Seeing that Crazy Horse was willing to accept battle, Miles made his preparations deliberately. The troops, out of range of the Indians, calmly had breakfast and made their camp secure. Having done everything at his leisure, Miles moved out to the attack.
The Sioux were plainly visible on the cliffs. They could be seen shaking their fists and brandishing their rifles as the soldiers slowly advanced through the deep snow which covered the ground. The Indians seemed absolutely confident that Miles was marching into a trap, that when he got into the cañon he would be unable to scale the slopes, and they would have him at their mercy. There was no ambush about it. The whole thing was open and plain. They had chosen their position and had invited the soldiers to make at them. There was, indeed, no other way for Miles to get to them, so cunningly had they taken advantage of the ground, except the way which lay open before them. As the troops drew nearer, the gestures of defiance and contempt were accompanied by yells and jeers. Among the things they shouted in their confident assurance of success were these significant words:
“You have had your last breakfast!”
Indeed, the grim prophecy did not seem unlikely of fulfilment.
It might have been supposed that men, encumbered as were the soldiers with their heavy, winter clothing, could never have scaled those heights, especially in the face of such opposition as the redoubtable warriors of Crazy Horse would offer. If they did not succeed in clearing the cliffs of the Indians, they would probably be shot down in scores in the valley. They would then be forced to retreat to their train, if any of them were left alive to do so, and stand a siege; and as they were three or four hundred miles from any possible relieving force, and in the depth of a Dakota winter, that would mean a speedy annihilation. It was a serious risk to take, but no battle was ever won without taking risks, and the nice art of the soldier consists in knowing what risks to take and when to take them. Not the least of Miles’ claims to admiration as a commander was his determination, under all circumstances, to fight then and there.
Undaunted by the threatening prospect and unmoved by the savage shouts and jeers, although some of the scouts who knew the Sioux language retorted in kind, the troops deployed, and at as rapid a pace as they could manage, started for the hills. The artillery was exposed and unlimbered, and the shells thrown into the Indian position caused great surprise and consternation. The key to the position was a high elevation upon the left. The Indians who held it were led by Big Crow, the chief medicine man. As the battle began he exposed himself freely between the lines, dressed in a magnificent Indian war shirt and bonnet, running up and down and yelling like a fiend.
Miles massed a little column against Big Crow and the warriors defending the eminence. At the same time he ordered a general escalade of the cliff along the whole line. Under a heavy fire, which, however, like most plunging fires down the sides of mountains or slopes, did but little damage, the troops slowly toiled up the icy, snow-covered bluffs.[[105]] Led by Major Casey and Captains McDonald and Baldwin, the charge was delivered with the utmost resolution. It was not a dash. No men, encumbered as were those soldiers, could move rapidly up icy cliffs, covered, wherever the sharpness of the acclivity permitted, with from one to three feet of snow. It was rather a slow, dogged, determined crawl, with a stop every few moments to fire at some Indian silhouetted above them on the gray sky-line of that winter morning.
The fighting for the high cliff on the left of the line was spirited and desperate. Finally, the men came to a hand-to-hand struggle. The Indians clung tenaciously to the post until Big Crow was shot, when the soldiers succeeded in dislodging them. This bluff commanded the lines. It was occupied by the troops, who poured an enfilading fire upon the army of Crazy Horse. The Indian position, therefore, became untenable, and fighting sullenly and stubbornly, they withdrew in good order, though closely pursued by the troops. In the latter part of the advance snow began to fall, and before the battle was closed the combatants were fighting in the midst of a blinding storm. Miles says that the moment at which the Indians turned their backs and began the retreat was one in which he felt relief scarcely to be expressed, so desperate had been the fighting, so difficult the ascent, and so doubtful the result.
The Indians were pursued for some distance, and a large portion of their camp equipage, with supplies, was captured. On the whole, they had suffered a most disheartening and disorganizing defeat. Their ammunition was about gone, their confederates in other tribes had been captured, the main body of the redoubtable Cheyennes had been crushed and were starving, the Unkpapas, the Miniconjous, the Sans Arcs, and the Brulés had surrendered. The game was up. There was nothing for Crazy Horse and the exhausted remnant which remained faithful to him to do but to surrender, which they accordingly did in the early spring.