Three Years on the Plains Part 12

On the morning of the 4th May, 1870, there was a desperate fight with two companies of the 2d United States Cavalry, under Major D. S. Gordon and Lieutenant C. B. Stambaugh, a G.o.d-child of General Sherman. The Indians had committed some outrages, in return for which a party of miners killed a chief named Black Bear, his squaw, and eleven other Indians, Arapahoes.

When the princ.i.p.al chief of the Arapahoes heard of the fate of Black Bear and his party, he was very angry, and called together three hundred warriors (the tribe only numbering about fifteen hundred souls), and marched for Atlantic City, as it is called (a small town in the Wind River valley). Two companies of cavalry camped near the place just before the Arapahoe warriors appeared. A young man named Bennett saw them first, as he was driving his mules from the pasture. The Indians at once surrounded him and marched for the town, to kill him in sight of the village, where the troops were, but not known to the Indians. Bennett soon saw they were taking him towards a gulch close by the village where Gordon and Stambaugh were camped.

On coming up to the top of the hill, the camp was in full view, and only a few hundred yards away.

Bennett shouted at once for help, and, putting out as hard as he could, soon got into camp safe and sound. The sight of the military astonished the Indians so that they did not try to recapture Bennett, but made good time in every direction to escape. The soldiers were just getting up for "_reveille_," when the guard saw Bennett coming with the Indians, they driving and whipping him with their bows. The shout rang out, "Indians! Indians!" and at once they opened fire, officers and soldiers tumbling out of their beds. Some had on their drawers only,--some in one stocking, and many without boots,--all seized their arms, and rushing to the picket lines, unhitched their horses, jumped on with no time to saddle, and without hats galloped over the hills in pursuit of the flying Indians. Learning that some cattle were run off near the town, some of the soldiers galloped through the streets and hallooing "Indians!"--a cry the most terrible of all alarms along the border,--soon brought every man to his feet, and gun in hand, rush out to meet the foe. Soon these half-naked warriors had cleared the hills of the red men, and strolling home as the sun rose over the bluffs, when a horseman came into Major Gordon's camp with the news that "Miner's Delight" camp was attacked, and the teams of Mr. Fleming, who was hauling hay for the government. Major Gordon taking Lieutenant Stambaugh, Sergeant Brown, and nine privates (all the soldiers in the camp), and leaving orders for the rest to follow as fast as they came in, they set off for the hay-field, distant about eight miles. There they saw none, as the Indians had left, but striking their trail, went on as fast as possible. A storm had been gathering all the morning, and soon as they had gone six miles, it burst upon them with terrible fury, completely covering up all traces of the enemy. The major thinking it useless to follow further, set out to return to the post; but he had not gone far before he encountered a lot of about sixty Indians. The snow and sleet was so blinding at the time, that he did not see them until he came close upon them. A charge at once was ordered, and the troops dashed forward, scattering the Indians in every direction.

Unfortunately, however, in the attack Lieutenant Stambaugh received a ball from an Indian's pistol, and Sergeant Brown had his jaw broken by another shot. Lieutenant S----, though wounded, was held on to his horse by Major Gordon, until surrounded by an immense crowd of desperate warriors, when Gordon told Stambaugh, "For G.o.d's sake, hold on to the mane of your horse, as I have to shoot!"

Lieutenant S---- fell off soon after, valiantly fighting. He was shot through the head sideways,--from the throat up through his brain,--through the chest, arms, and hands. He was brave to a fault, and the Indians probably took him for a "brave" white chief of high rank.

Seeing these two men fall from their horses, and that few soldiers were there, the Indians rallied and charged them furiously. A severe fight followed over the body of Stambaugh, the savages trying to capture and scalp it, and the soldiers defending it n.o.bly. Six Indians were killed and two soldiers wounded. Soon the Indians retreated, leaving their wounded and dead with the soldiers. The fight lasted about two hours.

All then became quiet, and Major Gordon descended the ridge,--a strong position,--and carrying the body of Stambaugh a piece, hid it away in some bushes. Expecting the Indians would attack him on the way, he set out for camp, the Indians having gone that way. He saw no more of them, however. Late at night with his men he reached Atlantic City, they having eaten nothing since the day before.

Strange it was, the reinforcements he had ordered did not reach him, and none knew where they were. Of course all the miners there were greatly excited; the events of the day were talked over, rockets thrown up, and fires kept burning on the hills as beacons for a guide to the soldiers still out; but before daylight they all came in, after having lost their way in the storm while searching for Major Gordon and his party.

Early next morning, Lieutenant Dinwiddie took a strong detachment of troops and twenty citizens and went out to the scene of battle, and taking up the body of young Stambaugh, marched slowly back on their sad journey with the n.o.ble brave fellow to the camp, which should know him no more!

INDIAN ATTACK ON THE STAGE-COACH GOING TO DENVER--REV. MR. FULLER'S ACCOUNT OF TWO ATTEMPTS UPON HIS LIFE.

The following letter tells its own story. Moreover, it is a truthful narrative, and shows to the young that a Christian man is a bold man to meet danger, knowing that G.o.d helps us, while we use all proper means of safety to help ourselves.

PITTSBURG, May 30th, 1870.

REV. E. B. TUTTLE, Cheyenne, Wyoming Ter.

REV. AND DEAR SIR,--I will try to give you a brief account of my adventure with the Indians, in answer to your request. It was on the 1st day of June, 1867, the same year that the Right Reverend Bishop Tuttle went out to his jurisdiction (whom I met a few days after the adventure at the North Platte Station). The scene of the adventure was Fairview Station, which was a deserted ranch about ten miles east of "Fort Wicked," or G.o.dfrey's ranch. The station house had been burned, and the high adobe walls with an open front entrance, facing the road, were left standing. About half-past two P.M. we stopped at "G.o.dfrey's" for a change of horses and refreshments. I was the only pa.s.senger, and as we started on, the company consisted of the driver, myself inside the coach, and two hors.e.m.e.n, "stock leaders" (employed by the stage company to transfer stock from one point to another), four in all. Unsuspectingly, we went straight into the Indian's trap. It was about four P.M. I sat on the front seat with my back to the driver, the windows being down. The first thing that caught my attention was the discharge of a number of rifles, some of the b.a.l.l.s crashing through the sides of the coach.

The Indians were well armed with rifles, bows and arrows, and were all mounted. Instantly I seized my revolver (a small six-shooter), and made ready to defend myself. I saw the two hors.e.m.e.n wheel their horses and start back towards "G.o.dfrey's" Station. They were just a little behind the coach. The driver also yelled at his horses and gave them a short turn, for the same purpose, no doubt. While we were turning round, a tall Indian rode up close to the coach-window and looked in, and as he did so I looked out; our faces met only about six feet apart. He had a rifle in one hand; I saw him drop his rein and grasp his gun with both hands. I heard the click of the trigger. I could easily have shot him, having my revolver in my hand, but I did not,--why I do not know. It was well that I did not, as it proved. I dropped under the coach-window to avoid his fire, if possible. He fired and rode on quickly ahead, his shot being delivered either at the driver or myself, I know not which.

The horses and coach were now turned about and faced towards "G.o.dfrey's," and were running as only thoroughly frightened horses will run. They were large, powerful animals, four in number. The Indians had meantime divided themselves into two bodies. (There were about thirty of them in all, of the Cheyenne tribe. I will shortly state how they were numbered.) One party starting in pursuit of the hors.e.m.e.n, and the other remaining with the coach to take it.

The situation was most critical. I soon saw that the horses did not keep the road, but turned out of it towards the Platte River (the river and the road run parallel about half a mile apart, as you probably know), and I knew that the _driver was not guiding them_!

Putting my revolver in my side-pocket, I opened the door and, taking hold of the railing above, looked first to see if the driver was indeed gone. He was not there! I did not turn back; to stay inside was sure death. If there was any chance of escape, it was from the outside. I sprang out to the driver's seat above, but judge of my dismay to find the _reins on the ground_! I intended to get control of them. I knew not what to do, but had an idea at first of jumping to the ground to get the reins. While standing there thinking how to manage to get the reins, I was the only mark for the Indians, and was fired at a number of times. Such was the situation, standing alone on the coach-box,--the Indians before and behind endeavoring to shoot me and to stop the coach,--and yet I escaped. I have yet the coat, with a bullet-hole in the sleeve, which I had on. My escape was in this wise: I saw that the reins might be reached from the headstalls of the wheel-horses. I therefore sprang down on to the tongue of the coach to get them, but just then the horses had reached a slough about two rods wide and as many feet deep, with a sharp bank on either side. They did not stop, but plunged into and across it. I fell fortunately over the nigh horse's back, just clearing the wheels. The horses and coach went on and I was left in the slough. That fall to me at the time appeared sure death. I expected to be killed instantly. But, sooner than I can tell it, I was upon my feet upon the bank, my revolver in my hand, determined not to be taken alive; for well enough I knew what that would end in. To my astonishment, the Indians did not stop to give me a shot even; being under a full run, they barely glanced at me as they pa.s.sed in pursuit of the coach. I saw the reason of this. I was on foot, and between me and "G.o.dfrey's" was another body of Indians. They were all mounted and armed; I could not run away; I was in a vice apparently.

I looked towards the river, and observing some islands in it, my plan was instantly formed. If I could only reach the river, I would swim out and get behind one of the islands. And the river being high and turbid, with a quicksand bottom, I did not believe they would venture to come after me. (I had learned to swim when a boy, and that now was my means of salvation.) I started for the river as soon as the last Indian had pa.s.sed me, "double quick," but as I started, I glanced towards the west, and, to my dismay, saw the other party coming back at a distance of four or five hundred rods from me, and I had at least two hundred rods to make to reach the river. They had got through with their chase of the two men. They had killed one of them and also his horse (I buried his body the next day). The other man being mounted on a trained racer, as I afterwards learned, managed by hard running to escape and reach the station.

At a certain angle bearing back towards "G.o.dfrey's," I started for the river, and the Indians turned to run in between me and the river. But providence interposed again. Within one minute from the time of my fall, the Indians stopped the coach, shooting one of the horses to do it; and this drew the attention of the other party away from me to the coach, being drawn (I suppose) by motives of plunder on seeing the coach stopped. I have since learned that they do not divide the plunder in any civilized way, but what an Indian gets his hands on is his. But for this circ.u.mstance, they must have got between me and the river. Finding that I had actually gained the river-bank, I determined not to go in at once, but the rather to get as far away as possible, while the Indians were engaged in plundering the coach, knowing it would take them some minutes to do that. I had no hope of running away, but slipping off my boots, I began a rapid walk up the river-bank, all the while glancing back at the Indians, expecting momentarily that they would start for me.

Thus I got nearly a mile away, when I noticed two men in the road, a little ahead of me. I stopped as soon as I saw them, feeling sure that they were Indians who had been sent to that point to prevent my escape. As I stopped, they made signs for me to come to them; but this I took to be a decoy, under a pretense of friendship, to get me away from the river. Instantly divesting myself of my outer clothing, I plunged in, seeing them start for me as I did so, at a full run. There were no islands there, and to get away, I must make the other side. The water was very cold, the current strong, and I soon became chilled. I found my strength going fast, and gave up my last hope of escape. I would have gone under but for another interposition of Providence. I drifted on to a _sand bar_, and stopping there, I expected to die. I did not wait long. In a brief time the two men had reached the river-bank opposite me, and judge of my joy, dear sir, to see the uniform of United States cavalry soldiers!

They had been sent out (from Fort Morgan) two days previous to search for some deserters. They happened to come upon the ground just then, else I should not be writing you this account to-day.

They saw the whole affray from the outset, but did not dare to attack. They counted the Indians and said there were about thirty of them. Now, when I started for the river, after the fall, they agreed to a.s.sist me if they could. Fortunately I did not go in immediately on reaching the river, but went towards them without knowing of their presence. When I went into the river finally, they understood that I mistook them for Indians, and made a dash to save me. G.o.d bless them! In doing that they put themselves in danger. I saw this and spoke of it, but they said they intended to give the "red devils" to understand thus that they were supported by others.

Their strategy had precisely that effect. I looked towards the Indians, and they were making off in the other direction towards "the bluffs," as fast as they could go. We went safely back to "G.o.dfrey's," one of the soldiers kindly giving me his horse to ride. I wish it were in my power to reward in some substantial way these n.o.ble young men. After saluting me from the river-bank, I swam and waded back to the sh.o.r.e. It was with difficulty that I could stand when I reached it. My coat was stained with patches of blood. The soldiers at first were sure that I was wounded, but strange to say, I was not hurt. The blood was from the driver, and got upon my coat from the coach-box.

I lost my baggage, several hundred dollars of goods and money captured by the Indians. Stopping two days at "G.o.dfrey's," with a force of eighteen men well armed, in three coaches bound east, we started on again. G.o.dfrey, who has a mortal hatred of Indians, treated me with great kindness. This, dear sir, was my marvelous escape. Bishop Randall writing me afterwards about it, said that it seemed to him but little short of a miracle. Bishop Tuttle also expressed the same view. The fall from the tongue of the coach, the stopping of the coach just in time to call off the party that were getting between me and the river, the sand bar in the river, on which I rested in the last extreme, and finally, the singular appearance of the soldiers to deliver me, are plain indications that it was the will of G.o.d that I should be spared.

Truly yours,

WM. A. FULLER.

CHAPLAIN WHITE SAYS THERE'S A TIME TO PRAY AND A TIME TO FIGHT.

In July of the same year as the ma.s.sacre at Phil. Kearney, that is to say on the 20th July, while Chaplain White was traveling on Powder River with Captain Templeton, Lieutenant Daniels, Lieutenant Wanns, and J. H. Bradley, in company with five white women and two colored also, going to join their command, and while quietly traveling along, about fifty to sixty wild Indians came suddenly upon them just as they approached "Crazy Woman's Fork River." At once there was a panic, and one of the officers suddenly put on a woman's bonnet and rode off. One woman had a babe. The chaplain, seeing all was confusion, and each one for himself, exclaimed, "For G.o.d's sake, don't leave these women to be murdered!" This seemed to call them to their senses, and they began to rally, though, all told, there were but thirteen armed men. One soldier, a German, got terribly frightened, and said, "_Isn't there some one to pray?_" The chaplain seized him by the collar and bid him hold his gun, saying, "_There is a time to pray and a time to fight!_"

By nightfall they had all disappeared. Lieutenant Bradley was very courageous; for when the Indians shot their arrows, he would stoop down and pick them up in derision.

Chaplains may be sometimes of little account, but if their record could be written up, a large number would be found to have done n.o.ble service during the war of the rebellion.

Chaplain John McNamara, of the 1st Wisconsin Regiment, was one of them.

I learned the following anecdote from a soldier who died in Camp Douglas:

Private Auchmuty said, "We had marched for a whole year, and had never a battle. Like all soldiers, we grumbled a good deal, and found fault with our rations. Our chaplain preached a sermon about our being discontented, saying we 'had done nothing at all for the government, only to soldier a little, and eat our rations.' This made us a little angry, and so we took it out in calling as he pa.s.sed, '_There goes the chaplain that eats his rations_!'

"But by-and-by we had a sharp and b.l.o.o.d.y fight at Stone River. Colonel B. J. Sweet was badly wounded in his right arm, and our captain was killed. This made us waver and fall back. But the chaplain rushed forward to lead us, exclaiming, 'Boys, come on! The enemy is wavering; we are sure of a victory!' On we rushed after him, and drove the foe off the field. After that we called him the 'Bully chaplain.' He lost his wig, but he gained the victory."

LEGEND OF "CRAZY WOMAN'S FORK."

The Absarakas, or Crow nation, have the reputation of being good friends to the whites, and it is also said they have never warred with them.

Iron Bull, a renowned chief of the Crows, relates the following legend.

In the journey through that most delightful region of Montana from Fort Phil. Kearney to Fort C. F. Smith (in the Powder River country), one of the most favored camping-grounds is the one called "Crazy Woman's Fork," the name of a pretty little stream of water that rises in the Big Horn Mountains, and emptying into the Little Horn River. About three miles from the mountains this stream crosses the trail between the two military posts mentioned.

This camp on the Fork is noted for its danger from Indian attacks, as an abundant supply of game being found in the valley, brings the Indian there to replenish his larder of wild meat. Notwithstanding the dangers attending a journey through this region, it has its attractions in the beautiful and diversified views of lovely scenery, which hasten the parties traveling that region to encamp, for a night at least, on the banks of a limpid stream that refreshes man and beast from an unfailing source in the mountains. The banks are skirted with cottonwood-trees, and to the west, one sees the tall spurs of the Rocky Mountains rising up, as it were, from your feet, their dizzy heights covered with snow; while the haze that surrounds them gives to them a halo of glory and weirdlike appearance, that the imaginative might compare to _the garments that mantle the spirits of the blessed in Paradise_!

Iron Bull said that about two hundred years ago, when the moon shone brighter, and there were more stars, his nation was a great people, and they roamed over all that country from the Missouri River to the west of the Yellowstone, and no dog of a Sioux dare show himself there. But the people had been wicked, and the Great Spirit had darkened the heavens and made the sun to shine with such heat that the streams were dried up, and the snow disappeared from the highest peaks of the mountains. The buffalo, the elk, the mountain sheep, the deer, and the rabbit, all disappeared and died away, bringing a great famine upon his tribe, and the spirit of the air breathed death into the lodges, so that the warrior saw his squaw and papooses die for want of the food he could not find on all the plain, or on the mountain-sides; so that the whole nation grieved and mourned in sorrow of heart.

Still, they kept up their wars with the Sioux, and fought many a b.l.o.o.d.y battle with them when they suffered most, and the game had entirely disappeared. Their great medicine-man called a council, and when the head-men had a.s.sembled, he told them of a wonderful dream that he had had, when he was bidden by the Great Spirit to gather the chiefs of the tribe at the fork of the stream where they lived.

Their ponies had all been eaten for food, so the proud Indians were compelled to make the journey on foot to the place of meeting.

But when they had arrived at the bluffs, on the edge of the valley, they were surprised to see a bountiful supper spread on the bank of the stream, close by the Forks, and a white woman close by, standing up and making signs to them to descend from the bluffs.

Having never before seen a "white squaw," they were greatly astonished.

The medicine-man descended to the valley. The white woman told him that the Great Spirit would talk to the council through her. She told him that the wars of the tribe were displeasing to the Great Spirit, and they must make peace with the Sioux nation. When that was done, the great chief, "The-Bear-that-grabs," must return to her.

They sent out runners to the Sioux, and peace was declared between the tribes for the first time in one hundred years.

She then told the great chief to follow the mountain in a westerly course, until he came to the Big Horn River, and where the rock was perpendicular, _he was to shoot three arrows, hitting the rock each time_.