by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
After the Custer fight [in] June 1876, Sitting Bull left the mouth of Powder River in the month of December, headed for Canada with about 150 lodges. Colonel Nelson A. Miles and First Lieutenant Frank D. Baldwin, [Fifth Infantry], were soon on the red chief’s trail with their command of infantry and cavalry. Colonel Miles came down the Big Dry to old Fort Peck, but the old chief, getting on to Miles’s move, beat it back to the head of the Redwater, leaving fifty or seventy-five of his men to watch Miles’s movements while he was getting into winter camp. Miles split his command, taking all of the scouts, including his chief scout, “Yellowstone” Kelly. They went up Crow Creek and then back to old Fort Keogh [then Tongue River Cantonment]. Baldwin had no scouts and, sending for me, asked me how I would like a job as scout under the command of Colonel Miles. I was only 19 years old and didn’t know whether to take the job or not. My father told me I had better go.
I took the job about the eighth of December, the soldiers giving me the nickname, “boy scout,” which I still go by. We pulled out of old Fort Peck for the mouth of the Little Porcupine. The first fight we had was just below the mouth of the Milk River. Our next fight was at the mouth of the Little Porcupine on our way back to Fort Peck. We captured ten lodges of hostile Indians under the leadership of Charging Thunder, Sitting Bull’s right hand scout, who is still living [1933] on the Standing Rock Reservation. After returning to Fort Peck, Lieutenant (now General) Baldwin sent for me and said: “Joe, cross the river, going up the Redwater to its head and then to Fort Keogh.” I replied that I didn’t know much about the country on the south side of the Missouri, but that I would do my best. The general’s reply was, “Joe, you have done fine work, and although you are a young man I put a great deal of confidence in you.”
Troops on the march in a typical plains blizzard. From Our Wild Indians: Thirty-threeYears’ Personal Experience Among the Red Men of the Great West by Colonel Richard Irving Dodge (1882).
We left Wolf Point about December 11th and camped at the head of Wolf Creek, which empties into the Redwater. After striking the Redwater, we took our time. About the fifth day out I began to see signs of Indians but said nothing. After camping about where the town of Circle now stands, Lieutenant Baldwin sent for me and said, “Joe, the command will lay over here and rest the mules, and I want you to make a scout to see if you can see any fresh Indian trails leading toward the Yellowstone.” I was a little bit shaky, as I was not much on the fight, but said nothing. I had one of the best horses in the country and an excellent pair of field glasses, and I felt just as foxy as any Indian that ever ran the badlands of Montana.
The winter of 1876 was a severe, open winter with not much snow. On the morning of the 18th [17th], I started out alone on my scouting trip, which gained for me the confidence of old Indian fighters in eastern Montana. It was a fine morning but snowing a little when I pulled out from the command. About ten miles out from camp, on Timber Creek that runs into the Redwater, I noticed two buffalo running. I got out of sight and pulled my field glasses out and kept a watch on them. I noticed a horseman on the trail of the buffalo and thought some of going back to the command. My feet began to get cold and I thought of home. But I went farther up the creek to where Timber Creek heads into the badlands just east of the Sheep Mountains. Here I spied old Sitting Bull’s winter camp. He had gone into camp thinking he was safe for the winter. After locating the country and satisfying myself as to the number of Indians there were, I hit the back trail for the command and I sure made time. As I rode into camp, Baldwin, with one of his officers, met me and shook my hand and said, “Joe, what luck?” “Too many Indians for your command,” I replied.
We lay there that night and about five the next morning pulled out. I was in the lead with Baldwin when at about two o’clock in the afternoon we had almost got to within a mile of the Indian camp before the command was discovered by the Indians. As soon as the alarm was given, one could see Indians coming from all directions. There were about four Indians to one white man. The Indian camp was well sheltered along the creek, with plenty of timber on each side of the camp. The fight was a hot one, and for a while the bucks held the troopers back while the squaws and papooses were making their getaway. Baldwin gave the command to charge, and the whole camp was captured with six hundred head of horses, two or three hundred robes, and their winter supply of dried meat. The next morning we pulled out for Fort Keogh, but before reaching the fort we had another fight on Custer Creek. We fought Sitting Bull’s men four times that winter, but he made his way into Canada.
In the spring of 1877, Sitting Bull crossed the Missouri above the mouth of Hill Creek and camped on one of the points on the north bank of the Missouri. Here high water overtook him and he lost much of his camp outfit. He then pulled down Larb Creek and crossed the Milk River at the Big Bend, north of Saco, and returned [went?] into Canada. The winter of 1876-77 put an end to Sitting Bull’s fighting.
After we had returned to Fort Keogh, on Christmas eve, Colonel Miles sent for me again and asked if I would take a dispatch back to Fort Peck, a distance of 150 miles, to which I assented with pleasure. I pulled out that night and the following morning was beating down the Redwater. I made the trip in one night and two days. I remained in the service for twenty long years and have thirty-two honorable discharges and a medal presented to me by the government for services rendered to the United States Army.
Fighting Crazy Horse in the Wolf Mountains, 1877 (By Luther Barker, formerly of Company D, Fifth U. S. Infantry. From The Oregon Veteran, August, 1922)
Chief Crazy Horse was one of the principal actors in the…Custer disaster on the Little Big Horn in Montana, June 25, 1876. Crazy Horse was the principal chief of the Northern Cheyennes [sic—Oglala Lakotas] and was noted for his hatred toward the white race. No mercy was ever shown to any who were so unfortunate as to fall into his hands in those days of Indian warfare. Tongue River, being well timbered and abounding in game, made an ideal place for a winter camp. So Crazy Horse selected a fine location some eighty miles up the river from the [Tongue River] Cantonment and as Colonel Nelson A. Miles had been fully occupied driving Sitting Bull out of Montana into Canada during the fall and early winter of 1876, Crazy Horse felt quite secure. As there was an order from the department that no Indian camp should be allowed within 150 miles of the cantonment, the Fifth U. S. Infantry was kept pretty busy in those days. This great camp of hostiles had been located by a scout about the time we returned from our last campaign after Sitting Bull just before Christmas time. The order was to make ready for another thirty days’ scout up Tongue River, but owing to the frozen condition of the men, as the weather had been very severe during the last campaign and as Christmas was very near, the general decided to let the men doctor up their frozen feet and hands and spend Christmas at the cantonment.
This was a Christmas that will never be forgotten by the men who served at the cantonment on Tongue River, Montana, [in] December, 1876. When the men had had their Christmas feast and had in a measure recovered from the frostbites and the hard service of the past two months, we were ready to go after Chief Crazy Horse. The evening of December 26 found us in camp some distance from the log fort, up Tongue River. We recruits who had joined the regiment the first of October and were anxious for a campaign looked upon this trip in snow nearly a foot deep as being very prosaic.
Fifth Infantry soldiers at Fort Keogh, Montana Territory, ca. 1880, wearing buffalo overcoats, with Springfield rifles and fixed bayonets. Troops so attired campaigned through the winter of 1876-77 and fought Crazy Horse’s warriors at Wolf Mountains. Courtesy of Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument
As E and F companies of the Twenty-second Infantry had not been out on the previous campaigns, they were taken on this campaign. Out of over 600 men at the cantonment, there were only 350 that were able to go after Crazy Horse with a large camp and more than 900 warriors. During the few days that we had been permitted to remain at the log fort, there had been a blizzard and the
weather was very cold. Mercury ranged around 30 to 40 below zero. With this kind of weather and the snow growing deeper, as we would experience a snow storm every few days, would it not make an amateur wonder how much of this can a man stand? There was one consoling feature, that while we stayed on Tongue River we would have plenty of fuel and water.
We took with us on this march an extra supply of forage drawn by ox teams in the Diamond R trail wagons. When the country became too rough to longer handle this ox train, the wagons were parked and the oxen were driven along to serve the command as beeves. We experienced much difficulty in crossing some rough ranges with our mile wagon train. The teams would often have to be taken from the wagons and a company of soldiers would have to lower the wagons by ropes, then a company on the opposite side of the gorge would draw them up. In passing some sidling place, where the wagons were likely to upset, a rope would be fastened on the lower side of the wagon and thrown over the top of the wagon and a number of men would pull on the rope and keep the wagon from upsetting. This was very laborious and when added to our tramping all day in the snow and being on picket guard quite often, with other duties incidental to campaign work, we truly felt that we were earning our $13 a month. One of our many difficulties was that the wagons would often break through the ice and would have to be drawn out by the men. These mountain streams were treacherous. Sometimes only a few steps to one side from where the wagon train had crossed in safety a man on foot would break through and go down to his shoulders in ice water. In order to prevent men from almost perishing with cold at such times, the advance guard was instructed to build fires wherever the river was to be crossed.
In marching 140 miles, Tongue River was crossed 120 times. When we arrived at Crazy Horse’s late camp the fires were still smoldering, as the Indians had only been gone a day or so. The camp extended about two miles in length along the river, denoting many hundreds of Indians. Their trail led up the river, as they craved its shelter and fuel as well as we. The following day, after passing their abandoned camp, the scouts ran into a party of Indians acting as rear guard and the way they dashed out over the hills it seemed that they were greatly surprised. So this party fell in our rear the rest of this trip, and to get even with us for disturbing their little band the evening before they killed a mounted man by the name of William H. Batty of Company C, Fifth Infantry, while acting as rear guard. This brought the command to a halt for a time. A grave was dug and Batty was buried in the wilderness. The men who were with him said Batty was game, as he was pulling the trigger when the Indians fired a volley. One ball passed through his right wrist and penetrated his temple; another struck his horse in the forehead. Both fell dead, the horse on top of the man. As we were now entering the Wolf Mountains, the snow became deeper and the trail more difficult, but still we trudged on. Crazy Horse’s aim was to draw us as far from the cantonment as possible and when we were much exhausted, and in the place of his choosing, he intended to annihilate the whole command.
On the 7th of January we were entering a stretch of narrow valley with high hills on each side of the river. The farther we advanced the narrower the river valley became. About 3 p.m., while making a narrow pass on a side hill, a wagon broke down, which blocked further progress for some time. When we were ready to move forward again the sun was getting low, so Colonel Miles directed the quartermaster to park the wagon train in a large body of cottonwood trees, a fine camping ground with a high bank running in a circle which sheltered our camp and stock. We were scarcely settled in camp when heavy firing was heard west of the river out in the hills. It proved to be an attack of a small band of Indians who were trying to release some squaws and children that the scouts had captured. While the mounted infantry held the Indians in check, Liver-Eating Johnston, the famous old scout, aided by some Crow Indians, brought the captives into camp.
Engraving of Colonel Nelson A. Miles’s battle with the Lakotas and Northern Cheyennes at Wolf Mountains, Montana Territory, January 8, 1877. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, May 5, 1877
The Indians were soon routed, but orders were passed to company commanders to prepare for a five-day scout in light marching order, as it had been decided to leave the wagon train at this camp and go with pack mules up into the Big Horn Mountains after Crazy Horse. We had been cheerful, although much fatigued, but this started a murmur all around the camp. E Company, Fifth Infantry, was to be left as train guard with the supplies that were to carry us back to the fort. We reasoned that if E Company was wiped out, our chance of ever getting back to the cantonment was very slim.
We believed the Indians would attack us in the morning and we prayed that they would. The pickets were firing all night and it sounded good. We ate breakfast at four the next morning and were packing our mules for the one-blanket start when all at once there came such a yell from every hill on both sides of the river. The valley up the river was alive with Indians. The big mound where our wagon had broken down the evening before was black with redskins. In fact, we were surrounded by not less than 900 braves, with hundreds of old men and boys and squaws to join in on the finish if they should succeed. While matters looked a little blue for a time, we went at it with a will and by noon, January 8, 1877, we had Crazy Horse and his braves on the run and the day was won. The 12-pounder field piece we had with us was a factor in our favor, as the hills were shelled and at one place a shell killed nine Indians. The Indians fired much ammunition, but usually overshot us. Crazy Horse was very optimistic, telling his warriors that the soldiers would never eat another breakfast. A heavy snowstorm set in about noon and covered up the gruesome sights, as a battle in the snow leaves a very unwelcome sight. Many of our 45-70s found their mark and more than 100 [sic] braves went to the happy hunting grounds. We lost a number of men killed and wounded. Some died of wounds, as they could not stand forty below zero weather.
This was Crazy Horse’s last battle. He surrendered the following spring at Camp Bradley on the Little Missouri River [sic—Crazy Horse surrendered at Camp Robinson, Nebraska]. Later he tried to start another uprising and while resisting arrest was bayoneted by a sentry and died.
We found the return trip much harder, owing to the increased depth of snow. The old trail was drifted full and was of no help to us. We were now standing picket guard every other night, and by the time we had crossed our wagon train back over the rugged ranges our reserve strength was exhausted. We halted and took Batty up. He had not been disturbed. The last few days of this return trip we could only make a few miles a day…. The post band came out some distance to welcome our return. We cared little for that, but when we turned a point of timber and saw Old Glory flying, we cheered. I remember Sergeant Thomas Gray had prepared D Company a good dinner, but we would rather sleep than eat. When our first sergeant called out, “General Miles orders these men excused from duty for three days,” my Irish bunky said, “Bless Paddy Miles.”
The Surrender of Chief Dull Knife (Morning Star), 1878 (By Louis DeWitt, former U. S. Army scout. From Winners of the West, May 30, 1930)
It is with a fervent spirit of keen memory [that] I desire to express my own experience in the occurrence of 1878 with the band of Cheyennes under Dull Knife’s command, which broke away from the Indian Territory assignment abode. I was in Rapid City, South Dakota [Dakota Territory], attending United States Federal Court when the United States Seventh Cavalry arrived. I was employed as scout and interpreter. My first order was to scout for the Cheyenne war party’s movement. I went through the Badlands country across the Cheyenne River over to the head of Bad River [and] down to White River and Wounded Knee Creek, where I overtook the army after a three-days’ scouting. We established headquarters at Camp Sheridan for the Seventh Cavalry from where the scouting parties were sent out. Word was received at Camp Sheridan that Dull Knife and his band had been captured; they were in dugouts in a heavy timber. A misunderstanding of their interpreter as to surrender caused Major Caleb H. Carlton of [the] Third Cavalry to send to Major Joseph G. Til
ford of the Seventh Cavalry for aid in the use of a cannon and an interpreter to interview Dull Knife as to his intentions.
First Lieutenant and adjutant Ernest A. Garlington was detailed to take a detachment of soldiers, cannon, and the interpreter (myself), who arrived at Colonel Carlton’s tent about midnight. He informed me to try to gain a meeting with Dull Knife. With their interpreter, I called to the Indians in dugouts, and after some parleying was admitted into their camp where I remained the rest of the night, hearing the[ir] repeated appeals not to return to the assigned territory, repulsive in climate and habits. In the morning, Adjutant Garlington took me to Colonel Carlton’s camp, who upon hearing my reported interview commanded me to get Dull Knife and three of his men to talk to them. As a result of my untiring efforts with the Indians through the night in my repeated explanations to avoid bloodshed, which seemed imminent at any moment, [and] to look forward to the future development of their succeeding generations. I gained some assurance, which ended in Colonel Carlton giving them a half hour to surrender or fight, which meant being shelled out.
I explained to the colonel [that] Indians have no knowledge of clock time, hence I returned with Dull Knife to his dugout, who told his warriors of the order to which they agreed to surrender and be taken to Camp Robinson without fighting. I gave the signal answer, which immediately started the lineup of the men marching. I assisted in loading the women and children in wagons, seeing them start off peaceably.
At my present age of seventy-five years it gives me humble satisfaction that I take pleasure in stating these words of Brigadier General Garlington’s (retired) letter of 1917 to me: “I have always felt that it was entirely due to your influence with the Cheyenne band who had dug themselves in the banks of Chadron Creek, that they consented to go without a fight, in performing the valuable duty of your interpretation of that night’s service.”
