by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
Poor fellows, we really felt sorry for them. As we were still in the field, our rations, so far as bread was concerned, consisted of hardtack about the size of an old fashioned soda cracker and made of a mixture of coarse flour, peas, beans, and other cereals, all ground together and baked hard. While it did not seem so, there was really much nourishment in them and fifteen usually comprised a day’s rations, together with a slice of bacon, or boiled beef, with a weekly feed of baked beans. We older men had learned that five of these hardtack fried in bacon grease made a good meal with the addition of the bacon and huge tin cups of coffee, but the poor recruits had not yet learned this and we often found them eating all their hardtack at a single meal, often eating their bacon raw as they as yet had no frying pans in which to cook their food, and the result was that for a time many of them went hungry to bed, and, by the way, these beds consisted of piles of hay thrown on the ground and covered with their meager supply of blankets, overcoats, or anything else they could get hold of. Out of a real sympathy for them we tried to teach them as best we could and ere long they improved very much.
Hardly were we half through with their preliminary drill when a trainload or two or horses and mules arrived, the horses for the soldiers, the mules for the wagon train. Neither horses or mules were broken, and it was right there the fun began, breaking those horses and trying to teach the poor homesick recruits to ride them gave us both plenty of work and amusement. Day after day the training went on, with many a spill on the part of the poor recruits, but finally our work began to tell, although there was no cessation of the daily grind. Over in the quartermaster’s corral hardy mule drivers were having their troubles with those green mules, but they, too, began to win out and the mules were soon in harness and getting accustomed to their new life. From day to day there were rumors afloat of a coming move of some sort, but nothing definite could be learned. Huge mountains of supplies were piling up in the warehouses and, finally satisfied that something was going to happen, we oldtimers began to prepare for it. We first drew a supply of heavy winter underwear and shirts, then a few of us joined in the purchase of light buckskin from the Indians out of which we had suits made that were almost wind proof, and, as there were no regulations as to what clothing we wore in the field, we had a second suit made from the many colored Indian blankets for which we had traded or bought. These suits were made in one piece, like the present-day union suits or coveralls, and were warm and in connection with the light suits of buckskin made the need of overcoats unnecessary. To these we added blanket caps with an attachment that came down around our faces and necks leaving only holes for the eyes, mouth, and nose. These with heavy woolen mittens completed an outfit that would enable us to withstand almost anything in the way of weather. For our feet and lower limbs we bought heavy fleece-lined socks and leggins combined, over which we wore a light overshoe to prevent the ice and frozen snow from cutting the foot covering. It was true the outfit was not very military looking, but they were mighty warm and comfortable and we felt prepared for any sort of weather. The recruits drew extra blankets and otherwise prepared themselves for a winter campaign as best they could.
Additional rumors were in the air every day. The wagons were loaded with rations and forage, but still no orders reached us. But finally, late one afternoon six troops under command of our colonel [Samuel D. Sturgis], who had recently joined from detached service, broke camp, loaded their tents and cooking utensils, and moved across the Missouri River on the ice and went into camp. The remaining six troops under Major Marcus A. Reno still remained in camp, but orders were issued that men must not leave camp for any purpose. Where the troops on the other side of the river were headed no one seemed to know. Late one afternoon, after retreat roll call, we were notified that we were to break camp early the following morning and move out on the Black Hills trail, but under sealed orders that were not to be opened until we reached the vicinity of the Cannonball River. Three o’clock the following morning we were routed out, had a hurried breakfast, saddled up, and at five o’clock we swung into saddle and were off. It was a bright cold morning and, followed by our heavily loaded wagon train, we moved at a fast walk, striking the Black Hills trail a mile or so from camp.
It was early in the forenoon when we struck the valley of the Cannonball, where we halted. Officers Call was sounded and the officers gathered about Major Reno, who opened his sealed orders and we soon learned that our destination was Standing Rock Agency, where we were to cooperate with the infantry in taking the ponies and so far as possible the arms of the Cheyennes [sic—Sioux], many of whom had been out on the warpath the preceding summer. Losing no time, we struck out across the country directly for the agency. We were a long ways off the usually traveled trail, leaving that and Fort Rice far to the east of us. Leaving our wagon train under a small escort to follow us as best they could, we pushed forward at a rapid pace, halting occasionally to allow our horses a breathing spell. We saw no Indians, in fact did not expect to. It was well along in the afternoon when we were still some fifteen or more miles from the agency when a scout from the agency rode in to us with the news that in some way the Indians had learned of our approach and were taking their ponies and guns and hurrying away to the hills. It was afterward learned that the Indian wife of the post trader had in some way learned of our destination and had dispatched an Indian runner to warn her people. It was afterward reported that the guard at Fort Rice had seen this runner far out on the prairie, out of range from the fort as he passed. I might say that these runners were warriors of wonderful strength, fast of foot and keeping up their rapid pace mile after mile, hour after hour, even moving faster than a mounted column.
On receipt of the news from the agency, we at once moved forward at a trot, varied occasionally by short periods of walking. Finally we began to catch a glimpse of distant dust clouds and later could see the fleeing Indians. The trot now gave way to the gallop as we strung out in a long slim line seeking to surround the agency and if possible head off the Indians, but they had a good start on us and we soon found that most of them were beyond our reach, but we continued the movement to surround the agency and as much of the adjacent country as possible. Our recruits, unused to packing their saddles, soon began losing nosebags, lariats, sidelines, currycombs, and brushes, and even the heavy, clumsy buffalo overshoes many of them had drawn. There was no stopping for them now. In the rear of each troop rode a veteran sergeant with orders to allow no straggling, and every time one of the recruits would rein out of the line the sergeant, with drawn revolver, would charge down on him and send him scurrying back into his place. Most of the poor fellows, unaccustomed to riding, soon found themselves chafed and sore, but there was no rest for them and on we went, finally swinging around in a wide circle and putting off any further retreat of the Indians. Then with our right resting on or near the river, we began slowly to narrow our circle, heading off and turning back whatever Indians we encountered.
I happened to be with a bunch over near the river and in the heavy cottonwood timber, much of which had been cut to be sawed into green lumber for the construction of the buildings at the post. Making our way through the underbrush as best we could was slow work, and giving one of the men my bridle rein I climbed up on a huge log to try and find a better road out of the timber. The tree had been stripped of its limbs so that I was able to walk it without difficulty. Reaching the butt of the tree, I found a mass of brush and limbs piled up and jumped down on it, when to my amazement I heard a grunt from underneath the pile. Calling to the men to clear the pile away, we came on an Indian who with two fine ponies had been hidden under the brush heap, his ponies lying close to the ground. Seeing that he was outnumbered, he held up his hands in token of surrender. Prodding around in the mass of tree limbs, one of the men discovered an almost new Winchester rifle and an old .50 caliber Sharps carbine of the pattern formerly used by the army, with a well-filled belt of ammunition for the Winchester. We took possession of the ponies and the guns an
d belt and told the Indian he was at liberty to go where he pleased. He walked along with us a short distance, begging in broken English for his ponies, or even one of them, but getting no satisfaction he turned away and was lost to sight in the timber. We made our way through the woods to the open ground near the new military post where we found our command unsaddling and going into camp. We turned the ponies into the large corral near the post and the guns to the storehouse. We learned that about 900 ponies had been rounded up, and perhaps fifty or seventy-five rifles, most of them old fashioned ones, a few being muzzleloaders. It was quite late when our wagons finally rolled in and we were able to pitch our tents and get something to eat, of which we were sure in need, not having eaten anything since early morning. It was sure a tired bunch that crawled in under their blankets that night, tired, lame, and sore from their unaccustomed long hard ride.
The following day, after a conference between the Indian agent, Major Reno, and the commander of the post, the agent sent out couriers calling on the Indians to bring in their ponies and arms by a certain date, some three days ahead. We had nothing to do save sit around camp and wait. We did not have much hope that the Indians would comply with the agent’s orders, but now and then during the two days that followed a small drove of ponies would be driven in and turned into the corral, but it was easy to be seen that few if any of their best war ponies were among them. It was reported on the last day of the limit set by the agent that we had about fifteen hundred ponies in the corral. It was announced at the agency that two days from that time we were going to leave with the ponies for Fort Lincoln where we would meet the other six troops whom we learned had been on an errand similar to our own at Cheyenne [River] Agency, some distance further down the river. That afternoon we learned that the time set for our departure had been set to deceive the Indians and that as a matter of fact we were to leave at midnight that very night, with a view of putting as much distance between us and the Indians as possible before they discovered our departure. After a hearty supper and as soon as it was dark, our tents were taken down, loaded into the wagons, which with an escort of infantry were to follow us the following day. The corral where the ponies were confined was near the military post and nearly a half mile from the agency and the Indian village. Quietly we saddled up and moved over to the corral, where the ponies were released and we herded them out on the trail. It was a cold moonless night, threats of a storm were in the air, and we pushed forward as rapidly as possible and by early morning were many miles on our homeward journey.
Even from the time we broke camp there was every indication of a storm. The wind from the northwest was cold and piercing and as daylight came on heavy gray clouds could be seen in the north and northwest and occasional dashes of sharp, biting snow struck us in the faces and there was every indication of a blizzard, but we pressed on driving our pony herd as fast as possible, but even at that we were moving slowly as the ponies were hard to drive, all the time trying to break through the circling line of mounted men and take the backward trail. The wind grew stronger, bringing with it occasional flurries of hard, icy snow, the sure forerunner of the dreaded blizzard, and about noon it swept down on us in blinding, biting snow which every moment grew worse and soon began to interfere with our progress. And as we were facing it the task of driving the ponies became more and more difficult and the storm began to tell on men and horses. On leaving the corral in the night, I with some twenty other older men were ordered to bring up the rear, guarding against any attempt of the Indians to recapture the herd. The ponies, grass fed, soon began to weaken and many of them fell behind and after many efforts to keep them up with the herd orders came back for us to shoot such as were unable to keep up. It was a thankless, pitiable task, but there was no help for it and more than a hundred were killed. The howling storm was seriously affecting our men, particularly the poor recruits, most of them used to a much warmer climate. Often when they dismounted they were so chilled that they could not remount, and all around in front of us we could see men beating them with the heavy leather sling belts to try and arouse circulation enough in their poor chilled bodies to enable them to continue the march. Even this failed in many cases, and they were picked up and thrown across their saddles and utterly helpless and in some cases hands, feet, and faces badly frozen. It was here that the suits some of us had secured showed their full value as we were not suffering as were so many of the men. More and more ponies dropped behind and were shot.
About two o’clock we abandoned every attempt to keep up the march and the column, herd and all, left the open prairie, turned sharply to the left and drifted down into the timber along the low ground near the river. Here we managed to escape the full force of the blinding storm, which now swept over our heads. Horses and ponies, with drooping heads and heaving sides turned their tails to the storm and stood just where they happened to be. The men who were able to do anything were busy gathering broken limbs and piling them up against the many downed trees around us and it was not long until we succeeded in starting huge fires in a dozen or more places, around which the half frozen men gathered, their backs to the storm, keeping moving in order to retain circulation. We had with us three or four pack mules on which were packed some camp kettles, hard bread, coffee, and bacon, and Major Reno ordered them unpacked. Snow was melted in the kettles and soon came the welcome smell of boiling coffee. Again and again the kettles were filled with snow and were emptied by the men as soon as the coffee had a chance to boil. All night long the cooking continued and the men almost fought for the cups of steaming coffee. About three in the morning the storm blew itself out, the snow ceased to fall, but it was still intensely cold. Such first aid as was possible under the conditions was given the men who were suffering from frozen hands, feet, and faces. Everything possible was done for them, but it was but mighty poor aid we were able to give them.
Daybreak came at last, the wind had died down, and while the snow was still deep enough to impede our progress we began preparations for a forward movement. We soon discovered that we were only about four miles below Fort Rice and three of the well-clothed men who had suffered nothing save exhaustion from the storm mounted and made their way to the post with orders to turn out ambulances, wagons, or anything to be found and get them down to our bivouac to carry the frozen, injured men to the hospital and to have a meal prepared for the entire command. We succeeded in securing a couple of ambulances and some half dozen six-mule teams, which we dispatched to the command, while all the infantry cooks in the garrison began preparing food for the entire outfit. The few mounted men at the post and some of the infantry in the wagons went with the relief party under our escort, but it was nearly noon before they returned with the frozen men, hurried them to the hospital where the one doctor in the post, with the assistant surgeon who was with us and all the hospital employees went to work on them. Many of them were badly frozen. One man had to lose a foot, another—two in fact—had to lose a hand. Our hurried meal was soon dispatched, all the men unable to continue the march were left at Rice and the rest of us, with the sadly depleted pony herd, took the trail for Fort Lincoln, about twenty-five miles up the river. It was still bitterly cold and the heavy drifted snow impeded our march, but just at dusk we marched into the post, corralled the pony herd, put our weary horses in the stables, and hurried to the comfortable shelter of the vacant quarters, where we soon had huge fires blazing in the fireplaces and finally managed to get thawed out and that night had a comfortable resting place.
We did not hear from the rest of the regiment for a couple of days, when they, too, came marching in with another herd of some two thousand ponies, but very few arms. From them we learned that the blizzard struck them while they were still in camp at Cheyenne Agency and that they made no effort to move until the storm was over, thus escaping the hardships and suffering we endured on that never-to-be-forgotten march. A rest of several days and Troops C and F, whose stations were many miles to the east of us, took the pony herd, driving th
em through to St. Paul, where they were later sold at auction, and the two troops returned to their winter stations and our winter expedition was ended.
Scouting with Lieutenant Baldwin in Montana, 1876 (By Joseph Culbertson, former U. S. Army scout. From Winners of the West, November 30, 1933)
I left my old home at Fort Benton with my father, Alexander Culbertson, in the year of 1872, and went to Fort Browning, which was located at the mouth of Poplar Creek, just south of where the town of Dodson stands on the Milk River. Browning was the only agency between Fort Buford…[Dakota Territory] and Fort Benton. It was the agency for all the Sioux and Lower Assiniboin Indians. Jack Simmons was the Indian agent for the Fort Peck reservation at that time, and James Stuart, the brother of Granville Stuart, was subagent. In 1873 Browning was abandoned and moved to Fort Peck, a trading post located at the mouth of the Big Dry on the north side of the Missouri River twenty miles south of Glasgow. In that year, a delegation of twenty-five Sioux Indians and the agent and my father, including myself, went to Washington to visit General Grant, then president of the United States. After visiting all of the principal cities of the United States [in the East], we returned by way of Salt Lake to Helena and then down to Fort Peck. A month was consumed in making the trip.
