Lay the Mountains Low

by Terry C. Johnston

  Major John Green, of the First Cavalry, would position his Fort Boise column and some Bannock scouts at Henry Croasdaile’s ranch,** located ten miles from Mount Idaho on Cottonwood Creek. With D, E, G, and L Troops of the First Cavalry, along with B and F Companies of the Twelfth Infantry, in addition to those thirty-five Warm Springs trackers, the entire force of twenty-two officers, and 245 enlisted men, Green would be deployed in a central location allowing his men to protect the Camas Prairie settlements and the Kamiah subagency, too, where the major would position an artillery battery and two fieldpieces. From his base of operations Green would dispatch reconnaissance parties to the region of the Salmon and Snake, with orders to capture and arrest any Nez Perce who might possibly be allied with the Non-Treaty bands.

  But O. O. Howard had saved the right column for himself. Accompanying him on Joseph’s trail would be a battalion of the Fourth Artillery A, C, D, E, G, and L Batteries, commanded by Captain Marcus P. Miller. Under Captain Evan Miles would serve a battalion of foot soldiers: Company H, Eighth Infantry, Company C, Twelfth Infantry—both of which had recently arrived from Fort Yuma along the Mexican border in Arizona Territory—in addition to C, D, E, H, and I Companies of the Twenty-first Infantry, who had already been seeing a lot of service with Howard in the first weeks of this outbreak. Major George B. Sanford was coming up to command the general’s horse soldiers: B, C, I, and K Troops of the First Cavalry—all of them fresh companies that had not seen any service so far in the campaign.

  Howard wired McDowell: “Will start with the rest of my command through the impenetrable Lolo Pass, and follow Joseph to the very death.”

  This one-armed general was about to lead forty-seven officers, 540 enlisted men, seventy-four civilian and Indian scouts, as well as some seventy packers for his 350-mule pack train into one of the most far-reaching and inhospitable tracts of wilderness in the United States.

  *Wheaton would not reach the theater of operations until July 29, having traveled from Atlanta to Oakland, California, by rail, boarded a steamer to Portland, and traveled by riverboat up the Columbia to Lewiston.

  **In August 1877, an officer with the campaign wrote: “… The [Non-Treaty] Indians entered the house first and destroyed most of the furniture &c and were followed by the soldiers & volunteers who completed the destruction.” From the home of this retired British army officer the Non-Treaty warriors removed many high-powered and explosive bullets, some of which later saw use by the Nez Perce at the Battle of the Big Hole and eventually at the Battle of the Bear’s Paw Mountains.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  JULY 20–21, 1877

  BY TELEGRAPH

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  The St. Louis Bank Panic Subsiding.

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  The Great Strike on the Baltimore and Ohio road.

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  OREGON.

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  Latest From the Indian War.

  SAN FRANCISCO, July 18.—A Walla Walla dispatch says the Indians have killed three men and one girl on Cow creek. Old Salty, a Spokane chief, believes fifty of his warriors have gone to join Joseph. They are beyond his control. Col. Green with his column has reached Little Salmon river from the South. A messenger from Smookhalls and Spokane Jerry, non-treaty Spokane chiefs, announces that they desire to remain friendly and go upon a reservation, provided one is set apart for them and food furnished for the winter.

  Fort Lapwai

  Friday, July 20, 1877

  Dear Mamma,

  All our troubles are upon us again and worse than ever. I feel even more upset, as John is ordered into the field and I will have to be here alone. He was to have gone with the troop that leaves tonight, but since morning he has been ordered to wait and assist Dr. Sternberg to get the wounded comfortable and then follow with the next detachment. The wounded are being hurried in here. Some will arrive this afternoon, and it is so hot. I never in my life felt such weather. The thermometer in my shady sitting room (the coolest room in the house) stood yesterday at 98 degrees, and that was much less than it was at the hospital and on the porches.

  The Indians have gone in full retreat towards the buffalo country. The cavalry went after them nearly a hundred miles and reported them all gone and impossible to follow, from the condition of the country. So General Howard started his command back here, leaving three companies up there to watch the place the Indians ford the river, the ford that leads to the mountains. We knew yesterday that General Howard’s command was near Lapwai. In the evening, an officer, who had been sent on in advance, came in and said there were signal fires burning in the mountains. By and by, General Howard himself and some other officer came in, and in a great hurry. A messenger had just reached them from the three companies left to watch the ford saying the Indians were all back. So, of course, everything is in confusion again. General Howard did not wait to rest but started right back, and those poor, tired soldiers have to turn and do it all over … I don’t know what we will do after John goes. I wish it was over! The confusion, outside of everything else, which is even worse, will set me crazy!

  … They are going to leave all the Indian prisoners here and double this garrison. With the wounded here, and the Indian prisoners here, and Doctor gone, I think I would like to go, too, but I suppose I had better stay, as I have no friends near I could go to. To board somewhere would be lonely and worse than here …

  Lots of love to all, and write to me.

  Yours affectionately,

  Emily FitzGerald

  CHARLES RAWN WATCHED THE YOUNG FIRST LIEUTENANT stride across the dry, dusty ground, leading his horse. Just steps behind him followed an enlisted man and a handful of civilians, all of them dismounted, their animals in tow.

  “We’re ready to ride, Captain.”

  Rawn sighed. “It shouldn’t be hard to find Lieutenant Woodbridge … if his men stayed on the trail. I’ve never been over it myself, but from what these settlers in the valley tell me, it’s hard as hell to make a mistake and get off the Lolo.”

  “We’ll find them for you, Captain,” promised First Lieutenant Charles A. Coolidge, jabbing his thumb at that small band of civilians who had volunteered to guide the two soldiers up the mountain trail. “We have rations for three days, just as you ordered.”

  “Scout the trail as far as is prudent. I want you back here by the twenty-fourth, if you’ve found Woodbridge’s party or not. Between his group and yours being gone from the post, I’m feeling a little whittled down—should any of those Nez Perces pop up nearby.”

  “From everything these civilians have told me about that trail, sir,” Coolidge declared, “Joseph’s Injuns are going to take a long time getting over the mountains on the Lolo—what with all their women, children, baggage, not to mention that pony herd, too. They aren’t going to be making good time up there in those mountains.”

  Taking a step back, Rawn saluted the lieutenant. “Let’s pray those warriors are crawling over the pass real slow. And while we’re at it, maybe we should pray young Woodbridge hasn’t stumbled into any of them, too.”

  BY TELEGRAPH

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  The Railway Strike Spreading Over the Country.

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  Trains Moving Under Military Protection.

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  Great Activity of Black Hills Road Agents.

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  Late War News and General Intelligence.

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  CHEYENNE.

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  The Ready Road-Agents Robbing Left and Right.

  CHEYENNE, July 19.—The coach from Deadwood was stopped, last night, near Cheyenne river, by road agents, who robbed the passengers of about $50. Twelve miles further they were stopped again by four robbers, who took the passengers’ arms and part of their blankets. The treasure box was opened but contained no valuables …

  While Cut-Off Arm attempted to sneak off downriver from the Kamiah crossing so he could slip up behind them, the Nee-Me-Poo had decided to follow Looking Glass toward Moosmoos Illahe, t
he buffalo country. For fighting men like Shore Crossing, it was less a matter of possessing any real enthusiasm for this flight over the mountains than it was a matter of there simply being nothing better to do … at least for the present.

  Indeed, there were many more who felt the frustration he did: warriors who believed that those who wanted to fight the suapies should be allowed to stay behind in their own country, there to attack and harass the small groups of soldiers, there to run off horses, mules, and cattle belonging to the Christian Indians at Lapwai and Kamiah, staying behind to slow the army’s pursuit to a standstill.

  As fierce a fighter as Ollokot had been in those early days of the war, at the councils held on the Weippe Prairie he had nonetheless joined his older brother, Joseph, in arguing that once the bands had crossed the Lolo and headed south, up the Bitterroot valley, they should recross the mountains into Idaho, circling back to their beloved Salmon and Snake River country.* With every day now, the Frog was sounding more and more like his non-fighting brother, chief of the Wallowa.

  Since their battle against Cut-Off Arm on the Clearwater, White Bird had begun to advance the possibility of turning north once they had reached the end of the Lolo Trail. There the bands could pass through the country of the friendly Flathead and march for the Old Woman’s Country, perhaps even rendezvous with the Lakota expatriates of Chief Buffalo Bull Who Rests on the Ground.**

  But in the end, Looking Glass was more persuasive than the others. Why go north when they had friends in the buffalo country, land where they had hunted for many generations with their longtime friends the E-sue-gha? Hadn’t several of the leading men—like Looking Glass, Rainbow, and Five Wounds—fought against the Lakota time and again? In fact, at this present time weren’t a few of their own young men gone east to the buffalo plains to help the army round up the Lakota?

  No, Looking Glass orated, the Old Woman’s Country was strange to them; no one he knew had ever been there. Besides, once they had put the Idaho country at their backs, put its soldiers and Shadows behind them, there would be no need to run away to join the Lakota north of the Medicine Line. The Nee-Me-Poo would be leaving their war far behind, back there beyond the Bitterroot.

  In the end Looking Glass won the day. While Wottolen and Two Moons vigorously opposed any alliance with the E-sue-gha and Joseph said nothing because he favored returning his people to the Wallowa valley, White Bird, Toohoolhoolzote, and Hahtalekin were unanimous. “All right, Looking Glass—take us to the buffalo country.”

  The morning of their second day on the Lolo, Rainbow went down their back trail, accompanied by more than three hands of warriors. They were to watch for soldiers. Five of their number had been selected by the chiefs to remain behind near the Weippe for three suns. Red Moccasin Tops, White Cloud, and three others were to watch for Cut-Off Arm’s men coming up the trail. If, after those three days, they hadn’t seen any soldiers following, they were to come on with their good news and reunite with their families. If, however, enemies were sighted, two of their number were to race up the trail with the report so the warriors would have time to prepare a fight to hold the suapies on the trail while the families escaped. The last three were to stay and keep watch, staying just ahead of any white or Christian scouts in the process as they fell back.

  Riding off in a different direction, Shore Crossing joined Looking Glass’s raiding party that swept down on the Kamiah Christians—running off their horses and cattle, burning a few small buildings, and doing their best to frighten Lawyer’s Indians. The warriors were able to scatter and harry those Treaty people just they way they had driven the horses and a few head of cattle* back into the hills while exchanging a few long-range shots with those suapies left behind when Cut-Off Arm marched north for Lapwai.

  By the time the raiders returned to the Lolo late that afternoon, it amazed Shore Crossing how much ground all those people, a few hundred dogs, and more than two thousand horses had covered in a day. Forced by necessity to stretch itself out for several miles while on the march, the column inched its way deeper and deeper into the wilderness along that tenuous strand of timber-clogged trail taking them ever higher, into ever thicker, mazelike forests. How they were able to accomplish this feat mile after mile, day after day, with women and children, the old and the very young, along with their sick and wounded, too, was nothing short of miraculous to the young warrior.

  These Non-Treaty bands were able to march with energy and precision through such impossibly rugged terrain and the clutter of downfall forests because they had two cultural characteristics working for them. The first was that Shore Crossing’s people had, for generations beyond count, developed and refined a system of moving people and property, whereby each family unit was responsible to the band by seeing to its own organizing and packing, along with transporting its own members in harmony with the needs of the camp as a whole, day in and day out. The second feature of their success derived from decades of learning to travel through steep mountains and across barren plateaus.

  What other people would dare face the terrible ordeal of this trail burdened with their wounded and sick on travois, all those women and children and belongings, not to mention all those thousands of horses? With or without an enemy snarling at your tail, this would be a feat unmatched by any other people. Only the Nee-Me-Poo would pit themselves against the Lolo the way they had pitted themselves against the U. S. Army.

  Still, for young fighting men like Shore Crossing, the best part of each day’s journey was that with Cut-Off Arm sitting on his haunches somewhere near Fort Lapwai, every march put that much more distance between the Nee-Me-Poo and the army Looking Glass vowed could never touch them again.

  “They are so far behind,” Shore Crossing announced when the war party reunited with the village as it was going into camp at the end of that second day on the trail, “we will never have to worry about those soldiers again!”

  “Your eyes are half-closed if you think Cut-Off Arm’s are the only suapies, Shore Crossing,” old Toohoolhoolzote warned. “We have seen the soldiers over in buffalo country.”

  “No,” he snorted at the old tewat, refusing to be cowed by worry. “We won’t have to worry about any of those soldiers or Shadows over there. The Montana people have known us for a long, long time.”

  “JESUS Christ! You fellas scared the piss out of me!” one of the pickets hollered from that dark ring of night surrounding their bivouac.

  Second Lieutenant Francis Woodbridge nearly leaped out of his skin when that picket suddenly shrieked his high-pitched alarm. The other picket lunged into the dim light thrown off by the low, flickering flames, joining Woodbridge and the other two privates who were scheduled to take their second watch later that night, the twenty-second of July.

  “I’ll be go to hell!” exclaimed one of those soldiers beside Woodbridge as the picket materialized out of the dark, right behind two young civilians. “They’re white fellas!”

  “Who the devil was you expecting to come walkin’ into your camp, soldier?” one of the strangers growled, his eyes shimmery with relief. “We’d been Looking Glass’s red devils sneaking down this trail, you’d never see’d us come up on you the way we done!”

  The picket snapped, “I’d shot you in the gut afore you’d got ‘nother step—”

  “Hold it!” Woodbridge interrupted, then waved the two strangers closer to the light. “C’mon over here and sit yourselves down. Where’s your horses?”

  “W-we ain’t got none,” said the sullen, darker-skinned of the two.

  “What’s your name?”

  He looked at the lieutenant, then stared down at the fire and rubbed his hands over it as he said, “Peter Matte.”*

  “And you?” Woodbridge asked the other stranger, who had been the first to speak to the picket.

  “William … Bill Silverthorne.”

  The second picket asked, “You fellas from the Bitterroot?”

  Silverthorne flicked a glance his way, saying, “By a damne
d long way around.”

  That sounded really odd to the suspicious lieutenant. “What are you two doing out at night on the Lolo Trail, without horses, and you’re all the way up here from the Bitterroot to boot?”

  “Wasn’t my idea to take no trip back over the pass to Montana on foot,” Silverthorne snorted. “But we was forced to come with the Injuns.”

  “Injuns!” one of the privates echoed in a high-pitched whine.

  Silverthorne stood up and turned his buttocks to the low fire, rubbing them with his palms as he explained, “Nez Percey, they was. Seven days ago—no, eight days—me and Pete, we was heading to Lewiston to buy us some horses more’n a week back, when a war party of them Nez Percey bucks jumped us on the way to the Clearwater and brung us right on in to their camp. Hundreds of ‘em was up to the Weippe Prairie, camped there digging the roots and hunting. Didn’t ever hurt us none—”

  “But back at home at Stevensville in the Bitterroot, we both heard how they butchered a lot of white folks over in Idaho not long ago,” Matte said.

  Woodbridge wagged his head in wonder. “So why’d they let you two go now?”

  Silverthorne gazed over at the young lieutenant with undisguised disdain. “The red sonsabitches didn’t let us go, for Chrissakes! We slipped away and come on down the trail, making for Missoula City fast as we could.”

  “How far’s we from there now?” Matte asked, the low flames flickering off his dark face.

  The lieutenant figured the man for a half-breed, must have some Indian blood in him. “Twenty, maybe twenty-five miles. The pass is only thirty in all—”

  “You fellas headed on up the trail tomorrow?” Silverthorne interrupted.

  “No, we’re on our way back to the post we’re building south of Missoula City,” Woodbridge explained.

  “Awright we go on in with you come morning?”