Indian Fights and Fighters: The Soldier and the Sioux

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

There was no one in his command, he found, who had ever been in that territory. Indeed, it is probable that, save Forsyth’s men, no white men had ever penetrated that section of the country before. The map that Carpenter had was very defective. He studied over the matter a few moments, and then led his command toward the place where he supposed Forsyth to be. They advanced at a fast trot, with intervals of walking, and when they camped at night near some water holes they had covered nearly forty-five miles. The mules, under the indefatigable and profane stimulus of their drivers, had kept up with the rest. As soon as it was dawn the next day they started once more, and, after a twenty-mile ride, arrived at the dry bed of a river.

Whether this was the fork of the Republican, on which Forsyth was besieged, no one could tell. It happens that the Republican has three forks—a north fork, the Arickaree, and the south or dry fork. Carpenter was afraid to leave the fork he had found without satisfying himself that Forsyth was not there, so he concluded to scout up the river for some fifteen or eighteen miles. Finding nothing, he then turned northward again until he came to a stream flowing through a wide, grass-covered valley surrounded by high hills. As they entered the valley they came across a very large, fresh Indian trail. The scouts estimated that at least two thousand ponies had passed along the trail within a few hours. Various other signs showed a large village had moved down the trail.

They had traveled over forty miles this second day, and were apprehensive that the Indians, being so close to them, might attack them. It was nearly evening. A spot well adapted for defense was chosen near the water, the wagons were corralled, and preparations made for a stout resistance in case of an attack. While the men were making camp, Carpenter with a small escort rode to the top of one of the high hills bordering the valley. He could see for miles, but discovered no Indians nor any other living object in any direction. In front of them, however, on the top of another hill, were a number of scaffolds, each one bearing a human body. The Cheyenne method of burial was instantly recognized. A nearer look developed that the scaffolds had been recently erected. Five of them were examined, and in each case the body contained was that of a Cheyenne warrior, who had been killed by a gunshot wound. This was proof positive that they were some of the Indians who had been fighting against Forsyth.

While this was going on, one of the troopers noticed something white in a ravine on the opposite side of the valley. They galloped over to it, and found it to be an elaborate and beautiful tepee or wigwam, made out of freshly tanned white buffalo skins. The colonel dismounted, opened the tepee, and entered. There, upon a brush heap, lay a human figure wrapped in buffalo robes. When the robes were taken away the body of a splendid specimen of Indian manhood was disclosed. “He lay like a warrior taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him.” His stern and royal look, the iron majesty of his features, even though composed in death, revealed at once a native chieftain. In his breast was a great, gaping wound, which had pierced his heart. He lay in his war-gear, with his weapons and other personal property close at hand.

After the examination they recovered him and left him undisturbed. Then they went back to the camp. The corral was watchfully guarded during the night, but no one appeared to molest them. It was decided to follow the Indian trail at daylight, as it would probably lead to the site of Forsyth’s fight. Early the next morning, while they were packing up, they saw some horsemen coming over the hills to the south of them. They were white men, led by a scout named Donovan. Two more men had been despatched by Forsyth from the island on the third night of the siege, and being unobserved by the Indians, they had made their way to Fort Wallace. When they arrived there they found that Colonel Bankhead had already gone; whereupon Donovan had assembled five bold spirits and had immediately started out on the return journey. Fortunately for Carpenter, Donovan had struck the latter’s trail, and had followed it to the camp.

Carpenter thereupon took thirty of his best mounted troopers and the ambulance loaded with hardtack, coffee, and bacon, and set out on a gallop in the direction in which they supposed the island lay. Banzhaf was left in command of the rest, with orders to come on as fast as he could.

Carpenter went forward at a rapid gallop, and after traveling eighteen miles, while it was yet early in the morning, came to a spur of land from which he had a view of the surrounding country for miles. As he checked his horse on the brink, he saw to the right of him a valley through which meandered a narrow silver stream.

In the center of the valley there was an island. From it rose a solitary cottonwood. Men could be seen moving about the place. Donovan recognized it instantly. The horses of the detachment were put to a run, and the whole party galloped down the valley toward the island. The scouts swarmed across the river with cries of joy, and welcomed the soldiers. The faithful mules dragged the ambulance close behind. There was food for everybody. Carpenter was struck with the wolfish look on the faces of the hungry men as they crowded around the ambulance. Later one of them brought him a piece of mule or horse meat which was to have been served for dinner that day, if the rescuers had not appeared. Carpenter could not endure even the odor of it.

Galloping across the river bed, the first to enter the rifle-pits on the island was Carpenter. There, on the ground before him, lay Forsyth. And what do you suppose he was doing? He was reading a novel! Some one had found, in an empty saddle-bag, an old copy of Oliver Twist. Forsyth was afraid to trust himself. He was fearful that he would break down. He did not dare look at Carpenter or express his feelings. Therefore he made a pretense of being absorbed in his book.

The black cavalry had arrived in the very nick of time. Forsyth was in a burning fever. Blood-poisoning had set in, and his wounds were in a frightful condition. Another day and it would have been too late. Everything was gone from him but his indomitable resolution. Many others were in like circumstances. It was well that Carpenter had brought his surgeon with him, for his services were sadly needed. The men were taken off the island, moved half a mile away from the terrible stench arising from the dead animals; the wagon train came up, camps were made, the dead were buried on the island they had immortalized with their valor, and everything possible done for the comfort of the living by their negro comrades.