Jerome A. Greene
Page 12
Crossing the border into Kansas, we made our first camp at Arkansas City. Here we had our first experience with prohibition, for Kansas even at that early day was dry. Shortly after we had camped, word was passed that a livery stable close by had some extraordinarily good water, and from the number of soldiers that constantly passed in and out of that stable, and judging from their queer actions after coming out, the water certainly possessed extraordinary qualities. As our route lay through the farming section of Kansas, we were able to buy some butter, eggs, and fresh vegetables from the farmers. This made a very welcome change from hardtack and bacon. All the way across the state, each day after making camp we continued to find the same extraordinary water; some of it actually foamed when put into glasses. The roads through the state were terrible. They were either ankle deep in dust or the same in mud, and what made marching more difficult was the fact that on both sides of the road hawthorn hedges grew to a height of ten or twelve feet, making almost a solid wall, so that the dust kicked up by the horses almost suffocated us and covered us with a thick coat of black dirt.
After leaving Arkansas City, the most important towns were Winfield, Wichita, Newton, Abilene, and Junction City. Here we crossed the Republican River, over the first bridge we had met so far, and entered Fort Riley and remained four days. Here we met the Seventh Cavalry and exchanged transportation with them. These four days gave the horses a much needed rest and helped to heal the sores on their backs caused by the saddles. Those having the worst backs were turned over to the post quartermaster and left behind. Leaving Fort Riley, which was the half-way point, our first camp was at a little town called Morganville. Our camp was pitched in a wheat stubble field along the main highway. The people in the town evidently knew that we were coming, for the churches had combined for the purpose of holding an ice cream and strawberry festival, and had erected booths along the roadway fronting the camp, expecting of course that the girls would be able to do a big business selling ice cream and strawberries to the soldiers. We had been paid while in Fort Riley; in those days pay day came only once every two months.
Men of Company E, Fifth Infantry, possibly at Fort Bliss, Texas, in 1888-91. Editor’s collection
At stable call we mounted our horses (bareback) to go down to the Republican River to water the horses. The river was some distance from camp. While we were down at the river one of those terrific thunderstorms, for which Kansas was noted, suddenly broke over us and everybody made a wild rush for camp. By the time we had reached there, all our tents had blown down, we were soaked to the skin, our boots were full of water, there was not a dry stitch in camp, and the camp was a sea of black mud ankle deep. Of course, the festival fell flat, although they did transfer it to an empty store, but the affair was not the success that had been expected. The men were wet and had lost their desire for ice cream. Those who did go to the festival left a trail of water behind them.
As everything we had was wet, it was useless to erect the tents again, so we lay down in the soft mud without them. The mud made rather soft beds. As it was very warm, being wet did not do us any harm. The next morning at 6:00 a.m. sharp, as usual, “Forward, March” was sounded and again we were on our way, and for four days it rained so that there was no chance for us to get dried out, nor could we take off our boots. Had we done so it would have been very difficult to have gotten them on again. Nobody seemed to suffer any ill effects from the four days’ soaking, as there was practically no sickness in the command.
Before proceeding, I want to relate an incident that occurred back at Wichita. After we had pitched camp, which was on an open common on the edge of town, a man came into camp and ordered us to move off as he did not want the troops to camp on his ground. Colonel Mizner tried to reason with him, explaining that he had had an officer in the town for several hours before our arrival looking for the owner of the ground so that arrangements could be made for the camp, that he had been unable to find him, that the troops would do the ground no harm, no refuse would be left behind, and besides, it was an open common, and no “No Trespassing” signs were visible, therefore he had a right to camp there if he so desired; but the owner of the ground would not listen to reason and insisted that we vacate immediately. Finally, the colonel called for a member of the guard and instructed him to escort the man off the ground and to see that he did not return. Of course, we camped there for the night.
As my horse was one of those left at Fort Riley, and as there were not a sufficient number of extra horses to give every man whose horse had been left behind another horse, it fell to my lot to ride a little black mule, which the troop had captured from Geronimo’s band of Indians in New Mexico, and I believe that all the contrariness of the mule family was concentrated in her makeup. As we marched in column of twos, whenever that mule felt like leaving the line to graze on the side of the road, she just went. Orders governing the march meant nothing to her. She would continue grazing until she felt like moving on, then she would trot along until we overtook the troop and took our regular place in line. Of course, both the captain and first sergeant would jump me for leaving the line without permission. When we passed through towns, I usually came in for a lot of guying, being the only one mounted on a mule, and such a small one, we no doubt did make a rather ludicrous appearance.
When we reached Clay Center some of the fellows got a keg of alcohol from an undertaker’s establishment and brought it into camp, and soon sugar and hot water were in big demand for making alcohol toddies. In a short time there was a pretty wild bunch in camp. The next day there was a pretty sick bunch on the march, and it seemed as though we would never reach camp. All of our camps in Kansas and Nebraska drew crowds of people for miles around. The principal attraction, aside from the usual sights of an army camp, was the band, as every night, weather permitting, the band played a concert. This, or course, was quite a treat to the people, as there were very few civilian bands in that territory in those days. The band leader, John Klein, was a wonderful cornetist, and it was worth going a long distance to hear him. They did not carry their instruments with them during the day, but packed them on their wagons.
Continuing on, we crossed the state line into Nebraska, passing through Superior and Hastings. We crossed the Platte River at Kearney, then turned west following the river and Union Pacific Railroad on through North Platte City (the home of Buffalo Bill). We re-crossed the Platte and followed the South Fork to Julesburg, Colorado, also called the Denver Junction. Here we were stuck in the mud for four days. The soil is a blue clay, about the consistency of putty. The wheels of the wagons cut into it until the bodies of the wagons rested on the ground. Moving was out of the question until the rain was over and we had a chance to dig the wagons out and build a corduroy road. By this time, we were pretty well used to sleeping in puddles of water, fording streams, and marching in wet clothes, but it apparently had no ill effects upon us. Regardless of weather and road conditions, there was an unwritten rule that the wagons containing the food supplies must get through to camp on time. The other wagons might be stuck in the mud and be delayed, sometimes for a couple of days, as happened at Julesburg, but not the chuck wagon. We could sleep without blankets or tents, but we had to eat. Give a soldier plenty to eat and he will put up with almost any other hardship without complaint. Immediately upon getting into camp, it was the custom in the troop of which the writer was a member, to have a couple of men take buckets and get some water, while others got some wood. A fire was started and in a short time each man was given a cup of good, strong, black coffee. It was surprising how quickly they recovered from the fatigue of a hard day’s march after getting their coffee.
Following the railroad and river west to Sidney, Nebraska, we again turned north on the old Deadwood Trail. This is the road over which supplies were hauled by wagon trains between Sidney and Deadwood in the Black Hills during the gold rush days. Many a bloody battle took place on this old trail. Sometimes it was the Indians attacking a wagon train or stagecoach,
or bandits that attempted a holdup. In the gold rush days a trip over this trail either to or from the Black Hills was fraught with great danger, and those who got through without being attacked were very fortunate. Following the trail up through Buffalo Gap and Rapid City, mining villages, we finally arrived at Fort Meade, where the new headquarters was to be. At this point, as far as the regiment as a unit was concerned, the march was at an end, and the troops were again to be scattered over a wide territory. While the march was officially ended, six troops still had a long march ahead of them before they reached their final destination. E and K Troops went to Fort Buford, Dakota, H and L Troops to Fort Keogh, Montana, and F and G troops to Fort Yates, Dakota. Before the troops separated, Lieutenant Colonel Mizner, who was in command on the march, had an order read commending the troops for their obedience to orders and the fine manner in which they had conducted themselves on the march, as he had not received a single serious complaint during the whole march.
Those of us who had to continue to other stations were very loath to go, for it meant the breaking up of friendships that had been formed during that long and hard journey, and in most cases it really meant goodbye forever, and friendships formed under such circumstances are not lightly broken. There was many a moist eye as the final handshake was made and goodbye was waved. Leaving Fort Meade, F and G Troops turned northeastward, crossing the Cheyenne and Belle Fourche rivers. On the bank of the Belle Fourche stood a tree known as the hangman’s tree, as seven men had been hanged from it for various crimes. The tree was excellently situated and shaped for the purpose, as it had a limb that grew straight out from the trunk of the tree about ten feet from the ground and overhung the river, which was about fifteen feet below. The method was to seat the man on a horse close to the edge of the bank, tie the end of the rope well out on the limb, put the noose around the man’s neck, and then start the horse, and as the man was pulled out of the saddle the body swung out over the river.
After several days, we crossed Grand River and entered the Standing Rock Indian Reservation, the home of Sitting Bull’s tribe of the Sioux Indians. We did not go through his village, although we did pass through several others. Our last camp was at Fire Steel Creek, nine miles from Fort Yates. Near the camp a curious sight met our gaze. Close by was a large tree with five large bundles up in the branches, which we learned were the bodies of Indians that had died, the method of burial among the Sioux being to wrap the body tightly in blankets, strap it to two poles, and place the poles across the branches of the tree. On the morning of September 18th, 1888, coming through a gap in the hills out on a wide plain, we had our first glimpse of Fort Yates, a few miles distant, and the end of the long trail. Before reaching the post, we passed through a good-sized temporary Indian village, and as we learned afterward, this was one of the many temporary villages that were made every two weeks as the Indians gathered near the agency from all over the reservation to draw their bi-weekly rations, which were issued to them by the government. Standing along the road near this village [and] watching us march by was the famous chief, Sitting Bull (Ta tonka u tonka). He stood with his arms folded, as immobile as a statue, little thinking as he watched us that in two short years we would have a hand in his death. In a short time we had reached the post where the final command to halt and dismount was given, and after unsaddling our horses a rush was made for the quarters to make our selection for the position of our bunks, the fastest runners having the first choice.
Thus ended what was, so far as the writer has been able to learn, the longest continuous march by a body of troops on record, a total distance of 2, 200 miles in two days less than four months. While we endured many hardships on that long, hard, tiresome march, yet, when it was ended the men were sorry, because it meant a return to the tiresome routine of garrison duty. On the march there is a certain routine that must be followed, of course, but the picture is constantly changing and was not as monotonous as the daily routine followed in one isolated army post in those old days. The most remarkable feature of that long march was that both men and horses were in better physical condition than when we started.
Sidelights of the Eighth Cavalry’s Historic March (By Soren P. Jepson, formerly of Troop L, Eighth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, March 30, 1932)
On July 17, 1888, we left Fort Riley, Kansas, and kept on plodding through the mud until we got to Kearney, Nebraska, on the 3rd of August. We struck west from there on the 5th and made Willows Island on the 7th. Here we got stuck in the mud, the river having overflowed and almost drowned us. We stayed there three days, standing in water up to our knees. At night we would pile up to a wagon wheel and sleep that way, standing up. That was some experience. If it hadn’t been in the summer time, we would all have frozen to death. At the end of three days we finally worked our way out of there by the men taking ropes and helping the mules to take the wagons to dry land three miles away. But we were a sight, covered with mud. In that condition, we arrived at Fort Sidney, Nebraska, on the 19th of August.
We stayed there one day to get rid of some of the mud. From there, we struck north on the 21st and got to Clark’s Bridge on the 22nd. This was a toll bridge over the North Platte River. The bridge keeper thought when he saw us coming that here was a chance to make a killing, so he slapped a padlock on a big boom across the bridge and demanded $1000.00 to let us across. Major Morris stroked his moustache a while; finally he said, “And how much do you want to let our wagons across?” “Two hundred dollars,” says the man. The major turned to the adjutant and told him to draw a warrant for $200.00. Then he says to me, “Ride down along the command and order up all the farriers. (If anyone does not know what a farrier is, he is a horseshoer, among other things, and carries a bag of tools.) There was one in each troop, and by the time we got back, the last of the wagons was driving on the bridge and the man was ready with his boom and locked it. The major grinned at him and says, “I suppose you are wondering how I am going to get the men across. I will show you in a few minutes.” Now the bridge was fenced in for two miles along on either side with a high wire fence. Then the farriers were ordered to pull all staples in the fence for a distance of 200 feet and lay the fence down. Then the major ordered “Forward, march!” and we all went into the river and was all across in no time. The river was supposed to be all quicksand at the place, but the major figured that as we all came from Texas and had crossed lots of rivers with quicksand in them we could cross the North Platte. We made camp on the other side of the river and we had a good laugh over it.
On August 26th, we got to Fort Robinson, Nebraska. Here we were surprised to meet four troops of the colored cavalry who came out to meet us and you talk about soldiers—those soldiers were all dressed in their best and surely presented a beautiful sight. Everything about them shone like the sun, even their horses hoofs were shined all black. We stayed there two days and arrived at Fort Meade, [Dakota Territory, ] on September 4th, as this fort was going to be our headquarters. The regiment was split up. Troops A, B, C, D, I, and M were left here. Troops F and G went to Fort Yates, [Dakota, ] Troops H and L to Fort Keogh, Montana [Territory], Troops E and K to Fort Buford, [Dakota.] I being in Troop L, of course, went to Fort Keogh, where we arrived on September 17, 1888, and we could then say that we had made practically 2, 500 miles in four months and a half. You may wonder how I can supply dates, but the fact is I made a list of the camps in my notebook and can tell every camp we made all the way with dates. I had a hunch it would come in handy some day….
Memories of Old Fort Cummings, New Mexico Territory (By Wolsey A. Sloan, formerly of Troop H, Fourth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, July 30, 1935)
In the spring of the year 1880, Troop H, Fourth Cavalry, stationed at Fort Reno, on the north fork of the Canadian River in the Indian Territory, received orders to go to New Mexico to help quell a cattle war near Fort Stanton in which the notorious Billy the Kid was a leader against law and order. Before we arrived, however, the trouble ended. Some of our
regiment were left at Fort Stanton, while Troops A, G, and H continued on our way to Fort Cummings. First Lieutenant James Parker of A Troop was the senior officer in command. We camped on a side hill just above a rock-enclosed spring, and during the night we were washed out of our beds by a torrential rain.
This old fort is some forty miles west of the Rio Grande and about twenty miles north of where Deming, New Mexico, is now located in the foothills on the eastern slope of the Los Mimbres Mountains, a spur of the Black Range. Near this little spring four centuries ago Spanish treasure hunters pitched camp on their historic trip into the northern wilds, resulting in the foundation of Santa Fe. In after years, Spanish soldiers camped here while on forays to capture Indians to build churches and cathedrals for their Catholic majesties of Spain. This is attested by the fact that a Spanish spear head was found near the spring imbedded in the soil, and leg irons of Spanish make. Then it became a rendezvous for freebooters who laid in wait to attack unwary travelers and supply trains.
At last in desperation, the Spaniards built a fort to protect their treasure trains. It was patterned after the medieval style of Spanish architecture: each wall about 500 feet long, twenty feet high, and two feet thick, made of adobe bricks. The corners projected in bastion style to protect the walls from escalading parties, while in the center of the southern wall an immense sally port provided entrance to the plaza. Eight men could easily ride abreast through its portal. At night, or when attacked, an enormous portcullis of heavy timbers was lowered giving perfect protection to the garrison. Surrounding the plaza were the quarters of the officers, men-at-arms, slaves, and stock corral. After the Mexican War, the United States secured possession of it through the Gadsden Purchase. Shortly after it became part of the United States occurred the California gold excitement, and American soldiers were sent to this old weather-beaten fort under the command of Major Joseph Cummings, for whom the fort was later named, to render aid and protection to those seeking the new El Dorado over the Mexican national highway, now known as the Santa Fe Trail.