It was "Ute John," one of the scouts who had joined us with the Shoshones on the Big Horn, but who, unlike them, had concluded to stand by us through the entire expedition. He was a tall, stalwart fellow, picturesquely attired in an overcoat not unlike our present unsightly ulster in shape, but made of a blanket which had been woven in imitation of numerous rainbows. The storied coat of many colors worn by the original Joseph was never more brilliant than this uncouth garment, and about this time an effort was made to rechristen our sturdy ally, and call him no longer monosyllabic and commonplace John, but Scriptural Joseph. Subsequent developments in his career, however, brought about a revulsion of feeling, as it was found that the fancied resemblance in characteristics ended with the coat.
We had been accustomed in our dealings with the Indians who accompanied us to resort to pantomime as a means of conversation. Some of our number prided themselves on their mute fluency—none more so, perhaps, than our genial friend Major Andy Burt, of the 9th Infantry, who would "button-hole," so to speak, any Indian who happened along during his unoccupied moments, and the two would soon be lost in a series of gyrations and finger flippings that was a dark mystery to the rest of the command; and when the major would turn triumphantly towards us with his "He says it's all serene, fellows," we accepted the information as gospel truth without asking what "it" was. Bache and I were not a little astonished, therefore, at hearing Ute John launch forth into fluent English, albeit strongly tinged with Plains vernacular.
The most tireless men in pursuit of Indian knowledge were the correspondents of the papers. Frequent mention has already been made of Mr. Finerty, of the Chicago Times, who was the gem of the lot, but the New York Times and Herald were represented, as were leading journals of other large cities. With one exception they proved excellent campaigners, and welcome, indeed, genial associates; but the exception was probably one of the most unhappy wretches on the face of the globe. He had come out as a novice the year previous, and accompanied Colonel Dodge's exploring expedition to the Black Hills, and before long developed traits of character that made him somewhat of a nuisance. He was wofully green, a desperate coward, but so zealous in the cause of journalism that anything he fancied might interest the readers of the paper of which he announced himself "commissioner" was sent on irrespective of facts in the case. The officers found him taking notes of their conversations, jotting down everything he saw and heard around camp, caught him prying into matters that were in nature confidential, and so one night they terrified him to the verge of dissolution by preparations for defence and the announcement that the cooing and wooing of an army of wood-doves were the death-chants of hundreds of squaws as the warriors were stripping for the combat. Another time they primed him into writing a four-column despatch descriptive of the "Camelquo," a wonderful animal found only in the Black Hills, the offspring of the Rocky Mountain elk and the Egyptian camel, the latter being some of the animals introduced into Texas just before the war for transportation purposes, who had, so Mr. D—— overheard, escaped from the rebels and made their way to the Northern plains during the great rebellion, and there had intermarried with the great elk, the native of the Hills. The resultant "Camelquo," so D—— enthusiastically informed his paper, was an animal of the stature of the giraffe, the antlers of the elk, the humps of the camel, the fleetness and endurance of both parents, and the unconquerable ferocity of the tiger. How D—— came to discover the sell in time, my informant, Dr. McGillicuddy, did not remember, but to this day the maps of the Black Hills bear commemoration of the incident, and Camelquo Creek is almost as well known as Spring and Rapid. Many a rough miner has asked since '75 how in Hades, or words to that effect, they came to have such queer names for their streams in the Hills. Most of them were named by Colonel Dodge's party, and there was rhyme or reason in each, even for Amphibious Creek, which, said McGillicuddy, we so named because it sank out of sight so often and came up smiling so unexpectedly that it only seemed half land, half water.
On the campaign of '76, Mr. D—— again made his appearance as commissioner, started with General Crook's staff, but ere long was called upon to find new accommodations elsewhere. How it all came about I never cared to know, but after unpleasant experiences with first one set and then another, he gravitated eventually to the packers, who made him do guard and herd duty. He pushed ahead with Major Mills's command, and stumbled with them into the morning battle at Slim Buttes. This he witnessed in a state of abject terror, and then, when the danger was over, wrote a most scandalous account, accusing Major Mills of all manner of misbehavior. His paper published it, but had to eat humble pie, make a most complete apology, and, I think, dismiss its correspondent. Camelquo Creek is the only existing trace of poor D—— of which we have any knowledge.
Once fairly in the Black Hills, and resting on the banks of French Creek, we set to work to count up the losses of the campaign. In horseflesh and equipments the gaps were appalling. Some companies in the Fifth were very much reduced, and, of course, when the horse dropped exhausted on the trail, there was no transportation for the saddle, bridle, and "kit." It often happened that for days the soldier led his horse along the flanks of the column or in the rear of the regiment, striving hard to nurse his failing strength, hunting eagerly for every little bunch of grass that might eke out his meagre subsistence. In all the array of company losses there was one, and only one, shining contrast—Montgomery, with Company "B," the Grays, calmly submitted a clear "bill of health;" he had not lost a single horse, which was marvellous in itself, but when "Monty" proceeded to state that every Company "B" man had his saddle, bridle, nose bag, lariat, picket-pin, side lines, etc., the thing was incomprehensible; that is, it seemed incomprehensible, until the fact was taken into consideration that those companies which bivouacked on either flank of the Grays woke each morning to the realization of a predatory ability on the part of "them d—d Company 'B' fellers" that rose superior to any defensive devices they might invent. But Company "B" could not acquire gray horses at the expense of the rest of the regiment, whatever it might have done in side and other lines, and the fact that Captain "Monty" paraded every horse with which he started is due to the unerring judgment and ceaseless vigilance with which he noted every symptom of weakness in any and every animal in his troop, and cared for it accordingly.
As a rule, our company commanders are not thorough horsemen, and too little attention is devoted to the instruction of our cavalry officers in the subject—but Montgomery is a noteworthy exception. I don't know which class will be the more inclined to think me in error in the following statement, but as a result of not a little observation it is my opinion that, while the best riders in the cavalry service come from West Point, the best horsemen are from the ranks.
But for our anxiety about our horses, the most enjoyable days of the campaign were probably contained in the first two weeks of October. We were the roughest-looking set of men on the face of the globe; but with abundant rations and rousing big fires along the valley of French Creek, with glad letters from home, and finally the arrival of our wagons with the forgotten luxuries of tents and buffalo robes, we began taking a new interest in life. The weather was superb, the sun brilliant, the air keen and bracing, the nights frostily cold. Wonderful appetites we had in those days, and after supper the men would gather in crowds around the camp-fires and sing their songs and smoke their pipes in placid contentment. The officers, too, had their reunions, though vocalists were scarce among them, and the proportions of "youngsters" who keep the fun alive was far too small. The year before, those irrepressible humorists, Harrigan and Hart, of the New York stage, had sung at their "Théâtre Comique" a witty but by no means flattering ditty, which they called "The Regular Army, O." One of its verses, slightly modified to suit the hearers, was particularly applicable to and popular in the Fifth Cavalry, and their adjutant, when he could be made to sing "pro bono publico," was always called upon for the song and sure of applause at the close of this verse. It ran:
"We were sent to Arizona, for to fight the Indians there;
We were almost snatched bald-headed, but they didn't get our hair.
We lay among the cañons and the dirty yellow mud,
But we seldom saw an onion, or a turnip, or a spud,
Till we were taken prisoners and brought forninst the chief;
Says he, "We'll have an Irish stew"—the dirty Indian thief.
On Price's telegraphic wire we slid to Mexico,
And we blessed the day we skipped away from the Regular Army, O."
Now General Crook received his promotion to brigadier-generalship in Arizona, after a stirring and victorious campaign with the Apaches, and the Fifth Cavalry used to boast at times that his "star" was won for him by them. Soldiers are quick to attach some expressive nickname to their officers, but I never learned that our general had won this questionable distinction until we joined him at Goose Creek, when we found that in the command already there he was known as "Rosebud George."
In the hard times that followed there was no little growling among the half-starving troopers, because the packers seemed to have sufficient to eat when we were well-nigh destitute. So one night a fifth verse was trolled out on the still evening air in a strongly Hibernian brogue, and the listening ears of the Fifth were greeted with something like this: