by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
Our company cooks would traverse the line of rifle pits after dark with a day’s rations, and we saw them no more until the next night. A troop of cavalry with a lot of wagons made a trip to the north base of the mountains and found plenty of wood. So we had coffee, cooked pork, and beans afterwards. The white flag would be displayed over in the Indian camp, usually in the afternoon and the headquarters bugler would sound cease firing. The children in the Indian camp knew what that call meant. They would come scampering out of their dugouts and caves, fixed for their safety, and enjoy a romp and play like schoolchildren. Even the soldiers enjoyed these brief opportunities to walk about and get some exercise. But when the white flag returned in their camp, every man and Indian hunted his hiding place. When the fight would grow dull the Indians would sometimes put up an old hat on a stick or ramrod. The soldiers would also trick them. It would always bring a rattle of rifle shots. But this fun, as we called it, was soon brought to an end at our rifle pit. Captain Brotherton’s tent was pitched just under the creek bank behind our rifle pit. The captain’s dog robber reported us when the captain inquired why there was so much firing at the Indian camp, so he informed us that we should stop at once. You see, the captain was a very tall man and he did not enjoy the whiz of those bullets. We could not blame him much either, as he had just brought a new wife from the East only a few days before starting on this campaign.
There was a division in the Indian camp. Chief Joseph wanted to surrender the evening of the first of October when we held him a prisoner overnight, but Chief White Bird and his party refused, believing that Sitting Bull would come down from Canada and help them out. We were a little concerned about this matter ourselves. We were in no condition to fight any outside enemy with seventy-five men killed and wounded [sic] and some sick and all about worn out. Still the fight went on, but we could see the resistance was growing less. The evening of the 4th of October, the writer’s birthday, just about sunset, a large party of warriors came out of their stronghold and formed a camp on the creek only about fifty yards from our rifle pit. An officer came over and talked with the writer to inform us that these Indians would give up their arms in the morning, and that we must not fire on them in the night. We thought that it would be safer for us if they would give up their arms that evening, but he said they were all right as they had surrendered. We were wide awake that night at our rifle pit, as it did not seem good to us to have so many Indians as our neighbors unless they were disarmed. There was but little firing that night as the word had been passed around the lines to only fire when we were fired on. There was a bad bunch that would not surrender over in their stronghold that we paid our respects to, as we decided the fight was about over.
The Nez Perces laid so low in the daytime that it was hard to get a shot at them, so there was usually more firing at night than during the day. At night they would be moving about, and we could hear them talking, so the man on watch at each rifle pit would fire at every sound. There were two reasons for this: we might get our Indian, and another reason was to let them know the man on post was wide awake. During the night of October 5th [4th], Brigadier General Oliver O. Howard and son, Second Lieutenant Guy Howard, came to the battlefield with a bodyguard of the Seventh Cavalry. General Howard had been on Joseph’s trail since February [sic—June] and he wanted to be in at the surrender. When it was light enough to see on the morning of the 6th [5th], it revealed the fact that the Indian camp across the creek had been greatly augmented during the night. Most of their fighting men had joined the friendly camp, although there was a number who still showed fight. At about nine o’clock, Chief Joseph, followed by a number of his chiefs, moved out to meet General Howard and Colonel Miles. General Howard was somewhat in advance of Colonel Miles when they halted to receive Joseph and his party. Joseph walked stiffly by General Howard and handed his gun to Colonel Miles. The warriors turned in their guns; they were almost all of an obsolete pattern. Colonel Miles knew that they had been using better guns than these, so he ordered two troops of cavalry to take charge of the Indian stronghold.
The first thing to be done was to capture the outlaw Indians. They had fired several shots after Joseph had surrendered. They were soon disarmed and bound and the Battle of the Bear’s Paw Mountains was over. A large number of breech-loading rifles were found. In one place there were twenty-five magazine Henry rifles. They had carefully cached these improved rifles for some future use. The order was that no one would be allowed over in the Indian stronghold, only these two troops of cavalry. We were all anxious to see this place, and at our rifle pit we hadn’t had a chew of tobacco for so long that we could not smile anymore. So we planned that we would go in turns and would carry our guns and if any objection were raised we could say that we were one of the guard. The only trouble we experienced in this was the difference in the length of our gun barrels. There were so many dugouts and pits that one had to be careful where they stepped or they would go headlong into some hole. We secured the object of our search; while we could not eat anything they had in the way of food, we sure could relish the tobacco.
As there had to be litters made to carry our wounded, so many being so badly shot that they could not ride in the wagons, we did not get away from the sinister place until the afternoon of the seventh of October. Had it been two months earlier, or under more favorable and peaceful conditions, it would have been a lovely place to have spent a summer vacation. But we were in rain, snow, and mud until our uniforms of blue were the color of a Montana clay bank. We were five days in making the Missouri River, where a steamer was in waiting to take the wounded to hospitals at Fort Buford and Fort Lincoln. Some that were shot through the body died that first night on the steamer, after relaxing their energy. These men’s wounds had not been dressed since the beginning of the battle, September 30th, until October 12th. We were winning the Great West in those days and giving Uncle Sam the best of our manhood. What class of veterans have done more? There was a temporary hospital established here at the river and a number of amputations performed. Colonel Sturgis was here with eight troops of his regiment, and we lost the four troops of the Seventh that were with us at the Bear’s Paw battle.
After being relieved of the wounded, and the train guard being all mounted, we made better time. When about two days march from Fort Keogh we were met by two troops of the Second Cavalry, completing the battalion, as we had had two troops of the Second at the battlefield. Joseph and his band were held at Fort Keogh for a time, but were finally sent to the Indian Territory. It was claimed that 480 all told surrendered to General Miles at the Bear’s Paw Mountains. They became sickly after staying in the Territory a few months and were later [1885] sent back to their reservation in Idaho. Joseph was the guest of [later] General Miles at several expositions. He had lots of respect for General Miles, as he was the only one that had whipped him in an equal fight. And thus ends the campaign and capture of a great chief and his fighting band, the Nez Perces.
Bannock War Service, 1878 (By Ernest F. Albrecht, formerly of Troop A, First U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, November, 1924)
About the 18th or 20th of June,’ 78, we were ordered to leave Camp Harney[, Oregon, ] to hunt and fight Indians. At that time there were stationed at Camp Harney A and G, First Cavalry, and Company K, Twenty-first Infantry.
Troop A, under Captain Thomas McGregor, and Troop G, under Captain Reuben F. Bernard, at once left, leaving Captain George M. Downey with Company K, Twenty-first Infantry, to guard the post. We shortly struck an Indian trail as wide as a city street. After following it for a few days, the scouts reported the Indians a short distance ahead. We were halted and ordered to tighten our cinches and get ready, then mounted again and we struck the Indians about five miles further on, as far as I can recollect, the 23rd of June. When we first sighted them, they were in a small round valley about twelve to fifteen hundred yards in diameter. From about the center of this valley to a gap in the surrounding hills there were the headwaters of a stream cov
ered with thick willow brush about ten to twelve feet high. Near the end of this brush, the chiefs of the different tribes were riding in a ring, waiting for us. As soon as we sighted the redskins, it was a trot, gallop, charge while they fired at us. As soon as their revolvers were empty, they fled along the bushes towards the outlet of the stream.
Here they had a narrow trail leading out of the level valley to a palisade-like cliff that ran almost parallel with the bushes about five hundred yards from them. We were ordered to dismount, firing at them and following them as fast as we could. Now that was just what the Indians had expected, as the whole thing was a trap. The bushes to our left were full of Indians, planted there to massacre us from ambush, and the cliffs to our right were lined with Indians lying down firing at us, without giving us a chance at them. Not a man would have come out alive had it not been for two things. The first was that the Indians on the bluff, fearing to hit the bushes, fired a little too low, their bullets raising a cloud of dust about four or five yards to our right. The other was the fact that McGregor, being an old Indian fighter, saw the trap we were in and had the trumpeter sound cease firing and recall, besides sending Second Lieutenant Frank A. Edwards to bring us back. We then went back to where the officers were and remained here with our mortally wounded corporal, Peter F. Graentsinger. We remained here in the hail of Indian bullets to keep him from the torture until he died, without disobeying orders [and] not firing at the Indians. We were then ordered to a small hill on the edge of the valley and “dug in,” that is, built a small breastwork, expecting the redskins to attack at daybreak next morning. We were, however, disappointed. It was either the loss of…[one of their chiefs, Little Bearskin Dick, killed] or the nearness of General Howard’s big command. We were left alone until night came.
I was detailed for guard on the picket line that night and received the second relief from eleven [p.m.] to one [a.m.]. Punctually at twelve, three shots were fired at us from the bushes, one striking the ground under the horses’ feet, another making a couple of holes through Captain McGregor’s tent, and the third went wild. The next morning a burial and firing party was detailed for poor Graentsinger. As we rightly surmised, the redskins had gone. I asked some of the burial party afterwards how Graentsinger had looked, but even the most callous of them told me it was too revolting to relate.
During all this time, one of our scouts was missing and we believed he had taken French leave [deserted]. Little did we dream what a terrible fate was his. He had been badly wounded in the first part of the battle, had fallen off his horse, and crawled into a nearby hole in the ground, thinking that he had not been seen. But the squaws had seen him and as soon as we were out of the way they pulled up sagebrush, piled it on top of the hole, and set fire to it. Any one that ever burnt sagebrush knows what that means. It will flare up, but the thick stems will scale off and burn through anything they fall on, so they slowly tortured him to death. We never found this out until afterwards when everything was over and the Indian prisoners boasted of it. Strange to say, the very Indians boasting were graduates of the government schools, and one of them a talented sculptor. After the burial we broke camp and took up pursuit, and kept so hot after them that they had no time to go murdering through the country. The rest of the war is too well known to take your time, except that all prisoners after the war agree with Sally [Sarah] Winnemucca that the Indians we struck was the whole of the Indian force, numbering between 1, 200 and 1, 500, all well armed with Winchesters, Sharps, Centennials, and other such then modern rifles. It was really the fact that they had taken us to be the advance of General Howard’s force that saved us from being massacred.
After the war was over, and we had to chain-guard the prisoners at Camp Harney, it fell to our lot to learn a brand new method of making good Indians. The inventor of this new method was First Lieutenant Thomas Drury, a wise Irishman. He evidently knew Indians, because in a private conversation he was heard to say that he would kill more Indians than the war, and he came near doing so. He was commissary officer, and he saw to it that the redskins got all they could eat, and the redskins promptly gorged themselves until they died like flies. Out of between 600 and 700, the number first in the prison camp, scarcely 200 were finally delivered to Father James H. Wilbur [Indian agent] at Fort Simcoe….
It was Captain Thomas McGregor with Troop A that transported the prisoners that winter over the mountains in frost and snow to Fort Simcoe, for on that trip I contracted my rheumatism that gives me h-ll now. After delivering the redskins, we stayed for a little while at the agency and had an opportunity of observing Wilber’s method. It was simply justice and severity. During our stay there, one of the Indian farmers came to Wilber complaining that one of his cows was stolen. Wilber took out his whistle, blew one blast, and the chief of his police came running across the parade ground. In two hours both cow and Indian were on the parade ground, and in three the prisoner was chopping wood with a ball and chain on him and a policeman with a blacksnake whip and a revolver over him. Later we went to Ellensburg and camped within easy reach of Fort Simcoe all summer. That was the last Indian trouble in the Northwest.
Fighting the Bannocks in 1878 (By George Buzan, formerly of the Oregon Militia. From Winners of the West, May, 1924)
I am acquainted with a few of the boys that served in the Bannock Indian War of 1878…. [Here is] a few lines in behalf of the…[soldiers who] stood before the reds on that hot afternoon in July, 1878, at Willow Springs, where three were killed and a number wounded…. We will start with the first warning on the 3rd day of July, 1878, [when] about 3 a.m., a friendly voice came to our mountain home—“roll out, roll out, the Bannocks and Snake Indians are on the warpath.” And 20 miles from Pendleton, Oregon, we made a run for a near town, and on July 4th, 1878, organized a company of volunteers, and on Dec. 10, 1878, we were mustered in by Adjutant General J. H. Turner, as Company B, 2nd Regiment, Oregon State Militia, Captain Robert E. Eastland, with headquarters at Elk Horn School House, Umatilla County, Oregon, near the line of the Umatilla Indian Reservation. We had our own horses and met once a week for drill. We also built a stockade. There were three Indians captured for the killing of two white men. This made the Indians very sulky. (This was in the fall of 1878.)
They (the Indians) were tried and executed, two in January, 1879, and one later in 1879; and at the January execution, 1879, the fears of the people and sheriff were great that the Indians would cause trouble. The sheriff called the volunteers, or a part of them, to Pendleton, Oregon, as guards and the balance as scouts. He also had a company of U. S. troops from Fort Walla Walla, Washington [Territory], and before the last Indian was executed it looked like another outbreak was inevitable. However, a number of the whites and Indians held a council and we had no more trouble. With all candor, I hope that the [pension] law may change so that the few that are left of Company B may receive their just reward.
There were fifty-eight in the company. There has been a good many dropped out in that time. Our time in the service was one year, eleven months and six days, without pay. Horses don’t count.
Action in the Ute War of 1879 (By Eugene Patterson, formerly of Troop F, Fifth U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, November, 1925)
The field of battle was well chosen by the Indians, and had it not been for Major Thomas T. Thornburg’s advance guard, commanded by Second Lieutenant Samuel A. Cherry, discovering the Indians, the entire command would have been annihilated. Cherry saw a small party of Indians disappear over the hills and rode back and notified Major Thornburg, who had already begun the descent into a deep ravine which was intended to engulf the entire command. The Indians were concealed upon the hillsides and the troops were dismounted and deployed in line of battle. Cherry moved out and approached to within a couple of hundred yards of the Indians, took off his hat and waved it. The response was a shot which killed Private Michael Firestone. This was the first shot and Cherry deployed along the hill to prevent the Indians flanking his position.
/> The wagon train was then parked, Company F, Fifth Cavalry, on the left, and Company E, Third Cavalry, on the right. Captain J. Scott Payne with Company F was ordered to charge the hill, having his horse shot under him [in the process] and several of his men wounded. The Indians were driven from this point, and the company rallied on the wagon train. Lieutenant Cherry called for twenty volunteers who responded promptly. Sixteen were wounded and two were killed before he reached the wagons, and he brought every wounded man in with him. Major Thornburg started to the wagon train and was killed when hardly halfway to the train. Captain Payne, then in command, began shooting horses for breastworks. The red devils then set fire to the dry grass and some of the wagons caught fire, which required all the force possible to smother it with no water, and the smoke was suffocating.
The Indians kept up a constant fire and Captain Payne was wounded for the second time. At an early hour in the morning of October 2nd, Captain Francis S. Dodge with D Company, Ninth Cavalry, dashed up and entered the beleaguered camp without losing any men. Early in the morning of October 5th, the command under Colonel Wesley Merritt reached us, which sure looked good. His command had marched 170 miles in less than forty-eight hours. Those killed [in all the fighting] were: Major Thornburg, First Sergeant John Dolan, Privates Michael Firestone, John Burns, Samuel McKee, and Amos D. Miller, all of Troop F, Fifth Cavalry; Privates Thomas Mooney, Michael Lynch, and Charles Wright, all of Troop D, Fifth Cavalry; Private Dominick Cuff of Troop E, Third Cavalry; William McKinstry, wagon master; Thomas McGuire, teamster, and C. Grafton Lowery, guide. Those wounded were: Captain Payne, Second Lieutenant James V. S. Paddock, Sergeant John Merrill, Trumpeters Frederick Sutcliffe and John McDonald, Privates James T. Gibbs, John Hoaxey, Emil Kussman, Eugene Patterson, Frank E. Simmons, Eugene Schickedonze, William Esser, Gotlieb Steiger, all of Troop F, Fifth Cavalry; Sergeants James Montgomery and Allen Lupton, Corporal Charles F. Eichwurzel, Privates Frank Hunter, James Conway, William H. Clark, Orlando H. Duran, John Donovan, Joseph Budka, Thomas Ferguson, Thomas Lewis, Edward Lavelle, Willard W. Mitchell, John Mahoney, Joseph Patterson, William M. Schubert, Marcus Hansen, John Crowley, Nicholas W. Heeney, Thomas Lynch, Frederick Bernhardt, E. Miller, Dr. Robert Grimes, and Teamsters Thomas Kane and Fred Nelson.
