somewhat 
unreasonable, it occurred to me to take some of the men and go a mile down 
the road to where the buildings had been burned and see if anything could 
be found among the ashes. So we went down there and scratched over the 
ruins of the burnt buildings, and the ashes, with our saber scabbards, and 
just about dark I ran onto a piece of wrought-iron, among the ashes of the 
stage office, that seemed to me to be the thing to use. I galloped up to 
the post, got hold of the blacksmith and showed him the piece of burnt bar-
iron. He said, I think I can use it," and I said, "You go to work and do 
it right quick and fast." I stayed with him about an hour, and by the aid 
of the portable forge we fixed the iron so that it made a bolt that fitted 
the place, and by dark the piece of artillery was fixed.

   With great pride I went up to the Colonel and saluted him with much 
ceremony, and said, "I have the honor to report that the piece of 
artillery is fixed." Thereupon he called me up, and he said: "Young man, 
anything can be done if a person goes to work at it intending to do it. 
Don't you ever, during your military career, report that a thing isn't 
done and can't be done. Nothing is impossible, sir, nothing. You have been 
taught a good lesson, sir. You ought to have been reprimanded for 
reporting in the first place that the gun couldn't be fixed. Let this be a 
lesson to you, sir, let this be a lesson. Don't ever give up anything as 
impossible; people who give up things as impossible, sir, don't get 
anywhere, sir. In this case, sir, you are to be commended for your 
success, and I take great pleasure in complimenting you."

   On the forenoon of February 5, 1865, Captain Murphy of Company "A," 
with about a hundred men, was ordered up on the Denver road and told to go 
on up until he had crossed the trail of the Cheyennes and had reached that 
portion of the telegraph line which was uninjured, so that messages could 
be sent to Denver. Holcomb, the expert young telegraph operator, was sent 
up with them.

   At the same time, Captain Wetherwax, of the First Nebraska Veteran 
Volunteer Cavalry, with a like number, was sent up Lodgepole to see what 
there was to be seen of the Indians, but not to bring on any engagement 
with them. They both started out at a rapid gait. On the next day, the 
6th, towards the evening, both of these parties came back. Captain Murphy 
reported that at a place about twenty-five miles west, the lines were 
uninjured to Denver, and that he had had a talk with the Denver office and 
was told that the people of Denver were in great anxiety and at great 
inconvenience on account of the destruction of the wire; that the people 
of Denver wanted the wire put up just as fast as possible, as a great 
quantity of messages needed transmission, and that being cut off wholly 
from the outside world, the people were despondent as to the situation and 
did not know what had happened or might happen.

   Captain Wetherwax returned, bringing back a straggling herd of cattle 
which had gotten away from the Indians, and saying that the Indians were 
crossing Jules Stretch for the Platte River, and that they were taking 
their time and herding the cattle along more carefully and with less 
expectation of pursuit and attack.

   For a couple of days small scouting parties were sent in every 
direction, towards the south and up and down the north bank of the river, 
among the hills, to see what the Indians were doing and where they were, 
if there were any. Colonel Livingston received a telegram to guard the 
road, open up trade, protect the posts and the stage lines, as a first 
matter of duty; and the overtaking and punishing of the Indians as a 
second, but cautioned him against too bold an attack against so large a 
party of Indians as appeared to be within striking distance of him, and 
which seemed so strong and warlike. In fact, it did not seem safe for any 
party of cavalry that we then had to attack the large Indian band which 
had gone north.

   On February 6, 1865, a large party of freighters and travelers came up 
the road, under escort, and the stage lines were reëstablished from the 
east. Captain O'Brien was detailed to take the train on up the river 
towards Denver, together with such of the refugees at our post as had been 
stopped and held there. The Captain started out and delivered his valuable 
train, and its following, far up the river to a party of Colorado cavalry 
that were starting down with another large train and outfit, going through 
to "the States." This train Captain O'Brien brought down to Julesburg.

   I was mostly engaged in drilling my new battery and exercising it in 
rapid flying movements and in target practice, although the supply of 
ammunition did not give much room for that. In Indian warfare, as in all 
other kinds, accuracy and rapidity are the chief things to acquire; so we 
drilled all of the variety known as "flying drills." In the mean time, the 
poles for the telegraph line had been started up the river towards us, 
with instructions to put the teams through night and day until they 
reached Julesburg. No communications could be had with Laramie, Salt Lake 
or the Pacific Coast, owing to the destruction of the telegraph line. 
Always before this time the Indians had respected the telegraph wire, for 
reasons hereinbefore stated, but at this time they had emissaries among 
them, civilized Indians from the Southern Confederacy, as we believed, who 
were not disturbed by any superstitions and who knew the value of 
telegraph lines to an enemy, and who did not neglect to destroy the 
communications whenever convenient. It was urged upon us that the lines of 
wire must be fixed up; that was imperative. The demand of the overland 
telegraph company was constantly and urgently reiterated. The restoration 
of the telegraph seemed to be the principal thing to be done, and to be 
paramount to any question of punishing the Indians or recovering property. 
Those were the days when there were no railroads and no rapid mail 
communications, and the telegraph wire was in very great demand, and as 
there was only one wire to do the business through on each route, it was 
busy every minute of the day, from the end of one month to the end of 
another; and so when the line was down, great interests suffered, as did 
also many private and personal matters.

   On the evening of February 9, 1865, Colonel Livingston sent for Captain 
Murphy, who was a most active, industrious and enduring officer of our 
regiment, to form plans for the restoration of the line from Julesburg 
west, and ordered him to plan an active party to take charge of the work 
and restore the lines through to make communication with Denver, and 
telling him that he could have forty soldiers. Captain Murphy was to make 
the plans, consider them well, and submit them to Colonel Livingston; and 
was told that he might take along a piece of artillery. Captain Murphy 
came to me to talk the matter over, and said that he wanted me to go along 
with him, and that he wasn't satisfied with only forty men and one piece 
of artillery. He asked me if I couldn't take two pieces of artillery and 
go with him and assist him in the very arduous task which the order 
entailed, adding in a humorous way, "You will never see Omaha." I was not 
particularly attracted by the idea presented by Captain Murphy, and told 
him that I did not think that Colonel Livingston would permit his 
artillery to be divided up in that way; that I would go, of course, if I 
were ordered, but that if there was an expedition up to attack the Indians 
Colonel Livingston would probably want me along with him, and I would 
prefer to go on that expedition, instead of putting up telegraph poles. 
All this time I was an Aide-de-Camp for General Mitchell.

   On the next morning, Captain Murphy went to the Colonel and told him 
his plan, and succeeded in getting me detailed with two pieces of 
artillery to go with his party. Colonel Livingston sent for me and told me 
about it, and I objected, saying that I desired to go with the expedition, 
if any were sent out; but the Colonel said that be was not certain as to 
any future movements, and thought I had better go with Captain Murphy. 
Thereupon, I went to see the Captain and told him that I was going with 
him and would take two twelve-pound mountain howitzers. We then together 
discussed the methods of doing the work, and what we would need to take 
along; got a lot of rations cooked up, tools and implements prepared, two 
wagons, and awaited the arrival of the telegraph poles.

   In the mean time, Captain O'Brien had been down the road on escort 
duty, and, having struck the head of the telegraph-pole train, ordered it 
to push forward as rapidly as possible. The Captain was always pushing 
things. The result was that the pole train reached our fort about ten 
o'clock in the evening of February 11, 1865. As they were heralded as 
coming, Captain Murphy got his detail of men, which in fact amounted to 46 
men, exclusive of him and me, and when the train arrived it was ordered 
that they should stop two hours, rest and feed and water the mules, and 
then push right on. The train was scattered and strung out for several 
miles down the road, and, as the teams kept coming up, the same order was 
given to each of them. Such a volley of oaths and protestations I hardly 
ever heard before. These men had been coming night and day and were all 
used up, and the profanity was terrible, especially that of the wagon-
boss. His remarks had a sublimity that no unprofessional wagon-boss could 
hope to excel. He had a collection of compound adjectives that equalled 
anything I had ever heard. Nevertheless, at twelve o'clock at night the 
head of the wagon train and our squad of cavalry started west, and the 
teams fell in one by one, as they became fed, watered and hitched up, and 
we kept going until we came to where the first pole was out. As stated 
before, the whole matter being one of emergency, the lightest poles had 
been selected for transportation to Julesburg, and they were smaller in 
diameter than most of the poles which had been used on the line. We 
detailed the men by fours; "number four" held horses; numbers one and two 
had picks; and number three had a spade or shovel. Instead of digging 
holes to put the posts in, it was immediately discovered that the quickest 
way was to pull out the stump of the old pole and put the new pole in its 
place; so numbers one and two drove their picks into the stump at the 
ground, and number three put in his spade and they pried the stump out. 
Then the wagon came up and a telegraph pole was taken out, put into the 
vacancy, tamped down and filled in, In the mean time others of the company 
had moved on to the next stump, where four more were detailed, and so on, 
and in a short time the company was strung out a quarter of a mile "by 
fours" and as fast as a post was set, the order was, "Mount! Forward! 
Gallop! March!" and the four men went past all the other fours and seized 
on the first vacant stump. We had about six sets of fours running. We also 
had guards riding out. It was moonlight.

   During all of this time the teams were going along until they finally 
overtook and passed the head of the column and dropped a pole at each 
stump. With the train was a light ambulance wagon with a lot of wire and 
insulators and telegraph instruments. We held the teams occasionally, so 
as to have them equally unloaded, and that the mules might share their 
burdens equally. From the telegraph wagon the wire was uncoiled and a 
climber went up and fixed the insulator and set the wire. From time to 
time the wire was fastened to the wagon and stretched tight by the pull of 
the mules. A rear guard of two men, an advance guard of two men and a 
flank patrol of two men were all that was needed. It was arranged so that 
every man was hard at work doing something. We loaded onto the wagons the 
stumps we pulled, to be used as firewood. When morning came we stopped and 
got breakfast (February 12th), and rested our horses and ourselves for two 
hours; then we started on and worked all day. It was a hard, severe task, 
but every man seemed to be animated by a desire to get the job through 
with and get back to the post at Julesburg, so as to get into the 
expedition north, if one started. We did not let the teams get very far 
ahead of us, and from time to time we coralled them, so that if any attack 
might occur or any danger might appear, we could rally on the wagons. The 
artillery went along in the center, among the wagons. We worked all day, 
got the poles all in, strung up the wire and established communications 
with Julesburg, showing that the line was open to Omaha. We were now about 
twenty-five miles west of Julesburg, at a place called Buffalo Springs, 
and Indians, for the last two or three miles, had been seen in the hills 
south of us.

   From this place, Buffalo Springs, the telegraph line west was but 
little damaged, but still the line would not work to Denver. There was 
some fresh trouble. We got through with setting poles about 8 p.m., but 
there was a bright, beautiful moon. The day had been an exhausting one, 
because many of the pole-holes had to be deeply dug, and tamped down. The 
new poles in many instances were as big as the old one had been, and would 
not fit. We fried bacon and made hot slapjacks for supper, and every one 
ate heartily. We were a very tired lot of young men. Captain Murphy was 
the oldest man in the party. He had been quite active, and at night was 
thoroughly exhausted.

   A stray steer was grazing on the river-bottom, and we killed and 
skinned it that night, and with the pole stumps we boiled beef all night, 
with the guards to watch it. The wolves howled around us that night as if 
there were a convention. The moonlight and the swell of the meat kept them 
going in concerts all night. We slept until 6 a.m. (February 13th), and at 
8 a.m. we started west; occasionally a pole was down or out, and at places 
the wire was cut, but we made repairs with such rapidity that the train 
kept moving steadily on. We kept in constant touch by wire with Julesburg.

   Finally we reached Valley Station, 52 miles west of Julesburg; at that 
place we found we could talk over the wire with Denver, and the telegraph 
wire was restored. There we found some teams that were coming down in a 
train from Denver. They had been held up by the appearance of Indians in 
the hills, and had got into a sod ranch and were holding themselves in 
readiness. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when we got there. 
There was a large supply of corn in the stage station, in sacks. About 
twenty-five Indians made their appearance in the hills, and the position 
of the ranch was such that the artillery could not be used from the inside 
of it. Captain Murphy and I talked the matter over, and decided that the 
appearances were that the Indians were going to make an attack. We 
thereupon put every man to work and carried out the sacks of corn onto the 
prairie, where there was a good chance to put the artillery, and we made a 
large shelled-corn bastion. It would be bullet-proof as against the 
Indians, and we had two embrasures from which to fire the artillery. It 
did not take us over thirty minutes to put up this bastion. The Indians 
pranced around in the hills, but did not seem desirous of making an 
attack, and we stayed there until the sun had nearly set and our horses 
were rested, and then the question was, whether or not we had better go on 
down that night or wait until morning. Captain Murphy decided that we 
would go in the evening, as soon as our horses were rested; those 
civilians who were penned there determined to go with us.

   Just as the sun was about sinking, the Indians disappeared, and I got 
up on the bastion with my field-glass to see if I could see anything, and 
casting my eyes down the river, I saw a black speck which to me looked 
like a moving team. After watching it for a while, it slowing emerged into 
view, and sure enough, there was coming up the river a lone wagon, with 
two dark-colored horses, and two men walking, one on each side of the 
wagon. Not knowing what it could be, Captain Murphy sent a corporal and 
four men out towards the team to tell them to hurry in. After a while they 
came into camp. I wanted to talk with them and find out how it was that 
they were traveling around all alone, through that kind of danger, when to 
my surprise, I found that they were two Germans who could not speak 
English. We finally got a man out of the company who could speak German, 
and strange was the story which the Germans told. They said that they had 
just arrived at Omaha from Germany and were going west to the mines; that 
they wanted to make some money, and had concluded to haul a wagon-load of 
fresh oysters to Denver. They had put the rectangular tin cans of oysters 
in their wagons at Omaha, poured in water and froze the whole wagon-load 
into one solid lump. They had got all that their two mules could possibly 
haul, and covering it all up, started for Denver. They had been so afraid 
that they might be seen and robbed, that after they got past Fort Kearney 
they had gone down and hid near the river and then traveled all night; 
they had never seen any trouble nor heard of any trouble. They had made 
good long travels every night, and had hidden down by the river every day; 
and supposing everything was safe where they now were, they had just 
started on their evening trip. They had been hidden alongside of the 
river, about three miles below the place where we then were. They said 
they were afraid to travel in trains for fear they would be robbed. This 
was all told in German; they couldn't speak any English, and hence had not 
been told anything which they could understand.

   I thought I would see if they were telling the truth, so I dug into 
their ice-bank and found it as they had said, and I bought two quart cans 
of them for five dollars, one for Captain Murphy and one for myself. 
Several of the men bought cans. Sitting out on the corn bastion after 
sunset, Captain Murphy and I each ate a can of frozen oysters, as 
delightful and fresh as if they were just out of Chesapeake Bay. Under the 
circumstances, we did not feel like saying to those two Germans that they 
could not go any farther, and when we had our interpreters tell them about 
the Indians, they simply shook their heads, and said, "Es macht nichts 
aus" (it makes no difference). So on they went, and as they had each taken 
forty chances on their lives, I have always hoped that they sold their 
oysters for two dollars and a half a can, and if they did, they made a 
great deal of money.

   There was much objection and protest on the part of the men toward 
starting back. We had in forty hours built eight miles of telegraph, 
strung up twenty-one miles of down and damaged wire, and marched fifty-two 
miles. This was a lot of work to do in so short a time. Captain Murphy 
concluded to rescind his order, and to camp all night where we were, at 
Valley Station. This made the civilians angry, and they protested. They 
wanted to get on down the road, but we stayed in camp, ate boiled beef, 
drank quarts of hot coffee, and enjoyed our rest. Captain Murphy was used 
up. He was too well along in years to stand so much; he was resolute, but 
he had to succumb. During the night he was quite ill. His trouble was 
principally over-work.

   Many were the congratulations which we received for our quick work in 
putting up the line. The Denver papers and the Omaha papers gave us great 
commendations.

   We started back at 8 a.m., just as a train under escort arrived from 
the west with a squad of soldiers who were trying to overtake us, they 
having by wire found out our whereabouts. The soldiers (I think, Third 
Colorado Cavalry) were ordered to stop and garrison Valley Station, and to 
hold it so that the stage line could be reëstablished. We started on down 
to Julesburg with a great retinue of travelers. Murphy was being hauled in 
a wagon. The command fell to me. We marched carefully, solidly and slowly. 
We saw no Indians, not even a smoke signal. The weather in the morning 
changed to bad, and the wind began to blow from the north terrifically. It 
blew so hard we could not see ahead of us, and we rode with our capes over 
our heads and faces. Twenty miles down, we struck Moore's ranch, and 
having the stumps of some of the telegraph poles in our wagons, we camped 
for the night, and made fires. The weather turned quite cold, and it was 
zero weather. We saw no Indians during the whole day's march of twenty 
miles, but we marched solidly and carefully all day. Twenty miles was the 
best we could do for that day. We were thirty-two miles west of Julesburg. 
I am not now sure about it, but I believe the place was called Lillian 
Springs.

   The next morning when we got down to Buffalo Springs, which was twenty-
five miles west of Julesburg, we were overtaken by another detachment of 
cavalry from the west, with a convoy of stage coaches from the west. The 
soldiers were ordered to garrison Buffalo Springs and turn the coaches 
over to us, for us to guard to Julesburg. This opened up and completed the 
stage line again from Denver to Omaha, and thereafter the stages ran 
regularly. It was a bitter day going down to Julesburg, but every one did 
his best to make it cheerful.

   We arrived in Julesburg at 6 p.m., after a march of thirty-two miles. 
The wind blew hard all day and the weather was exceedingly disagreeable, 
and we went with our wagon-train and stages in a compact and solid column. 
When we got in I found a telegram for me to immediately come to Fort 
Kearney. I also found Colonel Livingston ready to start back to the east, 
and we were told of the proceedings which had taken place up on the North 
Platte while we were gone, which I will tell of in the next chapter.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ANOTHER EXPEDITION.--FIGHTING ON NORTH PLATTE.--THE INDIANS GET AWAY.--
COLONEL LIVINGSTON STARTS BACK.--I RETURN TO KEARNEY.--THE POKER GAME.--
ORDERLY TURNS UP.--DANCE AT COLUMBUS.--HUNTING PLUMB'S REGIMENT.--THE 
POSTOFFICE AT BEATRICE.--PRAIRIE-GRASS.--GALVANIZED YANKS.--GENERAL CONNER 
ASSUMES COMMAND.--DECLINED APPOINTMENT AS AIDE-DE-CAMP.--MARCH 30, 1865.--
STARTED FOR OMAHA.--ARRIVED AT OMAHA.--RICHMOND SURRENDERED.--TRIP TO 
LEAVENWORTH.--THE WAR ENDED.--LINCOLN ASSASSINATED.--LIEUTENANT-COLONEL 
HOYT.--TROOPS SENT WEST.--MADE CAPTAIN AND AIDE-DE-CAMP.--GENERAL 
GRENVILLE M. DODGE.  

   CONCURRENTLY with our telegraph repair expedition which went west under 
Captain Murphy, of which I have just spoken, another expedition was 
organized to go north, repair the line, open up communication with Salt 
Lake, and punish the Indians. In addition to getting in touch with Laramie 
and the garrisons on the "Salt Lake Trail," Colonel Livingston had 
determined to go over on the North Platte and see if he could get back 
some of the cattle from the Indians. When he got up to the North Platte he 
found a very peculiar condition of things. The Indians had got the cattle 
all across the river by sanding a track on the ice, the river being frozen 
solidly across. The Indians had to go slowly and it took a long time to 
get the cattle over. The moment that Colonel Livingston appeared in sight, 
the Indians, being on the north side, came charging over the river on the 
sanded track. Colonel Livingston's command was not near enough to the 
river to be able to command the track with his artillery, and the Indians 
came on over before he could get near enough. When it was seen that the 
Indians were going to come over and make a fight, the first thing which 
the Colonel did was very properly to corral his wagons and men and prepare 
to resist the attack, because if the cavalry should be deployed out the 
Indians could defeat them in short order. The Colonel occupied a spot 
where he thought he could deliver a good fight, and the Indians surrounded 
him, lying on the ground and in the gullies and shooting under cover, so 
that the fight was a very difficult and desultory one. Our soldiers got 
scarcely any opportunity of firing the artillery, but the cannon was 
sufficient to scare off the Indians from a charge upon the command; the 
Colonel could see other Indians across the river driving the cattle off, 
until he watched them drive plumb out of sight in the hills to the 
northeast. Several of the soldiers were killed, also several of the 
horses, and several of the Indians. The soldiers understood Indian 
fighting as well as the Indians did themselves, and were able to hold them 
off.

   During the night the Indians withdrew, and in the morning there was not 
an Indian to be seen; they had all gone up into the hills and struck 
northeast for the head of the Bluewater River, a most beautiful stream, 
the "Minne-to-wacca-pella" -- "Water-blue-river." So the Colonel returned 
to Julesburg, but there was one big feature of his trip: about two hundred 
head of the wildest of the cattle had got away from the Indians, and not 
having time to bother with them, the Indians had let them go and our boys 
gathered them up and brought them in. Colonel Livingston got into 
Julesburg just about as I did, on the evening of the 15th, and he 
proceeded to communicate by wire with General Mitchell.

   This was the last that I ever saw of Julesburg until more than forty 
years after. I visited the place in 1908, and tried to find where the post 
had been; nobody could tell me. I finally located it, and found a house 
standing on the site of the old stables. The house was occupied by renters 
who had no knowledge or tradition of the old post, although it was 
occupied by the regular army after we left it, and was one of the 
important posts of the frontier for a time. Thus does glory fade. Near it 
was a promising field of corn, growing well without irrigation, a thing 
impossible to conceive of when we were there. Across the river near 
Julesburg was a modern bridge.

   Colonel Livingston told me to get ready immediately to start with him 
on horseback, together with a small detail of well-mounted cavalry, down 
the Platte, leaving the balance of the command to return to their 
respective posts. The roads were now all opened up both ways to Denver and 
Salt Lake, and the telegraph working both ways, and the post of Julesburg 
relieved from siege; so the Colonel got ready to start east. I was 
exceedingly tired from the work that I had been doing of late, and from 
riding all that day thirty-two miles in the wind, and I was a little 
surprised when the Colonel said that he would start promptly at eight 
o'clock that night on horseback; but I got ready, and off we rode. We rode 
all night, halting in the morning for breakfast; we then rode all day in a 
most terrible windstorm, and arrived at Cottonwood Springs, a distance of 
one hundred miles, late at night on Feb. 16th, 1865, making the trip in a 
little over twenty-four hours.

   As this was also my last visit to Cottonwood Springs, until the year 
1908, I will briefly describe what I found on the latter visit. Nobody 
could tell me where the old fort was. The whole country was peopled by 
foreigners. I located MacDonald's ranch in the midst of a fine corn-field. 
I located the well by a depression where it had caved in. Beside it I 
plucked an ear of corn that would have looked well at a county fair. Upon 
the site of the old post a field of wheat had been harvested and was being 
stacked. Of eleven men working in and around the field a few of them could 
not speak English, and none of them knew anything about the military post 
or had any tradition of its existence. Up in the cañon, several miles, was 
a large horse ranch, but nobody was at home. Not a cedar tree was in 
sight. On the old parade-ground, which I could pick out by its location 
with the hills, I found a few of the trees which we had planted. Such a 
field of wheat, grown without irrigation, would have been impossible in 
1864. Not far off, in the junction of the Plattes, was the bright new city 
of "North Platte."

   Between the old site of the post at Cottonwood and the spot where Jack 
Morrow's Ranch was, there is now a National Cemetery, of recent date. In 
it are buried all of my men who lost their lives on the plains. Their 
bones have all been taken up from their original resting-places and all 
placed together under the trees where the sun is shining and the birds of 
summer singing; guarded by the great nation they fought for; unknown 
heroes, the vanguard of their race, they did their share, and they loved 
their country. If they could rise from their graves they would do their 
work over again if it were necessary. I went up to where Jack Morrow's 
ranch stood; I found near its site a house in which people were living in 
much comfort, surrounded with trees and smiling gardens; they were Swedes, 
they had never heard of Jack Morrow, and had lived there 18 years. The 
entire valley of the river was a mass of fine farms, and about all I could 
recognize in the landscape was the Sioux-Lookout. Pardon the digression; I 
now return to February 16, 1865.

   We slept four hours at Cottonwood. I met some of the officers of the 
post and they all said to me, "You will never see Omaha." I thought that 
was about true, as I was almost ready to drop from fatigue. After four 
hours of sleep, we started out before daylight, and rode all day and night 
until two o'clock a.m. of the 19th; making two hundred miles, in the dead 
of winter, through that country, which we had ridden from eight o'clock in 
the evening of the 15th to two o'clock in the morning of February 19th, 
1865. Colonel Livingston was as nearly used up as we were and we got into 
Kearney without any of the soldiers that we started with. From time to 
time their horses had given out and we had left them at the various posts. 
I had my big black horse, "Old Bill," and my Indian pony, which I rode 
alternately, and we made the two-hundred-mile ride on a run about all the 
way. I had averaged sixty miles a day for four days after leaving Lillian 
Springs. My horses were tired but uninjured. As we arrived at 2 p.m., I 
wanted to smoke a cigar before I went to sleep. I saw a light in the 
sutler's store, went there to get the cigar, and found a party of 
officers, all of whom I knew, engaged in a poker game. I was most 
enthusiastically received, and was asked to sit in the game, or, to use 
the language of the period, to "take some of the chicken pie." I do not 
like to tell these stories, but it is necessary to do so in order to 
depict the men and the times. It is due to history. Of course I sat in; it 
would not have done for me to do otherwise; an officer must never get 
tired, must never admit he is tired. He is judged and rated, and his 
usefulness considered, according to his durability. It was the best 
possible thing I could do, to raise myself in the esteem of those 
officers, to sit in the game. They knew the kind of work I had been on for 
a week, and not to be tired was a matter of admiration to them; under the 
circumstances I could not help "sitting in." I was, in fact, very tired, 
but I told them I felt gay and frisky and was just looking for a game. I 
would have given forty dollars for a chance to sleep, but I sat in, and 
when we quit at breakfast-time I had won $55.

   Then I slipped away and slept all day. War furnishes a great outlet for 
a superabundant energy.

   Returning now to the North Platte, I will briefly describe what took 
place. When the Cheyennes appeared before Julesburg on February 1st, and 
before the telegraph was destroyed, Laramie and the North Platte posts 
were all notified. The sudden destruction of the line caused them all 
alarm. Scouts came down from Mud Springs, saw what the trouble was, and, 
being unable to cope with the situation, returned and gave the alarm to 
the other posts. Soon afterwards, seeing an advanced scouting party of the 
Cheyennes, all the posts east of Scott's Bluffs retired west to Camp 
Mitchell at that place, and some cavalry from Laramie came down to Fort 
Mitchell to prevent it from being taken. When the Indians were crossing 
"Jules Stretch," the whole command from Camp Mitchell came down to oppose 
them, but were soon driven back with several killed; but this turned the 
Indians to the northeast, towards the head of the Bluewater river. These 
troops had been driven west before Colonel Livingston had come up with the 
Indians. Owing to loss of telegraph line they did not know of each other's 
movements, and could not make a junction. Between both parties, however, 
the telegraph line was finally restored through to Laramie and Salt Lake.

   Here at Fort Kearney, for the first time, I began to do duty as an aide-
de-camp; and, here for the first time in my journal, appears the name of 
General Grenville M. Dodge as commander of the Department. As stated 
heretofore, on December 31st, 1864, the Department had been in command of 
General Samuel R. Curtis, with whom I had served down South in the 
Invasion of Arkansas. Sometime between January 1, 1865, and the fifteenth 
of February, his place had been assigned to General Dodge. As I afterwards 
served as aide-de-camp for General Dodge, I will briefly refer to him. The 
General was born in Massachusetts, and was a graduate of a Vermont 
military academy at Norwich. He was at first Colonel of the Fourth Iowa 
Infantry. I had seen him being hauled away from the battle-field of Pea 
Ridge, all shot up. He recovered, was made Brigadier-General, and soon 
after on merit made a Major-General, and served with Sherman. He was one 
of the best and bravest, and in the Atlanta campaign was shot up again. He 
was one of the great generals of the war -- prompt, efficient and capable. 
He was not yet 34 years of age when General Grant assigned to him, 
sometime in January or February, 1865, the command of the very difficult 
task of looking after the West, and the Indians of the vast country then 
called "Kansas and the Territories." His home was Council Bluffs, Iowa. He 
was afterwards Chief Engineer of the Union Pacific Railroad, and his civil 
career was as illustrious as was his military career. He was a member of 
Congress shortly after the war, and was the one who read on the floor of 
the house the letter which our Major had written to Jeff. Davis, seeking 
employment in the Southern Army, of which I have spoken in a former 
chapter. General Dodge, in his 80th year, is still living at the time of 
the publication of this book.

   While I was at Fort Kearney my orderly turned up, the one who had been 
taking care of my horses theretofore, and I sent them by him down to 
Omaha, intending to go by the stage. General Mitchell was wiring me from 
time to time to make haste. I went down to Columbus on the stage and found 
the orderly -- he being the one who had lived with the Indians -- in a sad 
state of mind; he had gone on a spree, lost all of his own money and the 
money that I had given him to take care of the horses with, and he was 
tied up at a livery stable, unable to move. When the stage came down to 
Columbus, the Loup Fork was frozen over; there was a ford, but it looked 
quite dangerous. There were a couple of officers going down with me, and 
they were constantly telling me that I would "never see Omaha." The ford 
looked quite dangerous, and we all got out of the stage and walked on the 
ice, I saying to them that while I might not see Omaha, I did not want to 
get drowned under such unfavorable circumstances. When I got into 
Columbus, which was on the east side of the river, I got my horses and 
equipment all ready and determined to ride from there into Omaha. At 
Columbus I met my old regimental friend Lieut. E. K. Valentine, who was in 
later years Congressman from Nebraska.

   That night at Columbus, the post got up a big dance, they said in my 
favor; everybody was invited, and it was a great occasion. I hadn't been 
to many dances lately, and we kept up the waltz and the cotillion until it 
was daylight, and, getting my breakfast, I mounted my horse to start for 
Omaha. Just as I got ready to start I got a telegram to go back 
immediately to Fort Kearney. This puzzled me very much, but I turned 
around and rode my horses back 110 miles to Fort Kearney. Again a sort of 
irresistible feeling came over me that I would "never see Omaha" and as 
the times increased in number in which I had started for Omaha and been 
called back, the more I began to doubt whether I was superstitious or 
not, -- but back I went to Fort Kearney. I arrived in Fort Kearney on the 
24th, and found General Mitchell there with Lieut.-Colonel Baumer, of the 
First Nebraska Veteran Volunteer Cavalry. The General was having a 
conversation as to what matters were necessary in view of an approaching 
change in the command. On the evening of the 25th, General Mitchell sent 
for me and told me that he was hurrying troops forward as fast as 
possible, and that the Sixteenth Kansas Cavalry, of which Mr. Plumb, 
afterwards United States Senator, was then in temporary command, had 
started for Kearney, but could not be found nor heard from. General 
Mitchell directed me to start out towards Leavenworth, and where the roads 
divided to cross over from one to the other and ascertain where the 
regiment was. There was no telegraph line on this road. It started to rain 
about the time that I got ready to go, and with a poncho I rode all over 
the country inquiring for the regiment, until I got down into southeastern 
Nebraska, where, at a place called Pawnee City, a place away off from the 
traveled road, I found the Sixteenth Regiment, stuck deeply in the mud and 
unable to move. It seems that in coming up they had encountered high 
waters and bad weather, and their horses were not well shod, and some of 
them had their hoofs so worn that they were disabled, and Colonel Plumb 
had been scouring the country for horse-shoes. He had finally gathered a 
lot in and made up his mind to stop at Pawnee City and shoe up his 
regiment. For that purpose he had got all the blacksmiths and horseshoers 
in the country and was busily engaged in this work. Having communicated to 
Colonel Plumb the orders of General Mitchell, urging him forward, I set 
out to return to Fort Kearney.

   One incident I remember very plainly. I came to a place which was 
called Beatrice; there was one house there, and a blacksmith shop, and it 
was Sunday. I saw up on a post a board marked "Postoffice." Out of the 
house a family came and got into a large farm wagon, and, as I found out, 
were starting off somewhere to go to a church. I asked them if it was 
really a postoffice there, and they said it really was; so at my request 
they were courteous enough to wait until I could send a letter to my 
mother from that place, and I gave it to one of the people in the wagon, 
and it went through all right. It is the same town and place which now 
appears on the map as a very important city.

   I had ridden twenty miles without seeing a house, to Beatrice, thence 
to Blue Springs, a distance of thirty miles. At Blue Springs I stopped 
with an old gentleman who had been ten years a soldier in the regular 
army; they called him "Old Pap Tyler." At Pawnee City I stopped with a 
Mrs. Fry, and was told by her that they had a young and growing 
institution there, called "The Nemaha Valley Female Seminary." From Pawnee 
City I rode twenty-two miles south to Seneca, so as to get onto the 
traveled road again. Seneca was a mere hamlet, and there, for the first 
time, I saw patches of prairie-grass. Prairie-grass as we generally know 
it and as the early settlers found it, is in fact a domestic grass, moving 
steadily westward, and as I came into Seneca I saw patches of prairie-
grass growing around among the buffalo-grass; but the solid sheet of 
prairie-grass was considerably east of Seneca. Its invasion west was told 
me to be about four miles a year.

   From Seneca I started back to Fort Kearney, along with a captain and 
six lieutenants of the Third United States Volunteers. These "United 
States Volunteers," as they were called, were soldiers recruited from the 
military prison-pens at Chicago and Rock Island, and were made up of men 
taken from the Southern Confederacy who were willing to go West and swear 
allegiance to the United States on the condition that they would not be 
requested to go South and fight their own brethren. They wanted to get out 
of prison, were tired of the war, didn't want to go back into the service, 
did not want any more of the Southern Confederacy, did not want to be 
exchanged, and were willing to go into the United States service for the 
purpose of fighting the Indians. A detachment of these troops had gone up 
the road from Omaha, but I had not seen them. They were called "galvanized 
Yanks." These officers were all officers of undoubted courage and ability, 
who had been selected from among the capable sergeants of the State 
regiments, and I became much attached to this captain and six lieutenants 
before I got through to Fort Kearney, for I had served in the same army 
down South with some of them, though I had not known them. They were as 
intelligent and capable a lot of young men as you could hope to find; in 
fact, they were selected from the best, and averaged up much higher and 
better than the usual run of volunteer lieutenants.

   This trip down into the country was a very interesting one to me, and 
it took considerable time, but there is nothing to it worth going into 
details about. It was March 26th when I got back to Fort Kearney. General 
Mitchell then said to me, "Now, you will see Omaha."

   On arrival at Kearney, I found that troops were being hurried 
forward -- several regiments -- to the West. General P. Edward Conner was 
placed in command of the district. The application of General Mitchell to 
be sent South had been approved by President Lincoln, and he was ordered 
to turn over the district to his successor on arrival.

   On March 30, 1865, General Conner assumed command of the district, and 
I was detailed as his aide-decamp. This detail was without the consent of 
General Mitchell. I was in a good deal of a quandary; the premonition of 
which I have spoken so often, that I would "never see Omaha," had become a 
matter of interest and discussion to all the officers not only of my 
regiment, but along the line. It had been talked up so much for nearly 
three months, and discussed so freely, that everyone wanted to see how it 
would come out. I was beginning to feel a little bit superstitious myself, 
and now that General Conner had taken charge of the district and was said 
to be about to make his headquarters at Fort Laramie, it looked a good 
deal as if I might not see Omaha. In a discussion at headquarters in Fort 
Kearney on March 30th, 1865, I was asked what I was going to do. General 
Mitchell desired me to go with him. He was going down to take command at 
Fort Leavenworth, of the "District of Kansas," which extended south and 
took in the Indian Territory.

   I had thought my dream over a good deal, and there was so much of 
"premonition" stuff in the papers and magazines that I thought I had 
better come to a conclusion and see what there was to it. Being now about 
to go to Omaha, it would be considered an act of cowardice to take any 
step that would postpone the situation. On the other hand, I didn't feel 
like having the thing hanging over me and its being continuously 
discussed, and with perhaps a final eventuality to it. So, after 
considerable thought, I made up my mind that the first thing for me to do 
was to see whether I would ever see Omaha. So I begged off from the detail 
on General Conner's staff, and started on March 31st with General Mitchell 
for Omaha. Our horses were all rested, and as we had some baggage, a new 
six-mule wagon was detailed to haul the headquarters stuff, which included 
a small office desk and valise for me, and light camping equipment for the 
headquarters. There was General Mitchell, his Adjutant-General, John Pratt 
(the handsomest man in the army), two aide-de-camps, Lieutenant Schenck 
and myself; a medical director by the name of McClelland, and a couple of 
officers of the First Nebraska. The day was raw and cold; the wind blew 
from the west; our horses were all well shod, and we started out on a run 
and kept it up about all day and the next. When we got to Columbus, 
General Mitchell's observation to me was to be very careful and not get 
drowned at that point, because that was the only serious difficulty on our 
way. I got across the river the same as the rest did, and on we went.

   On the 4th of April, in the evening, we were arriving near Omaha, and 
the General said, "Now, nothing can happen to you except that your horse 
throws you off and breaks your neck." I said to him, "Things will have to 
happen now quite soon, and I will get onto my Indian pony and go on ahead 
and see what will take place." So on I went, pellmell, ahead of the party. 
As the city appeared in sight I became more interested; I soon reached the 
city limits and I said, I wonder if there is any technicality about 
this, -- will the city limits fill the prophecy?" So on I went at a good 
round speed, and finally was dashing down through the middle of the street 
into the bottoms and past where we had been camped a year and a half 
before. Ahead of me, in the heart of the city, I saw a big sign labeled, 
"Saloon." The load was off from my mind; I had ridden right into the very 
heart of Omaha; the superstition was a thing of the past. In a little 
while, along came General Mitchell and his staff. They saw me there on the 
curb waiting for them, and General Mitchell said, "You made it all right." 
I said, "Yes, and I will never believe in premonitions again." Then the 
General gravely said: "There is nothing in them, absolutely nothing. If a 
man believes in them they will make him a coward. The future is a sealed 
book, and anybody that thinks he knows anything about it or can find out 
anything about is badly mistaken." So we all went in and took a drink on 
it, each a good old-fashioned American cocktail, and everyone in the party 
said he would never put any faith in premonitions thereafter. We had 
scarcely had time to reach headquarters that evening when cannon began to 
boom. Local companies were firing salutes to celebrate the news from 
Virginia. Lee had abandoned Richmond, and Grant was in full pursuit. The 
War was ending.

   Here I ought to conclude my story, but I will briefly epitomize what 
followed. We waited for a steamboat, and after a few days we loaded up 
horses and baggage, and in an April snow-storm started down the river, and 
on the fifth day of our boat-ride arrived in Leavenworth, on April 13, 
1865, amid thunders of artillery celebrating the final surrenders. 
Everybody, every man, woman and child, was "hurrahing." The War was ended.

   The next day Lincoln was assassinated. The next day, by telegraph from 
the War Department, every officer was ordered to put crape on his sabre. 
The first officer I was introduced to on my arrival in Leavenworth was 
Lieutenant-Colonel Hoyt, who had been one of the attorneys defending John 
Brown at Harper's Ferry. I afterwards got well acquainted with him, and he 
told me all about Brown's trail.

   Very soon troops were rushed to the West, and the following were on 
duty there:

   Five regiments of "Galvanized Yanks," known as the First, Second, 
Third, Fifth, Sixth, United States Volunteer Infantry. Two regiments of 
Regular Infantry, viz.: The Thirteenth and the Eighteenth. Also, the Third 
California Infantry, Twelfth Kansas Infantry, and the Forty-eighth 
Wisconsin Infantry, being a total of ten regiments of infantry.

   Also the following cavalry regiments, viz.:

First and Second California.
First and Third Nebraska.
Twelfth, Thirteenth, and Fourteenth Missouri.
Fifth, Sixth, Ninth, Eleventh, Fifteenth, and Sixteenth Kansas.
First, Second, and Third Colorado.

   Also the ten following named cavalry regiments: Second United States 
Cavalry, First Michigan, First Nevada, Seventh Iowa, Sixth West Virginia, 
Eleventh Ohio, Twenty-first New York, Seventeenth Illinois, Third 
Massachusetts, Third Wisconsin. In all representing twenty-six cavalry 
regiments. There were also the Fourth United States Artillery and the 
Ninth Wisconsin Battery, together with twenty-six other guns stationed at 
the posts.

   Separate, and in addition to the foregoing, were the large number of 
troops south in the Indian Territory and north in Iowa, Minnesota and the 
Dakotas.

   In addition to this was the vast Western emigration by the hundred 
thousand of the soldiers of both armies, thirsting for land, gold and 
adventure. The Indian had to get out of the way. The lines of travel were 
soon garrisoned and guarded; the stage lines ran uninterruptedly. Soon the 
Union Pacific Railroad was built, and the Indian problem was solved.

   The Seventh Iowa Cavalry was continued in service, but our company 
never lost a man after the date of which I speak. Captain O'Brien resigned 
to get married, and I was commissioned Captain in his place.

   Here I was detailed as confidential aide-de-camp for Major-General 
Dodge, who, as stated, had been one of Sherman's division commanders, and 
my subsequent experience need not be related here, as it does not pertain 
to the Indian Campaigns. I had ridden on horseback, as a soldier, North 
and South, during the war, over ten thousand miles. The condition of 
Leavenworth at this time is shown by a contemporary newspaper article, 
which is as follows:

   "Russell, Majors & Waddell's transportation establishment, between the 
fort and the city, is the great feature of Leavenworth. Such acres of 
wagons! Such pyramids of extra axletrees! Such herds of oxen! Such 
regiments of drivers and other employes! No one who does not see can 
realize how vast a business this is, nor how immense are its outlays as 
well as its incomes! I presume this great firm has at this hour $2,000,000 
invested in stock, mainly oxen, mules and wagons. (They last year employed 
6,000 teamsters and worked 45,000 oxen.) Of course, they are capital 
fellows -- so are those at the fort -- but I protest against the doctrine 
that either army officers or army contractors, or both together, may have 
power to fasten slavery on a newly organized Territory (as has just been 
done in New Mexico) under the guise of letting the people of such 
Territories govern themselves. Yet this is just what 'Squatter
Sovereignty,' unmodified by law, amounts to."