Resting Before an Attack.
Resting Before an Attack.
What a transformation,—then unknown and unexplored,—no highways, no railroads, no civilization,—to-day the onward march of our race has left its imprint by railroads, beautiful farms, busy cities, busy factories, Christian civilization, education and the “little red school house.” But I am anticipating; turn back the leaves and we are again on the Knife river, and we snuff a battle, for the Indians are ahead in great numbers.
It was on July 28th, among the foothills of the mountains, that a large camp of Indians was found. In this camp were no less than one hundred and ten bands of hostile Sioux, and they meant business, for they had congregated here for the express purpose of cleaning out the white soldiers, and they felt confident they could do it.
The Indians, on their horses, were stripped for the fray, and began leisurely to ride in line of battle toward the white enemy. When within rifle shot, the soldiers opened fire, and instantly the scene was changed. The bands concentrated, and, uttering their war cries, they dashed at full speed on our lines, firing, and, like the wind, whirled to the rear, loading as they went, when they would again face the enemy, and, coming within gunshot, fire again.
They were so confident of success that they did not attempt to save their own camp, which was the objective point of the soldiers; and they did not realize their dangerous position until they found that their terrific onslaught on our lines did not in the least impede the progress of the troops.
Soon the artillery was brought up, and the shells were sent thick and fast among them. By this time they began to realize that retreat were the tactics now.
There were 1,600 tepees filled with women and children, with the usual supply of dogs,—not less than two dogs to a tepee, and such a stampede.
It was a grand sight in one sense and sad in another. To see this great, moving mass of 10,000 or 12,000 souls,with their camp paraphernalia, including dogs and ponies, rushing over the prairie; the fleeing multitude spread out as far as the eye could reach on either side, rushing on in mad haste, as though fleeing from the city of destruction. It was the sight of a lifetime, but sad to contemplate that the sins of some were being showered upon the heads of the innocent women and children.
The loss to the Indians in killed was estimated at 100 to 150; the wounded they carried off the field. The dead were buried in the night in large trenches, the earth leveled off, and the troops marched away.
The Indians were not satisfied with the result of this engagement; they naturally would not be. They claimed that the best of their young men were off hunting for our troops in another direction, and they should at once call them in and give battle again.
The last six days had been very exciting, and was a nervous strain on the soldiers. One hundred and seventy-five miles had been made, a battle of eight hours had been fought, and the camp of Indians destroyed.
The march to the west was resumed over the prairie, with the Knife Mountains to the north and the Black Hills to the south, looming up in the distance like great sentinels, standing to contest the approach of civilization and defying the elements of ages.
In the immediate front, off towards the horizon, was what seemed to be a level plain,—it was level, but for a little distance, and then broke to your view what might have inspired a Dante to write a more recent edition of Inferno; for, as far as the eye could reach, north and south and for forty miles to the west, the body of the earth had been rent and torn asunder, as though giant demons,in their infuriated defeat, had sought to disembowel the earth.
General Sully said of it: “It is hell with the fires put out.”
We are now in the Bad Lands, and it is Sunday,—the Lord’s day, and in such a region,—where devils had fought. White men’s eyes had probably never before seen this region, and the Indians were afraid of it; they looked upon this region as the abode of evil spirits, and that the great gorges and buttes and yawning chasms were but the product of their wrath.
The Sunday passed quietly until after noon, when a reconnoitering party returned and said they had been fired upon by Indians.
About five o’clock on this Sunday General Sully changed the position of the camp and went four miles farther up the river, in order to be in better position to prevent a surprise or repel an attack.
The Indians were interested observers, for while this move was being made 1,000 of them were quietly sitting on their horses on the surrounding hills, observing.
General Sully, being sick in his tent at this time, the command devolved upon Colonel Thomas, of the Eighth Minnesota, and to him he gave orders to “have everything ready to move at six o’clock in the morning, in perfect fighting order; put one of your most active field officers in charge of a strong advance guard, and you will meet them at the head of the ravine, and have the biggest Indian fight that ever will happen on this continent; and let me further say that under no circumstances must any man turn his back on a live Indian.”
On Monday morning, bright and early, on August 8th,1864, the columns were formed. The General was in an ambulance at the front, and in admiration looking up and down the lines of the soldiers who were so soon to engage the Indians in battle, gave vent to his feelings in words more expressive than elegant: “Those fellows can whip the devil and all his angels.”
General Sully himself was unable to go farther, but when he grasped Colonel Thomas, who was in immediate command, by the hand he said: “You must make some history to-day.”
“Forward!” and the column is marching out, and not a sound is there to indicate that its progress will be impeded, as we enter the narrow gorge, only wide enough for a wagon trail. Almost an hour passes in steadily climbing up the narrow and secluded way, and when near the head of the gulch, from the beautiful stillness of the morning the pandemonium of war broke loose.
The artillery advanced in a gallop, and, in position, soon commenced planting shells among the redskins. This was followed up by the steady advance of the dismounted men, who pressed their lines, and they commenced to fall back. The General, sick though he was, and in the ambulance, could not endure being there when the fight was going on, so he ordered up his horse and, mounting, rode to the front, but nature resisted, and he was obliged to dismount, which he did, and seating himself on a boulder, with his field glass took in the whole situation. Colonel Thomas, who was in command, hearing that the General was on the field, sought him out and said: “I am ready to advance, sir.”
The General, pointing his hand toward a range of hills, said: "Go ahead, you will find the camp beyond those buttes; hold your men well in hand, push the Indians;they will fight for their families; protect your flank, and I will protect the rear.”
The fight went on; the wounded were sent to the rear, and for twelve miles we drove the Indians from point to point, but darkness came on before their camp was reached.
In the bivouac at night the scene was a varied one. At the roll-call there were names not answered, for the unerring arrow and Indian bullet had done its work. At the next muster it would be necessary to mark after some name: “Killed in battle in the Bad Lands August 8th, 1864,” or, “died of wounds received from Indians in battle in the Bad Lands August 8th, 1864,” for there were 109 killed and wounded on this day.
The wounded received proper attention at once, and the other soldiers, well tired out with the day’s fighting and marching, were soundly sleeping and dreaming of home.
There were 8,000 warriors engaged in this battle, and as nearly as could be estimated they lost 350 killed and from 600 to 800 wounded. It was a bloody battle, and the field was named by the Indians Waps-chon-choka.
The Indians, after this decisive battle, broke up into small bands and went in every direction, so that the soldiers, as an army, could not well follow them.
The war had ended so far as the Indians were concerned, but there was another fight on hand. Bad water and lack of rations are not a happy condition of affairs, and the soldiers had to look this square in the face. And hot! The tongues of some of the men were so swelled from thirst and heat that they could not talk. The animals suffered equally with the men, and in numerous instances it became necessary to put them out of their misery by blowing out their brains.
And thus things went on from day to day until August 12th, when glad news came from one of the scouts, who came riding back and frantically waving something in his hands. It was simply a little chip of wood, and why should this create such unbounded joy among a lot of war-begrimed veterans? It was freshly cut and evidently came from the steamboat men, as it was borne down on the bosom of the cool waters of the longed-for Yellowstone.
The weary soldiers, thirsting and starving, viewed this little harbinger of plenty with delight, and their strength began to return as they increased their step in the march toward the river.
O, that beautiful river:—“The Nectar of the Gods.” How life-inspiring its fluid, as discipline was forgotten and joy and happy shouts took the place of misery in the command.
The thirst was slaked, and now for something to eat, for soldiers, poor mortals, get very hungry, and how often they longed for some good home-made bread and sugar and cream for coffee. And pies; well, our mouths used to fairly water for pies. But, on this especial occasion, almost anything would do, for the boys were awfully hungry, and the commissary was like “Old Mother Hubbard’s” cupboard—empty.
There were timber bottoms a little way down the river full of elk and black-tailed deer, so the Indians informed us.
A detail was made, and the hunters went out in search of game, and before night they returned with the evidence of their day’s hunt with them. They were like the spies sent out in Bible times, who came back laden with grapes, and reported that the country which they had explored was rich, and flowed with milk and honey.
So, too, our soldier-hunters said the bottom lands were alive with elk and deer; and, by the next night, the luscious ribs and steaks were sizzling in the blaze, and hunger was being appeased as well as the thirst had been.
The war being practically over, the several commands returned by various routes to the points from whence they came, and were at once ordered South to take their places in some of the other armies. The campaigns of 1862, ’63 and ’64 were successfully carried out, and we will recapitulate our desires, our journeyings, our hopes and our fears and our rejoicings in another chapter, and bid you adieu.
Examining the Colors After the Campaign.
Examining the Colors After the Campaign.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CONCLUSION.
In writing this narrative my mind has been refreshed and incidents and the names of persons almost forgotten come to me—they press on my memory.
I am able to recall many, but to specify them would unduly lengthen this book. There was one important character, however, whom I had quite forgotten at the proper time, and in this concluding chapter must make mention of him.
Pierre Bottineau came originally from the Selkirk settlement,and in 1837 made a claim near St. Anthony Falls.
I was with him upon the plains of Dakota in 1857, and in his way he was a remarkable man. On one occasion the party got lost in a furious storm and we knew that war parties of Chippewas were roaming over the prairie and it was not any way too healthy to be in the region we supposed we were wandering in. We halted to hold a council and Pierre said: “As soon as the stars come out I can locate.” So we waited and waited for the storm to pass over. The night was pitchy dark, but in time the stars came, when Pierre laid flat down on the ground, face up, and for perhaps half an hour surveyed the heavens and located our wandering feet. We were soon on the right trail for our camp, which was forty or fifty miles away.
Pierre was one of General Sibley’s principal scouts during the several campaigns against the Indians in 1862 and 1863. He died some years ago, and speaking of his death reminds me of others prominent in these military operations who have gone beyond the river.
The two generals, Sibley and Sully, are gone, and of the field and staff, I can recall Colonel John T. Averill, of the Sixth Minnesota, who was, after the war, member of Congress. Adjutant Snow and Quartermasters Carver and Gilbert, Colonels Stephen Miller and Wm. R. Marshall, both honored by Minnesota by electing them to chief executive—they, with Lieut. Colonel Bradley and all of the Seventh; Colonel Robert N. McLaren, of the Second Cavalry, and Major Hatch, of the battalion bearing his name, and Captain John Jones, of the famous battery. These are among some of the chiefs who have been called.
Among the line of officers and the rank and file, itwould be a mighty host, and it saddens my heart when I think of them, so I will desist and conclude by reminding you of the invitation extended and briefly recapitulate our journeyings.
READER: The invitation extended to you to accompany us on a military expedition into the Indian country has been accepted. It was under exciting circumstances, when the whole country was surcharged with alarm, and for good cause.
The Indians, cruel, relentless, revengeful, and with determination, were murdering innocent men, women and children, and but for the friendly offices of a faithful few, whose hearts were whiter than their skins, the death list and list of horrors would have been far greater; and it is for these few we speak when we say there are good Indians other than dead ones; and Minnesota could not do a more appropriate thing to-day than erect a monument to the memory of Old Betz, Other Day, Chaska and others, who risked their lives to save their white friends from the tomahawk of their more vengeful brethren, and who did so much to alleviate the sufferings and to relieve the anxiety of the captive prisoners.
You went with us to besieged New Ulm and Fort Ridgely; helped bury the dead at Redwood; marched with us and went into camp and endured the thirty-six hours of anxiety and suffering at Birch Coolie; helped bury the dead and care for the wounded there; returned with us to Fort Ridgely; took part in the battle at Wood Lake, where the Indians were defeated; shared our joys when we liberated the women at Camp Release; helped arrest, shackle and guard the Indians; witnessed the execution of thirty-eightat Mankato; marched across with the “Moscow Expedition”; rendezvoused with us at Camp Pope in 1863; marched and fought Indians with us at Big Mound, Dead Buffalo Lake, Stony Lake and the Missouri River. You mingled your tears with ours over Beaver’s and Miller’s graves, as we left them in their loneliness on the bank of the river; participated in and rejoiced with us all the way on our return, took part in the campaign of 1864, and now, before bidding you adieu, one question: Are you satisfied?
THE END.
Transcriber NoteIllustrations moved so as to not split paragraphs. Quotation usage in quoted letters was standardized.
Transcriber Note
Illustrations moved so as to not split paragraphs. Quotation usage in quoted letters was standardized.