Jerome A. Greene
Page 36
With Custer at the Washita, 1868 (By Henry Langley, formerly of Troop C, Seventh U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, December 15, 1925)
In reference to the Black Kettle fight we had in Wichita [sic—at the Washita River], we had a pretty hard time getting there on account of snow and sleet and things of that kind. We were in sight of the Indians but out of reach. They had their women and children with them and were going to camp. They would throw out fighting men every once in a while to detain us from catching up with them. We followed them for several days in the snow, eighteen or twenty inches on the level. We had Ute [Osage] Indian trailers and guides. We followed the Indians for several days and finally lost sight of them. After a few hours one of the Ute trailers was on ahead and signaled for us to stop. Colonel Custer rode up with his aide and the Indian reported the tribe on the Wichita [Washita] River, which was only about a mile from where we were. The sun was going down at the time and Custer thought it wouldn’t be right to go for them that night.
We were ordered to dismount and stand by our horses to keep them from making any noise, as the Indians were right under the bluff. You could hear the dogs barking in the camp. We laid all night with our horses, cold, wet, and mad! But finally, just before day, the order was given to get ready to march. We had our band with us, which Custer ordered to play the grand charge. As soon as it was light enough to see, the command was given to mount and charge. The band was stationed at the crossing of the creek, and Custer ordered it to strike up some lively tune. As soon as the command was given to charge, the band struck up “Garry Owen,” a lively Irish quickstep. Our horses were tired and we were mad before that, but as soon as the band struck up that tune the horses seemed to take new heart and the men, too, and when we went into the village the Indians didn’t know what it was, thinking it was some serenade, and they came running out of the tents without their arms. As soon as they saw Custer and his command, they rushed back into their tents and got their guns, commencing firing. We did nothing but return the fire, and left a great many of them on the ground, between eighty and ninety, I believe. Captain Louis M. Hamilton, of our regiment, was killed early in the fight. Major Joel Elliott, with nineteen [seventeen] men, was ordered on a scout to look out for outlying Indians[sic—Elliott went after escaping Indians on his own volition]. He went off and they kept us fighting all day, off and on, but Major Elliott never turned up. Sometime afterwards we found him and his men in a canyon in the mountains, all dead. We buried them and got ready to go back [sic—Elliott’s party was not found until two weeks later when Custer’s command returned to the scene; the dead were buried at that time].
After the fight at Wichita was over, we had orders to destroy the camp. We burned their tents and their camp equipment and had to shoot the ponies, after which we started back to Camp Supply, I. T., with the Indian women and children. [In March, 1869, Custer’s command pursued the Indians into the Texas panhandle.] There we met a lot of Indians, but they had no fight in them. Colonel Custer sent for some of the chiefs and main men to come in for a talk. There were three chiefs and some other Indians came in…. After the talk, Colonel Custer placed the three chiefs under guard and sent the balance of them back to their camp to bring two white girls which they had captured before, and bring them back at a certain time. If they didn’t bring them back by that time, Custer would hang the three chiefs to a cottonwood tree. They started off and in a very short time came back with the two girls….
I was wounded slightly twice during the fight at Wichita, in the left wrist and in the left leg above the knee. This all occurred in the latter part of September, 1868. [sic—the Washita encounter took place on November 27, 1868.]
The Battle at Palo Duro Canyon, 1874 (By John B. Charlton, formerly sergeant, Troop F, Fourth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, April 28, 1942)
During the summer of 1874, while Colonel Ranald S. Mackenzie’s command was in quarters at Fort Clark, Texas, rumors became rife of unrest among certain tribes of Indians on the government reservations. These rumors were soon verified by a threatened outbreak. Shortly after this news reached the post, I was sent by Colonel Mackenzie with dispatches to Fort Sill, and my orders were to travel by night only, as the country at that time was infested by numerous small bands of Indians; so by traveling at night much delay was avoided and many dangers evaded. By changing horses at each army post on the route, I was able to make the ride, a distance of about 580 miles, in six nights. Upon my return, I found the general’s command at Fort Concho, Texas, and there learned that the threatened outbreak had occurred—that Lone Wolf’s band, strengthened by warriors from other tribes, had left the reservations, and with their families had established themselves in winter quarters somewhere well within the border of northwest Texas, and that Colonel Mackenzie had been ordered out with his command, consisting of seven troops of cavalry, to intercept them and break up their camp.
I reported to the colonel and was placed with the scouting party then being formed. This party consisted of six white men, thirteen Seminoles, and twelve Tonkawa Indians. First Lieutenant William Thompson was made chief of the scouts. The command left Fort Concho immediately, moving in the direction of what was then called Blanco Canyon, but is now known as Yellow House Canyon. The supply trains, accompanied by four companies of infantry from Fort Concho, followed. After several days’ marching, we reached this canyon where a supply camp was established. Rain fell in torrents that night, and a “norther” blew up, which added greatly to the discomfort of the troops. The next morning, September 26th 1874, with fifteen days’ rations for each man, the troops were on the march again, this time the objective point being Tule Canyon, about a day’s march ahead of us. After reaching the level of the plains, the scouts were ordered out on duty, as we were nearing that part of the country where it was hoped reliable information might be gathered as to the location of the main body of Indians. Lieutenant Thompson had orders to travel in a direction deviating somewhat from that taken by the command. We rode all morning without any sign of Indians, but about noon came to a slight break in the plains where we drew rein to make a survey of the landscape. Some distance away I noticed what appeared to be a herd of about a hundred buffalo. I called Lieutenant Thompson’s attention to them. Looking through his field glasses for a moment, he exclaimed: “They are Indians, sergeant, and they are going to attack us. Get your men ready for action.”
I dismounted the men, placed six of them in charge of the horses, and the remainder was formed in line of battle around the horses. Lieutenant Thompson watched the approaching savages intently until they were near enough to make sure of their approximate number, then he rode over to us and gave orders to fall back toward the command, as we were outnumbered four to one. “Hold steady, men, and reserve your fire until they are within easy reach,” said the lieutenant. They were approaching rapidly, about 120 of them, and yelling like demons. The scouts numbered thirty-one men, all told. When the Indians reached a point about sixty yards from our defense line, they suddenly turned to the right and began circling us. Then we opened fire. Step by step our scouts fell back, fighting every inch of the way, and hoping meanwhile that we were traveling in the direction of the command. An Indian buck, mounted on a white horse, kept riding toward us, firing and yelling, then riding back into line. Each trip he grew bolder and approached nearer to our men. Just how many of the scouts decided to stop his bluff, I cannot say, but this Comanche soon went down with several bullet holes in his carcass. The Indians continued to harass us until about sundown, when luckily we reached the trail of the command. Our foes, realizing from the size of the trail the presence of a large body of troops in that vicinity, disappeared as if by magic. We then mounted our horses, took up the trail, and reached camp about 10 o’clock that night. Several Indians were killed by our men, but by good luck we had no casualties to report.
When Colonel Mackenzie heard of the skirmish with the Indians, he ordered about one-third of the company, including the scouts,
placed on guard that night, as he, with the rest of us, strongly suspected that we would be attacked before daylight. His suspicion proved correct, for at “moon up” they were upon us, this time several hundred strong. That portion of the men not on guard rested on their guns, so at the first alarm from vidette we were up and ready for them. At the first fire from our men, the Indians withdrew, no doubt somewhat surprised at the number of troops. At no time during the night did they approach so closely again, but kept circling the camp skirmishing, presumably for an opening to stampede our horses. Ten wagons in charge of Wagonmaster James O’Neal arrived at camp during the night. These wagons were loaded with forage and ammunition and were accompanied by one company of infantry, the other three companies having been left to guard the supplies at Yellow House Canyon. It is a mystery why this train of ten wagons was not attacked, for, owing no doubt to some atmospheric condition peculiar to the plains, the drivers heard none of the firing and came noisily into camp cracking their whips and yelling at their mules, which were floundering in the mud.
At dawn the following day, the Indians left us. A laughable incident occurred about this time. As the Indians disappeared, the attention of the troops was attracted by the sight of a solitary Comanche riding a brown pony. He was on a little rise out of range of our rifles, and appeared nonplussed as to the direction taken by his companions, from whom he had evidently been cut off. He scanned the horizon for a moment, then attempted a short cut in the direction taken by the other Indians. This brought him in range of our rifles, when Henry, a Tonkawa, shot his horse dead and the horse in falling threw the rider. Henry then rode forth against his fallen foe. Now, in those days an Indian wore his blanket in this fashion: taking the blanket lengthwise, he wrapped it around his body. His cartridge belt, with pistol in holster, was buckled around his waist, and the top part of the blanket then turned down over the belt. The Comanche had risen to his feet, but was somewhat dazed from the fall when Henry arrived upon the scene. Henry’s rifle was strapped to his saddle, and he was so sure of victory that he had neglected to draw it until it was too late. He fumbled desperately for his pistol which still remained entangled in the folds of his blanket. In the meantime, the Comanche, fully recovered, had made a spring for the Tonkawa, dragged him from his horse, and, drawing his bow, began to give him the trouncing of his life. At every cut of the bow, Henry leaped about three feet in the air, making frantic gestures toward the troops and yelling, “Why you no shoot? Why you no shoot?” The whole command was laughing, but we had enjoyed the fun long enough, so somebody shot the Comanche and Henry took his scalp with great satisfaction, but he nursed a grouch against the whole bunch of us for several days.
After the troops had breakfasted, Colonel Mackenzie sent for me and told me to take two Indians and follow the trail of those who had attacked the command the night before. So, accompanied by two Tonkawas, Johnson and Job, I took up the trail at once, and we rode rapidly for several miles before I began to notice numerous other trails, all converging and fresh. The country over which we rode appeared level as they eye could see, and was covered with undulating waves of rich grass. Suddenly and unexpectedly, we came in view of Palo Duro Canyon, a colossal crevice which breaks the plains of northwest Texas for a distance of sixty miles. I dismounted at once, left Job in charge of the horses and, with Johnson, crept on hands and knees to the edge of the canyon precipice. I felt overawed at the depth of the walls of the canyon, which at this point had a sheer drop of about 1, 500 feet, the distance from wall to wall being about [one-]half mile. A small stream of water was running through the canyon. Flecks of valley land was visible, intermingled with dark cedar tops which cast darker shadows on the ground. In the open, hundreds of horses were grazing. Viewed from our immense height, the horses appeared as tiny moving objects. Tepees thickly dotted the banks of the stream as far down the canyon as I could see. I afterwards learned that this Indian camp was three miles long. At any rate, from my vantage point I had gotten a pretty comprehensive view of the whole situation. Time was pressing and there was a ride of twenty-five miles back to the main command. “Heap Injun!” grunted Johnson, close to my ear. “You bet your life, old scout, and some canyon, too,” whispered I, as we backed off cautiously and made a run for our horses.
I lost no time in reporting to Colonel Mackenzie what I had seen. In a short time the troops were again in the saddle, marching against Lone Wolf’s stronghold, in the depths of Palo Duro Canyon, and its defense of 1, 500 warriors. The colonel left one troop of cavalry with the remaining company of infantry to guard the wagons at Tule Canyon. This reduced the strength of the main command to less than 600 men. After an all-night march, the command reached the Palo Duro Canyon at sunup on the morning of September 28th, 1874. The scouts, as was their duty, were slightly in advance of the main column. As the rear of the column swung into line, Colonel Mackenzie rode over to us and said: “Mr. Thompson, take your men down and open the fight.” “Very well, sir,” said the lieutenant. Now the only means of ingress to the canyon available was a rocky and precipitous buffalo trail, down which the men were forced to go in single file. Lieutenant Thompson led us down here, and as we went over the brink, McCabe, an Irishman and one of the scouts, murmured dolefully: “And not even a cup o’ coffee to stay me stummick.”
When we had reached a point about two-thirds of the way down, an Indian sentinel to our left leaped to his feet from behind a rock and uttered a war-whoop that awoke the echoes far and near. That yell, with the shot that finished his earthly career, aroused the multitude of Indians below. The din became terrific. And then we went down into that inferno of howling redskins. Kiowas, Comanches, Arapahos, and Cheyennes attacked us from every quarter, first by dozens, later by hundreds, as the warriors gathered from the lower part of the camp. Many were concealed behind rocks, while others were ambushed in the foliage of the cedars. We were being reinforced as rapidly as the troops could make the descent of the tortuous and precipitous trail. The smoke from our rifles settled down, adding further obscurity to the darkness of the canyon. But I could hear Colonel Mackenzie’s voice giving orders somewhere in the thickest of the fray. The Indian warriors held their ground for a time, fighting desperately to cover the exit of their squaws and pack animals, but under the persistent fire of the troops they soon began falling back, slowly at first, toward the head of the canyon.
The herd of Indian ponies, frightened by the uproar, fled first to one pass and then to another, only to have their leader shot down by a trooper, thereby blocking the trail. The main body of Indians retreated in the open along the banks of the stream. Here the troops suffered their greatest casualties, being subjected to a crossfire from numerous snipers hidden in the timber on both sides. It was about five miles to the pass where the squaws left the canyon, and it was well toward sunset when the warriors, now in full retreat, reached that point. The command followed closely the going out of the Indians, but long ere the rear troops had reached the level of the plains, Lone Wolf’s magnificent band of warriors had fled. We followed them for a short distance, but as the men had been twenty-four hours without food, and as our dead and wounded were in need of attention, Colonel Mackenzie thought it best to turn back. Upon re-entering the canyon, we passed over dead Indians everywhere. Their wounded they took with them. After a careful search, we found our casualties to be two dead and quite a number wounded. One man was shot through the bowels, but he got well. His recovery, the doctor said, was due to the fact that he had been without food so long.