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Other documents randomly have
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necessary for my language to be interpreted into each of the five
Indian tongues, no representatives of any two of the tribes being
able to understand the language of each other; yet all of these tribes
were accustomed to more or less intimate association. Between the
tribes which inhabited the Eastern States and those originally found
on the Plains a marked difference is seen to exist. They have but
little in common, while a difference equally marked is discovered
between the Indians of the Plains and those of the mountain regions
further west, as well as the tribes of both Old and New Mexico.
Inseparable from the Indian character, wherever he is to be met
with, is his remarkable taciturnity, his deep dissimulation, the
perseverance with which he follows his plans of revenge or
conquest, his concealment and apparent lack of curiosity, his stoical
courage when in the power of his enemies, his cunning, his caution,
and last, but not least, the wonderful power and subtlety of his
senses. Of this last I have had most interesting proof, one instance
of which will be noted when describing the Washita campaign. In
studying the Indian character, while shocked and disgusted by many
of his traits and customs, I find much to be admired, and still more
of deep and unvarying interest. To me Indian life, with its attendant
ceremonies, mysteries, and forms, is a book of unceasing interest.
Grant that some of its pages are frightful, and, if possible, to be
avoided, yet the attraction is none the weaker. Study him, fight him,
civilize him if you can, he remains still the object of your curiosity, a
type of man peculiar and undefined, subjecting himself to no known
law of civilization, contending determinedly against all efforts to win
him from his chosen mode of life. He stands in the group of nations
solitary and reserved, seeking alliance with none, mistrusting and
opposing the advances of all. Civilization may and should do much
for him, but it can never civilize him. A few instances to the contrary
may be quoted, but these are susceptible of explanation. No tribe
enjoying its accustomed freedom has ever been induced to adopt a
civilized mode of life, or, as they express it, to follow the white man’s
road. At various times certain tribes have forsaken the pleasures of
the chase and the excitement of the war-path for the more quiet life
to be found on the “reservation.” Was this course adopted voluntarily
and from preference? Was it because the Indian chose the ways of
his white brother rather than those in which he had been born and
bred?
In no single instance has this been true. What then, it may be
asked, have been the reasons which influenced certain tribes to
abandon their predatory, nomadic life, and to-day to influence others
to pursue a similar course? The answer is clear, and as undeniable
as it is clear. The gradual and steady decrease in numbers, strength,
and influence, occasioned by wars both with other tribes and with
the white man, as well as losses brought about by diseases partly
attributable to contact with civilization, have so lowered the standing
and diminished the available fighting force of the tribe as to render it
unable to cope with more powerful neighboring tribes with any
prospect of success. The stronger tribes always assume an
overbearing and dominant manner toward their weaker neighbors,
forcing them to join in costly and bloody wars or themselves to be
considered enemies. When a tribe falls from the position of a leading
one, it is at the mercy of every tribe that chooses to make war, being
forced to take sides, and at the termination of the war is generally
sacrificed to the interests of the more powerful. To avoid these
sacrifices, to avail itself of the protection of civilization and its armed
forces, to escape from the ruining influences of its more warlike and
powerful neighbors, it reluctantly accepts the situation, gives up its
accustomed haunts, its wild mode of life, and nestles down under
the protecting arm of its former enemy, the white man, and tries,
however feebly, to adopt his manner of life. In making this change
the Indian has to sacrifice all that is dear to his heart; he abandons
the only mode of life in which he can be a warrior and win triumphs
and honors worthy to be sought after; and in taking up the pursuits
of the white man he does that which he has always been taught
from his earliest infancy to regard as degrading to his manhood—to
labor, to work for his daily bread, an avocation suitable only for
squaws.
 To those who advocate the application of the laws of civilization
to the Indian, it might be a profitable study to investigate the effect
which such application produces upon the strength of the tribe as
expressed in numbers. Looking at him as the fearless hunter, the
matchless horseman and warrior of the Plains, where Nature placed
him, and contrasting him with the reservation Indian, who is
supposed to be revelling in the delightful comforts and luxuries of an
enlightened condition, but who in reality is grovelling in beggary,
bereft of many of the qualities which in his wild state tended to
render him noble, and heir to a combination of vices partly his own,
partly bequeathed to him from the pale-face, one is forced, even
against desire, to conclude that there is unending antagonism
between the Indian nature and that with which his well-meaning
white brother would endow him. Nature intended him for a savage
state; every instinct, every impulse of his soul inclines him to it. The
white race might fall into a barbarous state, and afterwards,
subjected to the influence of civilization, be reclaimed and prosper.
Not so the Indian. He cannot be himself and be civilized; he fades
away and dies. Cultivation such as the white man would give him
deprives him of his identity. Education, strange as it may appear,
seems to weaken rather than strengthen his intellect. Where do we
find any specimens of educated Indian eloquence comparing with
that of such native, untutored orators as Tecumseh, Osceola, Red
Jacket, and Logan; or, to select from those of more recent fame, Red
Cloud of the Sioux, or Sa-tan-ta of the Kiowas? Unfortunately for the
last-named chief, whose name has been such a terror to our frontier
settlements, he will have to be judged for other qualities than that of
eloquence. Attention has more recently been directed to him by his
arrest by the military authorities near Fort Sill, Indian Territory, and
his transportation to Texas for trial by civil court for various murders
and depredations, alleged to have been committed by him near the
Texas frontier. He has since had his trial, and, if public rumor is to be
credited, has been sentenced to death. Reference will be made to
this noted chief in succeeding pages. His eloquence and able
arguments upon the Indian question in various councils to which he
was called won for him the deserved title of “Orator of the Plains.” In
his boasting harangue before the General of the Army, which
furnished the evidence of his connection with the murders for which
he has been tried and sentenced, he stated as a justification for
such outrages, or rather as the occasion of them, that they were in
retaliation for his arrest and imprisonment by me some three years
ago. As there are two sides to most questions, even if one be wrong,
when the proper time arrives a brief account of Sa-tan-ta’s arrest
and imprisonment, with the causes leading thereto, will be given in
these sketches. One of the favorite remarks of Sa-tan-ta in his
orations, and one too which other chiefs often indulge in, being
thrown out as a “glittering generality,” meaning much or little as they
may desire, but most often the latter, was that he was tired of
making war and desired now “to follow the white man’s road.” It is
scarcely to be presumed that he found the gratification of this oft-
expressed desire in recently following the “white man’s road” to
Texas, under strong guard and heavily manacled, with hanging, to
the Indian the most dreaded of all deaths, plainly in the perspective.
Aside, however, from his character for restless barbarity, and activity
in conducting merciless forays against our exposed frontiers, Sa-tan-
ta is a remarkable man—remarkable for his powers of oratory, his
determined warfare against the advances of civilization, and his
opposition to the abandonment of his accustomed mode of life, and
its exchange for the quiet, unexciting, uneventful life of a reservation
Indian. If I were an Indian, I often think that I would greatly prefer
to cast my lot among those of my people who adhered to the free
open plains, rather than submit to the confined limits of a
reservation, there to be the recipient of the blessed benefits of
civilization, with its vices thrown in without stint or measure. The
Indian can never be permitted to view the question in this deliberate
way. He is neither a luxury nor necessary of life. He can hunt, roam,
and camp when and wheresoever he pleases, provided always that
in so doing he does not run contrary to the requirements of
civilization in its advancing tread. When the soil which he has
claimed and hunted over for so long a time is demanded by this to
him insatiable monster, there is no appeal; he must yield, or, like the
car of Juggernaut, it will roll mercilessly over him, destroying as it
advances. Destiny seems to have so willed it, and the world looks on
and nods its approval. At best the history of our Indian tribes, no
matter from what standpoint it is regarded, affords a melancholy
picture of loss of life. Two hundred years ago it required millions to
express in numbers the Indian population, while at the present time
less than half the number of thousands will suffice for the purpose.
Where and why have they gone? Ask the Saxon race, since whose
introduction into and occupation of the country these vast changes
have been effected.
But little idea can be formed of the terrible inroads which
diseases before unknown to them have made upon their numbers.
War has contributed its share, it is true, but disease alone has done
much to depopulate many of the Indian tribes. It is stated that the
small-pox was first introduced among them by the white man in
1837, and that in the short space of one month six tribes lost by this
disease alone twelve thousand persons.
Confusion sometimes arises from the division of the Indians into
nations, tribes, and bands. A nation is generally a confederation of
tribes which have sprung from a common stock or origin. The tribe is
intended to embrace all bands and villages claiming a common
name, and is presided over by a head chief, while each band or
village is presided over by one or more subordinate chiefs, but all
acknowledging a certain allegiance to the head or main village. This
division cannot always be accounted for. It arises sometimes from
necessity, where the entire tribe is a large one, and it is difficult to
procure game and grazing in one locality sufficient for all. In such
cases the various bands are not usually separated by any great
distance, but regulate their movements so as to be able to act in
each other’s behalf. Sometimes a chief more warlike than the others,
who favors war and conquest at all times, and refuses to make
peace even when his tribe assents to it, will separate himself, with
those who choose to unite their fortunes with his, from the
remainder of the tribe, and act for the time independently. Such a
character produces endless trouble; his village becomes a shelter
and rendezvous for all the restless spirits of the tribe. While the
latter is or pretends to be at peace, this band continues to make war,
yet when pressed or pursued avails itself of the protection of those
who are supposed to be peaceable.
Having hurriedly sketched the country in which we shall find it
necessary to go, and glanced at certain theories calculated to shed
some light on the origin and destiny of the Indian tribes, the
succeeding pages will be devoted to my personal experience on the
Plains, commencing with the expedition of Major-General Hancock in
the spring of 1867.
 III.
“THERE are two classes of people who are always eager to get up
an Indian war—the army and our frontiersmen.”
I quote from an editorial on the Indian question, which not long
since appeared in the columns of one of the leading New York daily
newspapers. That this statement was honestly made I do not doubt,
but that instead of being true it could not have been further from
the truth I will attempt to show. I assert, and all candid persons
familiar with the subject will sustain the assertion, that of all classes
of our population the army and the people living on the frontier
entertain the greatest dread of an Indian war, and are willing to
make the greatest sacrifices to avoid its horrors. This is a
proposition, the assertion of which almost carries its proof with it.
Under the most auspicious circumstances, and in time of peace
with the Indians, the life of an army officer on the Plains or along
our frontier is at best one involving no little personal discomfort, and
demanding the sacrifice of many of the luxuries and benefits which
he could obtain were he located within the limits of civilization. To
many officers, service in the West amounts almost to social exile.
Some can have their families with or near them. There is a limited
opportunity for social intercourse; travel from the States, to and
across the Plains, either for business or pleasure, is uninterrupted,
and mail facilities with friends and relations in the States are
maintained. An Indian war changes all this. The troops must prepare
to take the field. Provided with but few comforts, necessarily limited
in this respect by the amount of transportation, which on the Plains
is narrowed down to the smallest practicable, the soldier bids adieu
—often a final one—to the dear ones of home, and with his
comrades in arms sets out, no matter how inclement the season, to
seek what? fame and glory? How many military men have reaped
laurels from their Indian campaigns? Does he strive to win the
approving smile of his countrymen? That is indeed, in this particular
instance, a difficult task. For let him act as he may in conducting or
assisting in a campaign against the Indians, if he survives the
campaign he can feel assured of this fact, that one-half of his fellow-
citizens at home will revile him for his zeal and pronounce his
success, if he achieves any, a massacre of poor, defenceless,
harmless Indians; while the other half, if his efforts to chastise the
common enemy are not crowned with satisfactory results, will cry
“Down with him. Down with the regular army, and give us brave
volunteers who can serve the Government in other ways besides
eating rations and drawing pay.”
An unsuccessful campaign, under which head nineteen out of
twenty may reasonably be classed, satisfies no portion of the public,
and greatly dissatisfies that portion of the Western population whose
knowledge of the murders and depredations committed by the
Indians is, unlike that of the people of the States further east, of too
recent origin to be swept away by false notions of clemency. During
the continuance of the campaign both officers and soldiers are
generally cut off from all communication with the friends left behind.
Couriers, sent as bearers of a few despatches and letters, are
sometimes under cover of the night enabled to make their way back
to the forts; but even these fail sometimes. I now recollect the
circumstance of two trusty scouts being sent with despatches and a
small mail, to make their way from the southern portion of Kansas to
Fort Dodge on the Arkansas. When we saw them again we beheld
their lifeless, mangled remains, their bodies pierced with numerous
arrows, and mutilated almost beyond recognition—our letters
scattered here and there by the savages, who had torn open the
little canvas mail-bag in search of plunder. The Indians had
surrounded these faithful fellows when within about ten miles of the
end of their perilous journey. The numerous empty cartridge shells
which lay around and near the bodies of the two men, proved how
persistently and bravely they had struggled for their lives.
 The opening of an Indian campaign is also the signal for the
withdrawal of all privileges and enjoyments, such as leaves of
absence, visits from Eastern friends, hunting and pleasure parties of
all kinds. The reception from the East of all luxuries and delicacies
for the table and of all current literature, such as the numerous
railroads being constructed in the West, particularly the two Pacifics,
render easy of procurement, ceases; and not only the private soldier
but the officer is limited in his mess fare to an indifferent portion of
the ordinary ration. Is it probable or reasonable that these objects
and results, the principal ones generally, so far as the army as
individuals is concerned, would be considered sufficient to render
either officers or soldiers “eager to get up an Indian war”? I have yet
to make the acquaintance of that officer of the army who, in time of
undisturbed peace, desired a war with the Indians. On the contrary,
the army is the Indian’s best friend, so long as the latter desires to
maintain friendship. It is pleasant at all times, and always
interesting, to have a village of peaceable Indians locate their lodges
near our frontier posts or camps. The daily visits of the Indians, from
the most venerable chief to the strapped pappoose, their rude
interchange of civilities, their barterings, races, dances, legends,
strange customs, and fantastic ceremonies, all combine to render
them far more agreeable as friendly neighbors than as crafty,
bloodthirsty enemies.
As to the frontiersman, he has everything to lose, even to life,
and nothing to gain by an Indian war. “His object is to procure a fat
contract or a market for his produce,” adds the journal from which
the opening lines of this chapter are quoted. This seems plausible
and likely enough. But does that journal, and do the people who
believe on this question as it does, know that there are two reasons
—more are not required—why its statement is a very great error?
First, our frontier farmers, busily employed as they are in opening up
their farms, never have any produce to dispose of, but consider
themselves fortunate if they have sufficient for their personal wants.
They are never brought in contact with the Indian except when the
latter makes a raid or incursion of at least hundreds of miles, and
attacks the settlements. It is another case of Mohammed and the
mountain. The frontiersman never goes beyond the settlements. The
Indian forsakes his accustomed hunting-grounds when ambitious of
obtaining scalps or plunder, and visits the settlements. The only
ground upon which the frontiersman can be accused of inspiring or
inciting a war with the Indian is, that when applied to by the latter
to surrender his life, family, and property, scalp thrown in, he stoutly
refuses, and sometimes employs force to maintain this refusal. I
have shown that this abused class of the pioneers of civilization have
no hand in the fat contracts. Who are the fortunate parties? With but
rare exceptions our most expensive expeditions against the Indians
on the Plains have been supplied by contracts made with parties far
inside the limits of civilization, who probably never saw a hostile
Indian, and who never even visited the Indian country. The supplies
are purchased far from the frontiers, in the rich and thickly settled
portions of the States, then shipped by rail and boat to the most
available military post, from which point they are generally drawn by
huge trains of army wagons, or carried on pack animals.
Of the many important expeditions organized to operate in the
Indian country, none, perhaps, of late years has excited more
general and unfriendly comment, considering the slight loss of life
inflicted upon the Indians, than the expedition organized and led in
person by Major-General Hancock in the spring of 1867. The clique
generally known as the “Indian ring” were particularly malevolent
and bitter in their denunciations of General Hancock for
precipitating, as they expressed it, an Indian war. This expedition
was quite formidable in appearance, being made up of eight troops
of cavalry, seven companies of infantry, and one battery of light
artillery, numbering altogether about 1,400 men. As General
Hancock at the time and since has been so often accused of
causelessly bringing on an Indian war, a word in explanation may
not be amiss.
Being in command of the cavalry connected with the expedition,
I had ample and frequent opportunities for learning the true
purposes and objects of the march into the heart of the Indian
country. I know no better mode of explaining these than by quoting
the following extract from letters written by General Hancock to the
agents of the various tribes with which we expected to be brought in
contact: “I have the honor to state for your information that I am at
present preparing an expedition to the Plains, which will soon be
ready to move. My object in doing so at this time is, to convince the
Indians within the limits of this department that we are able to
punish any of them who may molest travellers across the Plains, or
who may commit other hostilities against the whites. We desire to
avoid if possible any troubles with the Indians, and to treat them
with justice, and according to the requirements of our treaties with
them; and I wish especially in my dealings with them to act through
the agents of the Indian Department as far as it is possible so to
do.... If you as their agent can arrange these matters satisfactorily
with them, we will be pleased to defer the whole subject to you. In
case of your inability to do so, I would be pleased to have you
accompany me when I visit the country of your tribes, to show that
the officers of the Government are acting in harmony. I will be
pleased to talk with any of the chiefs whom we may meet.”
Surely there was no hostile intent here expressed. In another
communication to the agents of different tribes, General Hancock, in
referring to certain murders which had been recently committed, and
which had been traced to the tribes in question, said: “These cases
will now be left entirely in the hands of the Indian Department, and
I do not expect to make war against any of the Indians of your
agency unless they commence war against us.”
It may be asked, What had the Indians done to make this
incursion necessary? They had been guilty of numerous thefts and
murders during the preceding summer and fall, for none of which
had they been called to account. They had attacked the stations of
the overland mail route, killed the employees, burned the station,
and captured the stock. Citizens had been murdered in their homes
on the frontier of Kansas; murders had been committed on the
Arkansas route. The principal perpetrators of these acts were the
Cheyennes and Sioux. The agent of the former, if not a party to the
murder on the Arkansas, knew who the guilty persons were, yet
took no steps to bring the murderers to punishment. Such a course
would have interfered with his trade and profits. It was not to punish
for these sins of the past that the expedition was set on foot, but
rather by its imposing appearance and its early presence in the
Indian country to check or intimidate the Indians from a repetition of
their late conduct. This was deemed particularly necessary from the
fact that the various tribes from which we had greatest cause to
anticipate trouble had during the winter, through their leading chiefs
and warriors, threatened that as soon as the grass was up in spring
a combined outbreak would take place along our entire frontier, and
especially against the main routes of travel. To assemble the tribes
for the desired council, word was sent early in March to the agents
of those tribes whom it was desirable to meet. The agents sent
runners to the villages inviting them to meet us at some point near
the Arkansas river.
General Hancock, with the artillery and six companies of infantry,
reached Fort Riley, Kansas, from Fort Leavenworth by rail the last
week in March; here he was joined by four companies of the
Seventh Cavalry and an additional company of the Thirty-seventh
Infantry. It was at this point that I joined the expedition. And as a
very fair sample of the laurels which military men may win in an
Indian campaign by a zealous discharge of what they deem their
duty, I will here state, in parenthesis, that after engaging in the
expedition, some of the events of which I am about to relate, and
undergoing fatigue, privations, and dangers equal to those of a
campaign during the Rebellion, I found myself at the termination of
the campaign again at Fort Riley in arrest. This is not mentioned in a
fault-finding spirit. I have no fault to find. It is said that blessings
sometimes come in disguise. Such proved to be true in this instance,
although I must say the disguise for some little time was most
perfect.
From Fort Riley we marched to Fort Harker, a distance of ninety
miles, where our force was strengthened by the addition of two
more troops of cavalry. Halting only long enough to replenish our
supplies, we next directed our march toward Fort Larned, near the
Arkansas, about seventy miles to the southeast. A march from the
3d to the 7th of April brought us to Fort Larned. The agent for the
Comanches and Kiowas accompanied us. At Fort Larned we found
the agent of the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and Apaches; from the
latter we learned that he had, as requested, sent runners to the
chiefs of his agency inviting them to the council, and that they had
agreed to assemble near Fort Larned on the 10th of the month,
requesting that the expedition would remain there until that date. To
this request General Hancock acceded.
On the 9th of April, while encamped awaiting the council, which
was to be held the following day, a terrible snow-storm occurred,
lasting all day until late in the evening. It was our good fortune to be
in camp rather than on the march; had it been otherwise, we could
not well have escaped without loss of life from the severe cold and
blinding snow. The cavalry horses suffered seriously, and were only
preserved by doubling their ration of oats, while to prevent their
being frozen during the intensely cold night which followed, the
guards were instructed to keep passing along the picket lines with a
whip, and to keep the horses moving constantly. The snow was eight
inches in depth. The council, which was to take place the next day,
had to be postponed until, the return of good weather. Now began
the display of a kind of diplomacy for which the Indian is peculiar.
The Cheyennes and a band of the Sioux were encamped on Pawnee
Fork, about thirty miles above Fort Larned. They neither desired to
move nearer to us nor have us approach nearer to them. On the
morning of the 11th they sent us word that they had started to visit
us, but discovering a large herd of buffalo near their camp, they had
stopped to procure a supply of meat. This message was not received
with much confidence, nor was a buffalo hunt deemed of sufficient
importance to justify the Indians in breaking their engagement.
General Hancock decided, however, to delay another day, when, if
the Indians still failed to come in, he would move his command to
the vicinity of their village and hold the conference there.
 Orders were issued on the evening of the 12th for the march to
be resumed on the following day. Later in the evening two chiefs of
the “Dog Soldiers,” a band composed of the most warlike and
troublesome Indians on the Plains, chiefly made up of Cheyennes,
visited our camp. They were accompanied by a dozen warriors, and
expressed a desire to hold a conference with General Hancock, to
which he assented. A large council fire was built in front of the
General’s tent, and all the officers of his command assembled there.
A tent had been erected for the accommodation of the chiefs a short
distance from the General’s. Before they could feel equal to the
occasion, and in order to obtain time to collect their thoughts, they
desired that supper might be prepared for them, which was done.
When finally ready they advanced from their tent to the council fire
in single file, accompanied by their agent and an interpreter. Arrived
at the fire, another brief delay ensued. No matter how pressing or
momentous the occasion, an Indian invariably declines to engage in
a council until he has filled his pipe and gone through with the
important ceremony of a smoke. This attended to, the chiefs
announced that they were ready “to talk.” They were then
introduced to the principal officers of the group, and seemed much
struck with the flashy uniforms of the few artillery officers who were
present in all the glory of red horsehair plumes, aigulets, etc. The
chiefs seemed puzzled to determine whether these insignia
designated chieftains or medicine men. General Hancock began the
conference by a speech, in which he explained to the Indians his
purpose in coming to see them, and what he expected of them in
the future. He particularly informed them that he was not there to
make war, but to promote peace. Then expressing his regret that
more of the chiefs had not visited him, he announced his intention of
proceeding on the morrow with his command to the vicinity of their
village and there holding a council with all of the chiefs. Tall Bull, a
fine, warlike-looking chieftain, replied to General Hancock, but his
speech contained nothing important, being made up of allusions to
the growing scarcity of the buffalo, his love for the white man, and
the usual hint that a donation in the way of refreshments would be
highly acceptable; he added that he would have nothing new to say
at the village.
Several years prior to the events referred to, our people had
captured from the Indians two children. I believe they were
survivors of the Chivington massacre at Sand Creek, Colorado. These
children had been kindly cared for, and were being taught to lead a
civilized mode of life. Their relatives, however, made demands for
them, and we by treaty stipulation agreed to deliver them up. One of
them, a little girl, had been cared for kindly in a family living near
Denver, Colorado; the other, a boy, had been carried East to the
States, and it was with great difficulty that the Government was able
to learn his whereabouts and obtain possession of him. He was
finally discovered, however, and sent to General Hancock, to be by
him delivered up to his tribe. He accompanied the expedition, and
was quite a curiosity for the time being. He was dressed comfortably,
in accordance with civilized custom; and, having been taken from his
people at so early an age, was apparently satisfied with the life he
led. The Indians who came to our camp expressed a great desire to
see him, and when he was brought into their presence they
exhibited no emotion such as white men under similar circumstances
might be expected to show. They evidently were not pleased to see
him clothed in the white man’s dress. The little fellow, then some
eight or ten years of age, seemed little disposed to go back to his
people. I saw him the following year in the village of his tribe; he
then had lost all trace of civilization, had forgotten his knowledge of
the English language, and was as shy and suspicious of the white
men as any of his dusky comrades. From older persons of the tribe
we learned that their first act after obtaining possession of him was
to deprive him of his “store clothes,” and in their stead substitute the
blanket and leggings.
Rightly concluding that the Indians did not intend to come to our
camp as they had at first agreed to, it was decided to move nearer
to their village. On the morning following the conference held with
the two chiefs of the “Dog Soldiers,” our entire force therefore
marched from Fort Larned up Pawnee Fork in the direction of the
main village, encamping the first night about twenty-one miles from
the fort. Several parties of Indians were seen in our advance during
the day, evidently watching our movements; while a heavy smoke,
seen to rise in the direction of the Indian village, indicated that
something more than usual was going on. This smoke we afterwards
learned arose from the burning grass. The Indians, thinking to
prevent us from encamping in their vicinity, had set fire to and
burned all the grass for miles in the direction from which they
expected us. Before we arrived at our camping-ground we were met
by several chiefs and warriors belonging to the Cheyennes and
Sioux. Among the chiefs were Pawnee Killer of the Sioux, and White
Horse of the Cheyennes. It was arranged that these chiefs should
accept our hospitality and remain with us during the night, and in
the morning all the chiefs of the two tribes then in the village were
to come to General Hancock’s headquarters and hold a council. On
the morning of the 14th Pawnee Killer left our camp at an early hour,
for the purpose, as he said, of going to the village to bring in the
other chiefs to the council. Nine o’clock had been agreed upon as
the hour at which the council should assemble. The hour came, but
the chiefs did not. Now an Indian council is not only often an
important but always an interesting occasion. And, somewhat like a
famous recipe for making a certain dish, the first thing necessary in
holding an Indian council is to get the Indian. Half-past nine o’clock
came, and still we were lacking this one important part of the
council. At this juncture Bull Bear, an influential chief among the
Cheyennes, came in and reported that the chiefs were on their way
to our camp, but would not be able to reach it for some time. This
was a mere artifice to secure delay. General Hancock informed Bull
Bear that as the chiefs could not arrive for some time, he would
move his forces up the stream nearer to the village, and the council
could be held at our camp that night. To this proposition Bull Bear
gave his assent.
At 11 A. M. we resumed the march, and had proceeded but a
few miles when we witnessed one of the finest and most imposing
military displays, prepared according to the Indian art of war, which
it has ever been my lot to behold. It was nothing more nor less than
an Indian line of battle drawn directly across our line of march; as if
to say, Thus far and no further. Most of the Indians were mounted;
all were bedecked in their brightest colors, their heads crowned with
the brilliant war-bonnet, their lances bearing the crimson pennant,
bows strung, and quivers full of barbed arrows. In addition to these
weapons, which with the hunting-knife and tomahawk are
considered as forming the armament of the warrior, each one was
supplied with either a breech-loading rifle or revolver, sometimes
with both—the latter obtained through the wise foresight and strong
love of fair play which prevails in the Indian Department, which,
seeing that its wards are determined to fight, is equally determined
that there shall be no advantage taken, but that the two sides shall
be armed alike; proving, too, in this manner the wonderful liberality
of our Government, which not only is able to furnish its soldiers with
the latest improved style of breech-loaders to defend it and
themselves, but is equally able and willing to give the same pattern
of arms to their common foe. The only difference is, that the soldier,
if he loses his weapon, is charged double price for it; while to avoid
making any such charge against the Indian, his weapons are given
him without conditions attached. In the line of battle before us there
were several hundred Indians, while further to the rear and at
different distances were other organized bodies acting apparently as
reserves. Still further were small detachments who seemed to
perform the duty of couriers, and were held in readiness to convey
messages to the village. The ground beyond was favorable for an
extended view, allowing the eye to sweep the plain for several miles.
As far as the eye could reach small groups or individuals could be
seen in the direction of the village; these were evidently parties of
observation, whose sole object was to learn the result of our
meeting with the main body and hasten with the news to the village.
For a few moments appearances seemed to foreshadow
anything but a peaceful issue. The infantry was in the advance,
followed closely by the artillery, while my command, the cavalry, was
marching on the flank. General Hancock, who was riding with his
staff at the head of the column, coming suddenly in view of the wild
fantastic battle array, which extended far to our right and left and
not more than half a mile in our front, hastily sent orders to the
infantry, artillery, and cavalry to form line of battle, evidently
determined that if war was intended we should be prepared. The
cavalry, being the last to form on the right, came into line on a
gallop, and, without waiting to align the ranks carefully, the
command was given to “draw sabre.” As the bright blades flashed
from their scabbards into the morning sunlight, and the infantry
brought their muskets to a carry, a most beautiful and wonderfully
interesting sight was spread out before and around us, presenting a
contrast which, to a military eye, could but be striking. Here in battle
array, facing each other, were the representatives of civilized and
barbarous warfare. The one, with but few modifications, stood
clothed in the same rude style of dress, bearing the same patterned
shield and weapon that his ancestors had borne centuries before;
the other confronted him in the dress and supplied with the
implements of war which the most advanced stage of civilization had
pronounced the most perfect. Was the comparative superiority of
these two classes to be subjected to the mere test of war here?
Such seemed the prevailing impression on both sides. All was eager
anxiety and expectation. Neither side seemed to comprehend the
object or intentions of the other; each was waiting for the other to
deliver the first blow. A more beautiful battle-ground could not have
been chosen. Not a bush or even the slightest irregularity of ground
intervened between the two lines which now stood frowning and
facing each other. Chiefs could be seen riding along the line as if
directing and exhorting their braves to deeds of heroism.
After a few moments of painful suspense, General Hancock,
accompanied by General A. J. Smith and other officers, rode
forward, and through an interpreter invited the chiefs to meet us
midway, for the purpose of an interview. In response to this
invitation Roman Nose, bearing a white flag, accompanied by Bull
Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf on the part of the
Cheyennes, and Pawnee Killer, Bad Wound, Tall Bear that Walks
under the Ground, Left Hand, Little Bear, and Little Bull on the part
of the Sioux, rode forward to the middle of the open space between
the two lines. Here we shook hands with all of the chiefs, most of
them exhibiting unmistakable signs of gratification at this apparently
peaceful termination of our rencounter. General Hancock very
naturally inquired the object of the hostile attitude displayed before
us, saying to the chiefs that if war was their object we were ready
then and there to participate. Their immediate answer was that they
did not desire war, but were peacefully disposed. They were then
told that we would continue our march toward the village, and
encamp near it, but would establish such regulations that none of
the soldiers would be permitted to approach or disturb them. An
arrangement was then effected by which the chiefs were to
assemble at General Hancock’s headquarters as soon as our camp
was pitched. The interview then terminated, and the Indians moved
off in the direction of their village, we following leisurely in rear.
A march of a few miles brought us in sight of the village, which
was situated in a beautiful grove on the banks of the stream up
which we had been marching. The village consisted of upwards of
three hundred lodges, a small fraction over half belonging to the
Cheyennes, the remainder to the Sioux. Like all Indian
encampments, the ground chosen was a most romantic spot, and at
the same time fulfilled in every respect the requirements of a good
camping-ground; wood, water, and grass were abundant. The village
was placed on a wide, level plateau, while on the north and west, at
a short distance off, rose high bluffs, which admirably served as a
shelter against the cold winds which at that season of the year
prevail from these directions. Our tents were pitched within half a
mile of the village. Guards were placed between to prevent intrusion
upon our part. A few of the Indian ponies found grazing near our
camp were caught and returned to them, to show that our intentions
were at least neighborly. We had scarcely pitched our tents when
Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf, all prominent
chiefs of the Cheyennes, came into camp, with the information that
upon our approach their women and children had all fled from the
village, alarmed by the presence of so many soldiers, and imagining
a second Chivington massacre to be intended. General Hancock
insisted that they should all return, promising protection and good
treatment to all; that if the camp was abandoned he would hold it
responsible. The chiefs then stated their belief in their ability to
recall the fugitives, could they be furnished with horses to overtake
them. This was accordingly done, and two of them set out mounted
on two of our horses. An agreement was also entered into at the
same time that one of our interpreters, Ed. Gurrier, a half-breed
Cheyenne who was in the employ of the Government, should remain
in the village and report every two hours as to whether any Indians
were leaving the village. This was about seven o’clock in the
evening. At half past nine the half-breed returned to headquarters,
with the intelligence that all the chiefs and warriors were saddling up
to leave, under circumstances showing that they had no intention of
returning, such as packing up such articles as could be carried with
them, and cutting and destroying their lodges, this last being done
to obtain small pieces for temporary shelter.
I had retired to my tent, which was located some few hundred
yards from that of General Hancock, when a messenger from the
latter awakened me with the information that General Hancock
desired my presence at his tent. Imagining a movement on the part
of the Indians, I made no delay in responding to the summons.
General Hancock briefly stated the situation of affairs, and directed
me to mount my command as quickly and as silently as possible,
surround the Indian village, and prevent the departure of its
inhabitants. Easily said, but not so easily done. Under ordinary
circumstances, silence not being necessary, I could have returned to
my camp, and by a few blasts from the trumpet placed every soldier
in his saddle almost as quickly as it has taken time to write this
sentence. No bugle calls must be sounded; we were to adopt some
of the stealth of the Indian—how successfully remains to be seen.
By this time every soldier, officers as well as men, was in his tent
sound asleep. How to awaken them and impart to each the
necessary order? First going to the tent of the adjutant and arousing
him, I procured an experienced assistant in my labors. Next the
captains of companies were awakened and orders imparted to them.
They in turn transmitted the order to the first sergeant, who similarly
aroused the men. It has often surprised me to observe the alacrity
with which disciplined soldiers, experienced in campaigning, will
hasten to prepare themselves for the march in an emergency like
this. No questions are asked, no time is wasted. A soldier’s toilet, on
an Indian campaign, is a simple affair, and requires little time for
arranging. His clothes are gathered up hurriedly, no matter how, so
long as he retains possession of them. The first object is to get his
horse saddled and bridled, and until this is done his own toilet is a
matter of secondary importance, and one button or hook must do
the duty of half a dozen. When his horse is ready for the mount the
rider will be seen completing his own equipment; stray buttons will
receive attention, arms be overhauled, spurs restrapped; then, if
there still remain a few spare moments, the homely black pipe is
filled and lighted, and the soldier’s preparation is completed.
The night was all that could be desired for the success of our
enterprise. The air was mild and pleasant; the moon, although
nearly full, kept almost constantly behind the clouds, as if to screen
us in our hazardous undertaking. I say hazardous, because there
were none of us who imagined for one moment that if the Indians
discovered us in our attempt to surround them and their village, we
would escape without a fight—a fight, too, in which the Indians,
sheltered behind the trunks of the stately forest trees under which
their lodges were pitched, would possess all the advantage. General
Hancock, anticipating that the Indians would discover our approach,
and that a fight would ensue, ordered the artillery and infantry
under arms, to await the result of our moonlight venture. My
command was soon in the saddle, and silently making its way
toward the village. Instructions had been given forbidding all
conversation except in a whisper. Sabres were so disposed of as to
prevent clanging. Taking a camp-fire which we could see in the
village as our guiding point, we made a detour so as to place the
village between ourselves and the infantry. Occasionally the moon
would peep out from behind the clouds and enable us to catch a
hasty glance at the village. Here and there under the thick foliage
we could see the white, conical-shaped lodges. Were their inmates
slumbering, unaware of our close proximity, or were their dusky
defenders concealed, as well they might have been, along the banks
of the Pawnee, quietly awaiting our approach, and prepared to greet
us with their well-known war-whoop? These were questions that
were probably suggested to the mind of each individual of my
command. If we were discovered approaching in the stealthy,
suspicious manner which characterized our movements, the hour
being midnight, it would require a more confiding nature than that
of the Indian to assign a friendly or peaceful motive to our conduct.
The same flashes of moonlight which gave us hurried glimpses of
the village enabled us to see our own column of horsemen
stretching its silent length far into the dim darkness, and winding its
course, like some huge anaconda about to envelop its victim.
The method by which it was determined to establish a cordon of
armed troopers about the fated village, was to direct the march in a
circle, with the village in the centre, the commanding officer of each
rear troop halting his command at the proper point, and deploying
his men similarly to a line of skirmishers—the entire circle, when
thus formed, facing toward the village, and distant from it perhaps a
few hundred yards. No sooner was our line completely formed than
the moon, as if deeming darkness no longer essential to our success,
appeared from behind her screen and lighted up the entire scene.
And a beautiful scene it was. The great circle of troops, each
individual of which sat on his steed silent as a statue, the beautiful
and in some places dense foliage of the cotton trees sheltering and
shading the bleached, skin-clad lodges of the red man, while in the
midst of all murmured undisturbedly in its channel the little stream
on whose banks the village was located, all combined to produce an
artistic effect, as beautiful as it was interesting. But we were not
there to study artistic effects. The next step was to determine
whether we had captured an inhabited village, involving almost
necessarily a fierce conflict with its savage occupants, or whether
the red man had again proven too wily and crafty for his more
civilized brothers.
Directing the entire line of troopers to remain mounted with
carbines held at the “advance,” I dismounted, and taking with me
Gurrier, the half-breed, Dr. Coates, one of our medical staff, and
Lieutenant Moylan, the adjutant, proceeded on our hands and knees
toward the village. The prevailing opinion was that the Indians were
still asleep. I desired to approach near enough to the lodges to
enable the half-breed to hail the village in the Indian tongue, and if
possible establish friendly relations at once. It became a question of
prudence with us, which we discussed in whispers as we proceeded
on our “Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are creeping,” how far from
our horses and how near to the village we dared to go. If so few of
us were discovered entering the village in this questionable manner,
it was more than probable that, like the returners of stolen property,
we should be suitably rewarded and no questions asked. The
opinions of Gurrier, the half-breed, were eagerly sought for and
generally deferred to. His wife, a full-blooded Cheyenne, was a
resident of the village. This with him was an additional reason for
wishing a peaceful termination to our efforts. When we had passed
over two-thirds of the distance between our horses and the village,
it was deemed best to make our presence known. Thus far not a
sound had been heard to disturb the stillness of the night. Gurrier
called out at the top of his voice in the Cheyenne tongue. The only
response came from the throats of a score or more of Indian dogs
which set up a fierce barking. At the same time one or two of our
party asserted that they saw figures moving beneath the trees.
Gurrier repeated his summons, but with no better result than before.
A hurried consultation ensued. The presence of so many dogs in
the village was regarded by the half-breed as almost positive
assurance that the Indians were still there. Yet it was difficult to
account for their silence. Gurrier in a loud tone repeated who he
was, and that our mission was a friendly one. Still no answer. He
then gave it as his opinion that the Indians were on the alert, and
were probably waiting in the shadow of the trees for us to approach
nearer, when they would pounce upon us. This comforting opinion
induced another conference. We must ascertain the truth of the
matter; our party could do this as well as a larger number, and to go
back and send another party in our stead could not be thought of.
Forward was the verdict. Each one grasped his revolver, resolved
to do his best, whether it was in running or fighting. I think most of
us would have preferred to take our own chances at running. We
had approached near enough to see that some of the lodges were
detached some distance from the main encampment. Selecting the
nearest of these, we directed our advance on it. While all of us were
full of the spirit of adventure, and were further encouraged with the
idea that we were in the discharge of our duty, there was scarcely
one of us who would not have felt more comfortable if we could
have got back to our horses without loss of pride. Yet nothing, under
the circumstances, but a positive order would have induced any one
to withdraw. The doctor, who was a great wag, even in moments of
greatest danger, could not restrain his propensities in this direction.
When everything before us was being weighed and discussed in the
most serious manner, he remarked: “General, this recalls to my mind
those beautiful lines:

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight,

Make me a child again just for one night—

this night of all others.”

We shall meet the doctor again before daylight, but under
different circumstances.
 IV.
CAUTIOUSLY approaching, on all fours, to within a few yards of the
nearest lodge, occasionally halting and listening to discover evidence
as to whether the village was deserted or not, we finally decided
that the Indians had fled before the arrival of the cavalry, and that
none but empty lodges were before us. This conclusion somewhat
emboldened as well as accelerated our progress. Arriving at the first
lodge, one of our party raised the curtain or mat which served as a
door, and the doctor and myself entered. The interior of the lodge
was dimly lighted by the decaying embers of a small fire built in the
centre. All around us were to be seen the usual adornments and
articles which constitute the household effects of an Indian family.
Buffalo robes were spread like carpets over the floor; head-mats,
used to recline upon, were arranged as if for the comfort of their
owners; parfleches, a sort of Indian band-box, with their contents
apparently undisturbed, were to be found carefully stowed away
under the edges or borders of the lodge. These, with the door-mats,
paint-bags, rawhide ropes, and other articles of Indian equipment,
were left as if the owners had only absented themselves for a brief
period. To complete the picture of an Indian lodge, over the fire
hung a camp-kettle, in which, by means of the dim light of the fire,
we could see what had been intended for the supper of the late
occupants of the lodge. The doctor, ever on the alert to discover
additional items of knowledge, whether pertaining to history or
science, snuffed the savory odors which arose from the dark
recesses of the mysterious kettle. Casting about the lodge for some
instrument to aid him in his pursuit of knowledge, he found a horn
spoon, with which he began his investigation of the contents, finally
succeeding in getting possession of a fragment which might have
been the half of a duck or rabbit, judging merely from its size. “Ah!”
said the doctor, in his most complacent manner, “here is the
opportunity I have long been waiting for. I have often desired to test
and taste of the Indian mode of cooking. What do you suppose this
is?” holding up the dripping morsel. Unable to obtain the desired
information, the Doctor, whose naturally good appetite had been
sensibly sharpened by his recent exercise à la quadrupède, set to
with a will and ate heartily of the mysterious contents of the kettle.
“What can this be?” again inquired the doctor. He was only satisfied
on one point, that it was delicious—a dish fit for a king. Just then
Guerrier, the half-breed, entered the lodge. He could solve the
mystery, having spent years among the Indians. To him the doctor
appealed for information. Fishing out a huge piece, and attacking it
with the voracity of a hungry wolf, he was not long in determining
what the doctor had supped so heartily upon. His first words settled
the mystery: “Why, this is dog.” I will not attempt to repeat the few
but emphatic words uttered by the heartily disgusted member of the
medical fraternity as he rushed from the lodge.
Other members of our small party had entered other lodges,
only to find them, like the first, deserted. But little of the furniture
belonging to the lodges had been taken, showing how urgent and
hasty had been the flight of the owners. To aid in the examination of
the village, reinforcements were added to our party, and an
exploration of each lodge was determined upon. At the same time a
messenger was despatched to General Hancock, informing him of
the flight of the Indians. Some of the lodges were closed by having
brush or timber piled up against the entrance, as if to preserve the
contents. Others had huge pieces cut from their sides, these pieces
evidently being carried away to furnish temporary shelter to the
fugitives. In most of the lodges the fires were still burning. I had
entered several without discovering anything important. Finally, in
company with the doctor, I arrived at one, the interior of which was
quite dark, the fire having almost died out. Procuring a lighted fagot,
I prepared to explore it, as I had done the others; but no sooner had
I entered the lodge than my fagot failed me, leaving me in total
darkness. Handing it out to the doctor to be relighted, I began
feeling my way about the interior of the lodge. I had almost made
the circuit when my hand came in contact with a human foot; at the
same time a voice unmistakably Indian, and which evidently came
from the owner of the foot, convinced me that I was not alone. My
first impression was that in their hasty flight the Indians had gone
off leaving this one asleep. My next, very naturally, related to myself.
I would have gladly placed myself on the outside of the lodge, and
there matured plans for interviewing its occupant; but unfortunately
to reach the entrance of the lodge I must either pass over or around
the owner of the before-mentioned foot and voice. Could I have
been convinced that among its other possessions there was neither
tomahawk nor scalping-knife, pistol nor war-club, or any similar
article of the noble red man’s toilet, I would have risked an attempt
to escape through the low narrow opening of the lodge; but who
ever saw an Indian without one or all of these interesting trinkets?
Had I made the attempt, I should have expected to encounter either
the keen edge of the scalping-knife or the blow of the tomahawk,
and to have engaged in a questionable struggle for life. This would
not do. I crouched in silence for a few moments, hoping the doctor
would return with the lighted fagot. I need not say that each
succeeding moment spent in the darkness of that lodge seemed like
an age. I could hear a slight movement on the part of my unknown
neighbor, which did not add to my comfort. Why does not the doctor
return? At last I discovered the approach of a light on the outside.
When it neared the entrance I called to the doctor and informed him
that an Indian was in the lodge, and that he had better have his
weapons ready for a conflict. I had, upon discovering the foot,
drawn my hunting-knife from its scabbard, and now stood waiting
the dénouement. With his lighted fagot in one hand and cocked
revolver in the other, the doctor cautiously entered the lodge. And
there, directly between us, wrapped in a buffalo robe, lay the cause
of my anxiety—a little Indian girl, probably ten years old; not a full-
blood, but a half-breed. She was terribly frightened at finding herself
in our hands, with none of her people near. Why was she left behind
in this manner? Guerrier, our half-breed interpreter, was called in. His
inquiries were soon answered. The little girl, who at first was an
object of our curiosity, became at once an object of pity. The
Indians, an unusual thing for them to do toward their own blood,
had wilfully deserted her; but this, alas! was the least of their
injuries to her. After being shamefully abandoned by the entire
village, a few of the young men of the tribe returned to the deserted
lodge, and upon the person of this little girl committed outrages, the
details of which are too sickening for these pages. She was carried
to the fort and placed under the care of kind hands and warm
hearts, where everything was done for her comfort that was
possible. Other parties in exploring the deserted village found an old,
decrepit Indian of the Sioux tribe, who also had been deserted,
owing to his infirmities and inability to travel with the tribe. He also
was kindly cared for by the authorities of the fort. Nothing was
gleaned from our search of the village which might indicate the
direction of the flight. General Hancock, on learning the situation of
affairs, despatched some companies of infantry to the deserted
village, with orders to replace the cavalry and protect the village and
its contents from disturbance until its final disposition could be
determined upon. Starting my command back to our camp near
General Hancock’s headquarters, I galloped on in advance to report
the particulars to the General. It was then decided that with eight
troops of cavalry I should start in pursuit of the Indians at early
dawn on the following morning (April 15). There was no sleep for my
command the remainder of the night, the time being fully occupied
in preparation for the march, neither the extent nor direction of
which was known.
Mess kits were overhauled, and fresh supplies of coffee, sugar,
flour, and the other articles which go to supply the soldier’s larder,
were laid in. Blankets were carefully rolled so as to occupy as little
space as possible; every useless pound of luggage was discarded,
for in making a rapid pursuit after Indians, much of the success
depends upon the lightness of the order of march. Saratoga trunks
and their accompaniments are at a discount. Never was the old
saying that in Rome one must do as Romans do more aptly
illustrated than on an Indian campaign. The Indian, knowing that his
safety either on offensive or defensive movements depends in a
great measure upon the speed and endurance of his horse, takes
advantage of every circumstance which will favor either the one or
the other. To this end he divests himself of all superfluous dress and
ornament when preparing for rapid movements. The white man, if
he hopes for success, must adopt the same rule of action, and
encumber his horse as little as possible. Something besides well-
filled mess chests and carefully rolled blankets is necessary in
preparing for an Indian campaign. Arms must be reëxamined,
cartridge-boxes refilled, so that each man should carry about one
hundred rounds of ammunition “on his person,” while each troop
commander must see that in the company wagon there are placed a
few boxes of reserve ammunition. Then, when the equipment of the
soldier has been attended to, his horse, without whose assistance he
is helpless, must be looked after; loose shoes are tightened by the
driving of an additional nail, and to accomplish this one may see the
company blacksmith, a soldier, with the few simple tools of his kit on
the ground beside him, hurriedly fastening the last shoe by the
uncertain light of a candle held in the hands of the rider of the
horse, their mutual labor being varied at times by queries as to “How
long shall we be gone?” “I wonder if we will catch Mr. Lo?” “If we
do, we’ll make it lively for him.” So energetic had everybody been
that before daylight everything was in readiness for the start. In
addition to the regularly organized companies of soldiers which
made up the pursuing column, I had with me a detachment of white
scouts or Plainsmen, and one of friendly Indians, the latter belonging
to the tribe of Delawares, once so famous in Indian wars. Of the
Indians one only could speak English; he acted as interpreter for the
party. Among the white scouts were numbered some of the most
noted of their class. The most prominent man among them was
“Wild Bill,” whose highly varied career was made the subject of an
illustrated sketch in one of the popular monthly periodicals a few
years ago. “Wild Bill” was a strange character, just the one which a
novelist might gloat over. He was a Plainsman in every sense of the
word, yet unlike any other of his class. In person he was about six
feet one in height, straight as the straightest of the warriors whose
implacable foe he was; broad shoulders, well-formed chest and
limbs, and a face strikingly handsome; a sharp, clear, blue eye,
which stared you straight in the face when in conversation; a finely-
shaped nose, inclined to be aquiline; a well-turned mouth, with lips
only partially concealed by a handsome moustache. His hair and
complexion were those of the perfect blond. The former was worn in
uncut ringlets falling carelessly over his powerfully formed shoulders.
Add to this figure a costume blending the immaculate neatness of
the dandy with the extravagant taste and style of the frontiersman,
and you have Wild Bill, then as now the most famous scout on the
Plains. Whether on foot or on horseback, he was one of the most
perfect types of physical manhood I ever saw. Of his courage there
could be no question; it had been brought to the test on too many
occasions to admit of a doubt. His skill in the use of the rifle and
pistol was unerring; while his deportment was exactly the opposite
of what might be expected from a man of his surroundings. It was
entirely free from all bluster or bravado. He seldom spoke of himself
unless requested to do so. His conversation, strange to say, never
bordered either on the vulgar or blasphemous. His influence among
the frontiersmen was unbounded, his word was law; and many are
the personal quarrels and disturbances which he has checked among
his comrades by his simple announcement that “this has gone far
enough,” if need be followed by the ominous warning that when
persisted in or renewed the quarreller “must settle it with me.” “Wild
Bill” is anything but a quarrelsome man; yet no one but himself can
enumerate the many conflicts in which he has been engaged, and
which have almost invariably resulted in the death of his adversary. I
have a personal knowledge of at least half a dozen men whom he
has at various times killed, one of these being at the time a member
of my command. Others have been severely wounded, yet he always
escapes unhurt. On the Plains every man openly carries his belt with
its invariable appendages, knife and revolver, often two of the latter.
Wild Bill always carried two handsome ivory-handled revolvers of the
large size; he was never seen without them. Where this is the
common custom, brawls or personal difficulties are seldom if ever
settled by blows. The quarrel is not from a word to a blow, but from