The Life of Hon. William F. Cody Part 30

At this camp I met many old friends, among whom was Colonel Royal, who had received his promotion to the Lieutenant Colonelcy of the Third Cavalry. He introduced me to General Crook, whom I had never met before, but of whom I had often heard. He also introduced me to the General's chief guide, Frank Grouard, a half breed, who had lived six years with Sitting Bull, and knew the country thoroughly.

We remained in this camp only one day, and then the whole troop pulled out for the Tongue river, leaving our wagons behind, but taking with us a large pack train. We marched down the Tongue river for two days, thence in a westerly direction over to the Rosebud, where we struck the main Indian trail, leading down this stream. From the size of the trail, which appeared to be about four days old, we estimated that there must have been in the neighborhood of seven thousand Indians who had made the broad trail.

At this point we were overtaken by Jack Crawford, familiarly known as "Captain Jack, the Poet Scout of the Black Hills," and right here I will insert the following lines, written by him, just after the "Custer Ma.s.sacre," upon receiving from me the following dispatch:

"Jack, old boy, have you heard of the death of Custer?"

CUSTER'S DEATH.

Did I hear the news from Custer?

Well, I reckon I did, old pard; It came like a streak of lightnin', And, you bet, it hit me hard.

I ain't no hand to blubber, And the briny ain't run for years; But chalk me down for a lubber, If I didn't shed regular tears.

What for? Now look you here, Bill, You're a bully boy, that's true; As good as e'er wore buckskin, Or fought with the boys in blue; But I'll bet my bottom dollar Ye had no trouble to muster A tear, or perhaps a hundred, At the news of the death of Custer.

He always thought well of you, pard, And had it been heaven's will, In a few more days you'd met him, And he'd welcome his old scout Bill.

For if ye remember at Hat Creek, I met ye with General Carr; We talked of the brave young Custer, And recounted his deeds of war.

But little we knew even then, pard, (And that's just two weeks ago), How little we dreamed of disaster, Or that he had met the foe-- That the fearless, reckless hero, So loved by the whole frontier, Had died on the field of battle In this, our centennial year.

I served with him in the army, In the darkest days of the war: And I reckon ye know his record, For he was our guiding star; And the boys who gathered round him To charge in the early morn, War just like the brave who perished With him on the Little Horn.

And where is the satisfaction, And how will the boys get square?

By giving the reds more rifles?

Invite them to take more hair?

We want no scouts, no trappers, Nor men who know the frontier; Phil, old boy, you're mistaken, _We must have the volunteer_.

Never mind that two hundred thousand But give us a hundred instead; Send five thousand men towards Reno, And soon we won't leave a red.

It will save Uncle Sam lots of money, In fortress we need not invest, Jest wollup the devils this summer, And the miners will do all the rest.

The Black Hills are filled with miners, The Big Horn will soon be as full, And which will show the most danger To Crazy Horse and old Sitting Bull A band of ten thousand frontier men, Or a couple of forts with a few Of the boys in the East now enlisting-- Friend Cody, I leave it with you.

They talk of peace with these demons By feeding and clothing them well: I'd as soon think an angel from Heaven Would reign with contentment in H--l

And one day the Quakers will answer Before the great Judge of us all, For the death of daring young Custer And the boys who round him did fall.

Perhaps I am judging them harshly, But I mean what I'm telling ye, pard; I'm letting them down mighty easy, Perhaps they may think it is hard.

But I tell you the day is approaching-- The boys are beginning to muster-- That day of the great retribution, The day of revenge for our Custer.

And I will be with you, friend Cody, My weight will go in with the boys; I shared all their hardships last winter, I shared all their sorrows and joys; Tell them I'm coming, friend William, I trust I will meet you ere long; Regards to the boys in the mountains; Yours, ever; in friendship still strong.

Jack was a new man in the country, but evidently had plenty of nerve and pluck, as he had brought dispatches from Fort Fetterman, a distance of 300 miles through a dangerous Indian country. The dispatches were for General Crook, and notified him that General Terry was to operate with a large command south of the Yellowstone, and that the two commands would probably consolidate somewhere on the Rosebud.

Jack at once hunted me up and gave me a letter from General Sheridan, informing me that he had appointed him (Jack) as one of the scouts.

While we were conversing, Jack informed me that he had brought me a present from Colonel Jones of Cheyenne, and that he had it in his saddle-pockets. Asking the nature of the gift, he replied that it was only a bottle of good whiskey.

I placed my hand over his mouth and told him to keep still, and not to whisper it even to the winds, for there were too many dry men around us; and only when alone with him did I dare to have him take the treasure from his saddle-pockets.

In this connection I may remark that Jack Crawford is the only man I have ever known that could have brought that bottle of whiskey through without _accident_ befalling it, for he is one of the very few teetotal scouts I ever met.

Not wishing to have a game of "whiskey _solitaire_," I invited General Carr to sample the bottle with me. We soon found a secluded spot, and dismounting, we thought we were going to have a nice little drink all by ourselves, when who should ride up but Mr. Lathrop, the Reporter of the a.s.sociated Press of the Pacific slope--to whom we had given the name of the "Death Rattler,"--and who was also known in San Francisco as "the man with the iron jaw," he having, with the true nose of a Reporter, smelt the whiskey from afar off, and had come to "interview" it. He was a good fellow withal, and we were glad to have him join us.

Now to resume: For two or three days we pushed on, but we did not seem to gain much on the Indians, as they were evidently making about the same marches that we were. On the fourth or fifth morning of our pursuit, I rode ahead of the command about ten miles, and mounting a hill I scanned the country far and wide with my field gla.s.s, and discovered an immense column of dust rising about ten miles further down the creek, and soon I noticed a body of men marching towards me, that at first I believed to be the Indians of whom we were in pursuit; but subsequently they proved to be General Terry's command. I sent back word to that effect to General Crook, by a scout who had accompanied me, but after he had departed I observed a band of Indians on the opposite side of the creek, and also another party directly in front of me. This led me to believe that I had made a mistake.

But shortly afterwards my attention was attracted by the appearance of a body of soldiers, who were forming into a skirmish line, and then I became convinced that it was General Terry's command after all, and that the red-skins whom I had seen were some of his friendly Indian scouts, who had mistaken me for a Sioux, and fled back to their command terribly excited, shouting, "The Sioux are coming!"

General Terry at once came to the post, and ordered the Seventh Cavalry to form line of battle across the Rosebud; he also ordered up his artillery and had them prepare for action, doubtless dreading another "Custer ma.s.sacre." I afterwards learned the Indians had seen the dust raised by General Crook's forces, and had reported that the Sioux were coming.

These manoeuvres I witnessed from my position with considerable amus.e.m.e.nt, thinking the command must be badly demoralized, when one man could cause a whole army to form line of battle and prepare for action.

Having enjoyed the situation to my heart's content, I galloped down towards the skirmish line, waving my hat and when within about one hundred yards of the troops, Colonel Weir, of the Seventh Cavalry, galloped out and met me. He recognized me at once, and accompanied me inside the line; then he sang out, "Boys, here's Buffalo Bill. Some of you old soldiers know him; give him a cheer!" Thereupon the regiment gave three rousing cheers, and it was followed up all along the line.

Colonel Weir presented me to General Terry, and in answer to his questions I informed him that the alarm of Indians which had been given was a false one, as the dust seen by his scouts was caused by General Crook's troops. General Terry thereupon rode forward to meet General Crook, and I accompanied him at his request. That night both commands went into camp on the Rosebud. General Terry had his wagon train with him, and everything to make life comfortable on an Indian campaign. He had large wall tents and portable beds to sleep in, and large hospital tents for dining-rooms. His camp looked very comfortable and attractive, and presented a great contrast to that of General Crook, who had for his headquarters only one small fly tent; and whose cooking utensils consisted of a quart cup--in which he made his coffee himself--and a stick, upon which he broiled his bacon. When I compared the two camps, I came to the conclusion that General Crook was an Indian fighter; for it was evident that he had learned that, to follow and fight Indians, a body of men must travel lightly and not be detained by a wagon train or heavy luggage of any kind.

That evening General Terry ordered General Miles to take his regiment, the Fifth Infantry, and return by a forced march to the Yellowstone, and proceed down that river by steamboat to the mouth of Powder river, to intercept the Indians, in case they attempted to cross the Yellowstone. General Mills made a forced march that night of thirty-five miles, which was splendid traveling for an infantry regiment through a mountainous country.

Generals Crook and Terry spent that evening and the next day in council, and on the following morning both commands moved out on the Indian trail.

Although General Terry was the senior officer, he did not a.s.sume command of both expeditions, but left General Crook in command of his own troops, although they operated together. We crossed the Tongue river to Powder river, and proceeded down the latter stream to a point twenty miles from its junction with the Yellowstone, where the Indian trail turned to the southeast in the direction of the Black Hills. The two commands now being nearly out of supplies, the trail was abandoned, and the troops kept on down Powder river to its confluence with the Yellowstone, and remained there several days. Here we met General Mills, who reported that no Indians had as yet crossed the Yellowstone. Several steamboats soon arrived with a large quant.i.ty of supplies, and once more the "Boys in Blue" were made happy.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

DANGEROUS WORK.

One evening while we were in camp on the Yellowstone at the mouth of Powder river, I was informed that the commanding officers had selected Louis Richard, a half breed, and myself to accompany General Mills on a scouting expedition on the steamer Far West, down the Yellowstone as far as Glendive Creek. We were to ride on the pilot house and keep a sharp lookout on both sides of the river for Indian trails that might have crossed the stream. The idea of scouting on a steamboat was indeed a novel one to me, and I antic.i.p.ated a pleasant trip.

At daylight next morning we reported on board the steamer to General Mills, who had with him four or five companies of his regiment. We were somewhat surprised when he asked us where our horses were, as we had not supposed that horses would be needed if the scouting was to be done on the steamer. He said we might need them before we got back, and thereupon we had the animals brought on board. In a few minutes we were booming down the river, at the rate of about twenty miles an hour.

The steamer Far West was commanded by Captain Grant Marsh, whom I found to be a "brick." I had often heard of him, for he was and is yet one of the best known river captains in the country. He it was who, with his steamer the Far West, transported the wounded men from the battle of the Little Big Horn to Fort Abraham Lincoln on the Missouri river, and on that trip he made the fastest steamboat time on record. He was a skillful and experienced pilot, handling his boat with remarkable dexterity.

While Richard and myself were at our stations on the pilot house, the steamer with a full head of steam went flying past islands, around bends, over sand bars, at a rate that was exhilarating. Presently I thought I could see horses grazing in a distant bend of the river and I reported the fact to General Mills, who asked Captain Marsh if he could land the boat near a large tree which he pointed out to him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SCOUTING ON A STEAMBOAT.]

"Yes, sir; I can land her there, and make her climb the tree if necessary," said he.

On reaching the spot designated, General Mills ordered two companies ash.o.r.e, while Richard and myself were ordered to take our horses off the boat and push out as rapidly as possible to see if there were Indians in the vicinity. While we were getting ash.o.r.e, Captain Marsh remarked that if there was only a good heavy dew on the gra.s.s he would shoot the steamer ash.o.r.e and take us on the scout without the trouble of leaving the boat.

It was a false alarm, however, as the objects we had seen proved to be Indian graves. Quite a large number of braves who had probably been killed in some battle, had been buried on scaffolds, according to the Indian custom, and some of their clothing had been torn loose from the bodies by the wolves and was waving in the air.

On arriving at Glendive Creek we found that Colonel Rice and his company of the Fifth Infantry, who had been sent there by General Mills, had built quite a good little fort with their trowel-bayonets--a weapon which Colonel Rice was the inventor of, and which is, by the way, a very useful implement of war, as it can be used for a shovel in throwing up intrenchments and can be profitably utilized in several other ways. On the day previous to our arrival, Colonel Rice had a fight with a party of Indians, and had killed two or three of them at long range with his Rodman cannon.

The Far West was to remain at Glendive over night, and General Mills wished to send dispatches back to General Terry at once. At his request I took the dispatches and rode seventy-five miles that night through the bad lands of the Yellowstone, and reached General Terry's camp next morning, after having nearly broken my neck a dozen times or more.

There being but little prospect of any more fighting, I determined to go East as soon as possible to organize a new "Dramatic Combination," and have a new drama written for me, based upon the Sioux war. This I knew would be a paying investment as the Sioux campaign had excited considerable interest. So I started down the river on the steamer Yellowstone _en route_ to Fort Beauford. On the same morning Generals Terry and Crook pulled out for Powder river, to take up the old Indian trail which we had recently left.