by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
This was a dangerous and hazardous road, the hardiest travelers finding only terrible hardships and suffering, and very often death in its most agonizing forms by Indian torture or thirst. Those taking the trail west of the Rio Grande had to go through a deep gorge or box canyon, the walls of which rise perpendicularly over a thousand feet, and in places are less than thirty feet apart, while it is several miles in length, strewn with rocks and boulders, making travel slow and difficult. Gazing upward, stars may be seen in broad daylight shining in the blue vault of the heavens. Along this trail on the heights above, hidden in the rocks, lurking Apaches awaited the oncoming of unwary travelers, upon whom they hurled rocks and boulders until no living thing was left, while those taking the trail east of the Rio Grande had to pass through the Journado Estacado El Muerto (Journey through the Valley of Death). This valley is about 150 miles in length. Deep arroyos, rocky clefts, and fissures impassable for man or beast prevent access to the Rio Grande, while mountains of white sand confronted the weary, thirst-crazed victims of the lust for gold on the east. Water on the Journado being unobtainable, many died of thirst, as the bleached human bones gathered by soldiers readily testify. So for many years, the old fort served well its purpose as a haven of refuge for the courageous men wearied and harrowed in their attempt to cross this desert of sand and cacti while running the gauntlet of murderous bands of Apaches.
During the time of my service with H Troop in Fort Cummings, it was in a dilapidated state. The walls and bastions were crumbled to dust again, the portcullis was gone, while the commander’s quarters was used as a guard house and an armory and the officers’ quarters to house the mules of the Quartermaster Department. When I gazed upon this crumbling ruin of a past age, with the ravages of time upon its grim walls, it seemed like a warrior of old, defiant of the destroying elements of wind and rain. Its broken and defaced walls seemed to say, “I am wounded most mortally, my strength is gone. No longer can I aid in civilizing this wilderness.” Surrounding the old fort are low lying hills sparsely covered with gramma grass, sagebrush, greasewood, cacti, and many other thorny plants, while sunning themselves on the burning sands or jutting rocks may be seen many varieties of creeping, crawling insects and lizards and venomous snakes. Among these freaks of nature of a bygone age are salamanders, gila monsters, chameleons, horned toads [lizards], tarantulas, scorpions, copperheads, and rattlesnakes.
Some nine miles as the crow flies, west by north, rises Cook’s Peak, loftiest mountain in the Black Range. It is a fitting landmark to overlook this sun-baked inhospitable region, exemplifying for all time by its gruesome aspect of a tragedy that it is typical of the fact that torture and murder is rampant. Permit me to illustrate. Imagine a man of titanic size, his body encased in the enduring rocks, his head the Peak, his face turned to Heaven, so that his profile clearly shows a brow of classic mould, nose indicating power and character, a firm mouth and chin indicating tenacity of purpose, all clearly cut in the rocky contour of the Peak, in ideal proportions, each feature about a mile long. As you study this wonderful face, you realize that nature has committed torture and murder. For where the eye should have been, a cavernous hole appears, and the ear hangs pendant from the lobe as though severed from the head, while scraggly cedars form a fringe of hair at the back of his head and the top is bald as though scalped. Then you see that his throat has a gash in it half a mile wide and fully as deep. On the northern slope of the Peak in an old mine working were found leg irons and a piece of a bastinado, used undoubtedly by early Spanish conquistadors, while several hundred feet below the mine parts of several human skeletons were found.
Gazing southward from the chin of this titan may be seen all that is left of the village of Mimbres, where tragedy stalked in the trail of the Mescalero Apaches, who raided it and killed every human being. Babes had their brains dashed out against the adobe walls, men and women had stakes driven into their bodies and set against the adobe walls, or staked over ant hills to die of slow torture. In Black Canyon, about two miles west of the old fort, the son of Victoria Nana and six other renegade Mescalero Apaches were killed while on a murder raid…[I] tried to get the boy’s body (he was only fifteen years old) to articulate the skeleton, but desisted when several Yuma Indian scouts showed their displeasure. Later it was taken to Silver City and the skeleton was kept in a glass case in a saloon there.
At one time during the campaign against Victoria Nana and his band of Mescalero Apaches, there were over a thousand soldiers in this old fort, as I remember there was six troops of the Ninth Cavalry, three troops of the Fourth Cavalry, eight companies of the Sixteenth Infantry, and six companies of the Thirteenth Infantry, 100 Yuma Apache scouts, and about 150 civilian packers, teamsters, and other employees. Guard mount was the most thrilling feature of our daily life, there being at one time as many as twenty-two posts, so upwards of seventy-five men were in the guardmount line, many of them seeking the honor of being orderly for the commanding officer or officer of the day. Guard mount took place in front of the old sally port on what had been the highway, but now used as a parade ground. Across the parade ground from the sallyport was the adjutant’s headquarters, and on either side were the officers’ quarters, all made by the troops from adobe. The Ninth Cavalry were camped west of the old fort, while the infantry were on the east side, and the three troops of the Fourth Cavalry were camped east of the officers’ quarters, with the corral between. After Victoria Nana’s activities were stopped, hunting parties often came back loaded with the spoils of the chase. During the winter of 1882 and 1883, many turkeys, several deer and antelope, two yearling bears, and a mountain lion hung from the sides of our mess hall, the result of one ten-day trip. The troops were all housed in Sibley tents with a Sibley stove in the center, six men to a tent. In summer they were hotter than hell, while in winter they were like the outside of an Eskimo igloo. Of course, they were far superior to the dog tents we used during the first year and a half, when we certainly became familiar with soil in the shape of dust as well as mud, for we slept in it, ate it, traveled in it, and were usually covered with it. My troop probably had as fine a lot of noncommissioned officers as were ever gathered together in one command—First Sergeant Gately (succeeded by one of the squarest Scotchmen I ever knew, Sergeant Joseph S. Hopely), Sergeant Louis B. French, Casey Cummings [George Cumming?], Durr, Rankin, and others whose names I cannot now recall, any one of them capable of maneuvering the troop if called upon in an emergency.
The Fort Custer Dance (By Maurice J. O’Leary, formerly of Troop K, First U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, October 30, 1930)
Did you ever hear of the biggest dance ever given by soldiers at any army post in Montana? No? Well, it was given at old Fort Custer. I can tell you the names of some of the old-timers that were at that dance. There was old man Dana, a big livestock man; Jim McNutt, a contractor; Paul McCormick, of Billings; Theodore Borup, who later was with the old Pioneer Press for years; and old Liver-Eating Johnston. Those are just a few of the prominent ones I recall. There is only one other man besides myself living [1930] in Helena who was at that dance. That is an old Regular Army man—he was with our outfit—Billy Spinning. He’s got a ranch down by the gas works. I don’t see Billy very often any more. He don’t come up to town very often now.
Broadside for an outdoor performance by the Second Cavalry Band at Fort Custer, Montana Territory, in 1883. Such concerts provided entertainment relief for troops and their families at frontier garrisons throughout the West. Editor’s collection
Well, we soldiers gave that dance at Fort Custer in 1885 and it cost us $500. We were getting $13 a month then—so just figure it out for yourself. One hundred of us gave $5 each. I will tell you how this thing came up. At the fort there was a nice hall and a stage, with some scenery. But under the chaplain in charge then it was always used as a chapel. Then we organized a kind of a temperance society, enrolling all the girls and women at the fort—there were about seventy-five of them—and since none
of the soldiers, or very very few of them joined, it was mighty lonesome for the buck private and some of the officers. He would not let us use the hall for a dance. Well, there was a switch in commanding officers, and some of the boys got at him first and the commanding officer said the building was to be used by all of the boys at the garrison, and that we could go ahead and give a dance if we wanted to.
We got together and organized what was known as the Rounders’ Club. It cost five bucks to join, and to belong there were several qualifications that would not please Mr. Volsted now. We raised our $500 and bought turkey, and ordered lemons, oranges, grapes, and other fruits from St. Paul. The dance was to be given on the evening of St. Patrick’s Day. We sent an escort wagon over to the Junction, which was nothing but a cowtown, and that day it got mighty cold. The men built a large fire and threw in a lot of good-sized rocks. In the morning, when the fire cooled, they fished the hot rocks out, put them in the escort wagon, and packed in the fruit and covered it all up with a tarp. It arrived at the fort all okay.
Well, the big night arrived. We had supper in the schoolroom, back of the stage. There were babies tied in chairs and lying on blankets all over the stage. Folks came for [from] miles around. The officers and their ladies cast aside all formality. There was not enough room to seat them all at midnight, so the officers’ wives and the laundresses, and nursemaids, and visiting ladies all sat down to the same table and had a good time. Later the men followed suit. The old Cavalry Band played and the orchestra was made up of bandsmen who could also play stringed instruments. The orchestra played a lot of old Irish airs. Then Captain Frank D. Garrity of the Seventeenth Infantry rose to his feet. He expressed a great desire to dance one of the old Irish reels, if he could only find an Irish girl from the old country who could dance it with him. Gosh, I wish I could remember her name. I believe she is still living down in eastern Montana. And how that Irish girl could dance! Well, they danced two or three Irish reels and the fun was on. Colonel Nathan A. M. Dudley of the First Cavalry was commanding officer. And I am sure Mr. Dana was there, as Second Lieutenant James B. Aleshire, who later became Quartermaster General of the U. S. A., was then keeping company with Dana’s daughter.
Well, we appointed a committee to check up the finances. We had $17 left in the treasury. We bought $17 worth of beer, closed the books, and the Rounders disbanded. And, oh heck, the next morning was just as it always is the morning after.
Christmas at Fort Robinson, 1882 (By Martin J. Weber, formerly first sergeant, Troop H, Fifth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, June 30,1934)
I am reminded of one Christmas especially which is a sample of our experience in those never to be forgotten days out in the Sioux country. Troops H, M, and F of the Fifth U. S. Cavalry and Company C of the Fourth U. S. Infantry were quartered at Fort Robinson, [Nebraska,] at the time of this story. Little children of the army were just as anxious for the advent of Santa Claus as the somewhat more highly favored little ones in the midst of the civilized East. [In December, 1882, I was]…a corporal in Troop H, Fifth Cavalry. I was ordered on detached service by the commanding officer. My orders were to report to the Quartermaster at Fort Sidney, the nearest railroad point, to get the Christmas goods for the fort. A driver and a six-mule team were detailed for the purpose.
We started about December 10 [on] a six days’ journey. The weather was ideal, clear, sunny days, and we arrived at Fort Sidney on time but were delayed two days owing to the non-arrival of the goods that were coming over the Union Pacific Railroad. They finally arrived the morning of the 18th. We loaded our wagon at once and pulled out for Fort Robinson 125 miles to the north. The weather had turned cold and frost began to fly through the air indicating a storm. We made good time that first afternoon, camping just before dark.
The next morning the storm broke in all its fury, a regular blizzard raging. We had to face or head into the storm. We made Camp Clark, where the Sidney-Black Hills Trail crossed the Platte River, a toll bridge, general store, and post office being kept at this point. Here we obtained shelter for ourselves, mules, and horses. The lady had a hot breakfast and coffee ready for us about daybreak. The storm had increased during the night. I mailed a report of the storm and that we would try and make the fort if possible to the commanding officer. The bridge tender and his wife advised us to stay until the storm should pass, as they did not think we could travel in such a blizzard. As much as we disliked to leave the snug quarters and hot meals (we were to enjoy for the next three days only a ration of frozen bread and bacon), we bid them goodbye and headed into the storm. Without shelter or fire [for] three days and two nights, when we thought each day would be our last, we traveled over an open country for about fifty miles and had to break trail all the way, it being 30 to 40 degrees below zero. The mules were going home. [That] was the only reason we were able to make them face the blizzard. We had plenty of corn and oats for mules and the horses, and at night we tied them so the wagon would act as a wind break and [we] covered them with blanket-lined covers. We would spread our tent on the snow, roll out our bed, and pull part of the tent over us and let the storm howl.
We got to the stage station on the Running Water after dark the night of the 23rd. Here we had hay for the mules and horses and a good fire and warm place to cook our supper. How good that hot coffee tasted. The stage for the Black Hills and Deadwood arrived about 3 a.m., the first in three days. The stock tender awakened us at 4 a.m. and had the coffee hot. It gave us new life and courage for the last twenty miles of our journey. The stage had broke the trail to the top of Breakneck Hill, the storm had passed, the sky cleared, the sun shown bright, and the Valley of the White River lay before us. The fort was only five miles away. We got safely down the Breakneck, crossed White Clay Creek, and broke trail across the valley, arriving at the fort about 2 o’clock the afternoon of the 24th.
I rode ahead to report to the commanding officer. When I passed the officers quarters the kiddies were all out running up and down the walks for the first time in five days, having been housed up on account of the storm. When they saw me they began to shout, “The Christmas Wagon has come.” The officers and men hearing them came out and asked if it was true. They could hardly believe it until the teamster drove his six weary mules up and we began to unload the Christmas goods. Even the officers were willing to help.
Major Edwin V. Sumner was post commander at Fort Robinson. The teamster who drove the mule team was a man by the name of Fry. The youngster who got the rocking horse was Conrad Babcock, son of Captain John B. Babcock, in command of Troop M, Fifth U. S. Cavalry at that time. Captain John M. Hamilton was in command of Troop H, Captain John Scott Payne of Troop F of the Fifth, and Captain Alfred Morton of Company C of [the] Fourth [sic—Ninth] U. S. Infantry. One year later I was promoted to first sergeant of Troop H.
Incidents of Army Life at Fort Wingate, 1892-1893 (By Frederick H. Krause, formerly of Troop A, Second U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, December, 1938)
[On] February 27, 1888, I was enlisted for the Second U. S. Cavalry at Fort Walla Walla, Washington. During my service at this post we were under orders occasionally for the suppression of Indian hostilities. On one occasion we were ordered to report to the Umatilla Indian Reservation, near Pendleton, Oregon, on a forced march for forty-eight hours without food or water through an alkali country. The white settlers near the Umatilla Indian Reservation suffered the loss of some of their livestock such as horses, cattle, and sheep, etc. And their homes were threatened with entire destruction by the Indians. Through the supreme generalship and an expert interpreter of the Second U. S. Cavalry, we succeeded in restoring the stolen property to its rightful owners without bloodshed or even firing one shot.
We camped there for ten days before returning to our headquarters at Fort Walla Walla, Washington. Previously, before being stationed at Fort Walla Walla, Washington, the Second U. S. Cavalry was stationed at Fort Custer, Montana. During the time since the Custer Massacre, the Second U. S. Cava
lry had succeeded in providing the proper protection for the white people against the depredations of the Sioux and Cheyenne Indians without firing a shot. On account of the supreme record that the Second Cavalry had attained to establish peace among the different tribes of Indians throughout that territory, the Second Cavalry was ordered by the Secretary of War to change stations from Fort Walla Walla, Washington, to the station at Fort Lowell, Arizona. During the fore part of the year of 1890, before being located at Fort Lowell, Arizona, the Fourth U. S. Cavalry near the San Carlos Indian Reservation suffered much loss as a result of a massacre of a portion of the troops by the Apache Indians [sic—this “massacre” of members of the Fourth Cavalry did not happen]. During my time at Fort Lowell, Arizona, the Second Cavalry succeeded in making arrests among the Apache Indians and settled all disputes among the white people without the loss of a trooper. On account of the excellent record of the Second Cavalry, and the buildings being condemned as being unfit for occupation, we were ordered to change stations from Fort Lowell, Arizona, to the station at Fort Wingate, New Mexico.
