CHAPTER XXVIII.
GENERAL SULLY’S EXPEDITION.
During the summer of 1864, and while I was a prisoner with the Indians, an expedition, composed of Iowa and Minnesota volunteers, with a few independent companies of Nebraska and Dakota men, with one company of friendly Indians of various tribes, started from Fort Sully, in Dakota, with the double purpose, under instructions from the War Department, of escorting a large emigrant train safely through the Indian country on their way to Idaho, and, if possible, to inflict such punishment on the hostile bands they might meet as would make them willing to sue for peace.
The expedition was commanded by General Alfred Sully, of the United States Army, a brave, skillful officer, and veteran Indian fighter, having spent the best part of twenty-five years’ service on the frontier. He was a captain of infantry under General Harney, in his memorable campaign of 1857, and was present at the battle of Ash Hollow, where Harney surprised a large band of Indians, with their families, who were slaughtered indiscriminately, inflicting such punishment as made the name of General Harney a terror to the Indians, and, at the same time, brought upon his head the execration of thin-skinned philanthropists, who thought savages—the “noble red men” of their imagination—should be conquered only by a sugarplum and rose-water policy.
For many interesting particulars of this expedition, and its bearing upon some of the incidents of my captivity and final ransom, I am indebted to the correspondence of one who was a member of the expedition, written to his family during its progress.
The first day’s march carries the command to the Cheyenne River, where the topographical engineer, to whom I have referred, was killed. His fate was sad, indeed. An officer in the regular army, he served with distinction in the South during the rebellion, participating in over fifty battles, and passing through all without a wound. He was captured by the rebels, paroled, and sent to join General Sully’s expedition, to make a topographical survey of the country.
Having faced danger on many a well-contested field, he held the Indian in utter contempt, and roamed the country along the line of march with reckless indifference to danger.
A short time before reaching the place where the command intended to go into camp, Captain Fielner started in advance, accompanied by only one man, a half-breed. Reaching the river, they dismounted, and were about fastening their horses to graze near a grove of wild plum-trees, when two Indians stepped out, and one of them shot Captain Fielner, the ball from his rifle passing through both arms and the breast. The advance guard arriving soon after, word was sent back to General Sully, who ordered the company of Dakota Cavalry to deploy and occupy so much of the country as to make it impossible for the Indians to escape. This was done, and, closing toward a center, the two savages were found in a “buffalo wallow,” a depression in the ground made by the buffaloes, and forming a very good rifle-pit. Being addressed in their own language, they refused to surrender, and were shot. General Sully afterward had their heads cut off: and when the command left camp next morning, they graced two pointed stakes on the bank of the river, placed there as a warning to all straggling Indians.
The feeling manifested by General Sully on the occasion of Captain Fielner’s death was intense. A brave officer, a scientific scholar, and a gentleman of rare social qualities, he had won upon the kindlier feelings of his associates in rank, and was respected by all. His untimely death was sincerely mourned by the whole command.
Death by the hand of the enemy had seldom touched that little army—so seldom, that when a companion failed to answer at roll-call, his absence was felt. The only other officer killed during the three years of General Sully’s operations against the Indians was Lieutenant Thomas K. Leavitt, of Company B, Sixth Iowa Cavalry. At the battle of Whitestone Hill, in September, 1863, after the Indians had been utterly routed, Lieutenant Leavitt went through their deserted camp on foot, his horse having been shot under him; and, approaching a buffalo robe, raised it with the point of his saber, revealing an Indian and squaw, who sprang upon him so suddenly that he had no opportunity to defend himself, and, with their knives, stabbed him in several places. Darkness came on, and, separated from his companions, stripped of his clothing, and wounded mortally, he was all night exposed to bitter cold. Despite his wounds, he crawled over the ground fully a half mile, was found next morning, and conveyed to camp, where he died soon after. A young man of superior education, of a wealthy family, he relinquished a lucrative position in a bank, and enlisted as a private, but was soon promoted to a lieutenancy; and, at the time of his death, was acting Adjutant-General on General Sully’s staff.