My life on the plains

by George A. Custer

Scarcely one year had elapsed, however, before Satanta defiantly informed the General of the Army, then on a visit to Fort Sill, that he had just returned from an expedition to Texas, during which he and his party had murdered and robbed several white men. It was this confession which led to Satanta’s trial, conviction, and sentence to death by the civil authorities of Texas. Through the intercession of the General Government, the Executive of Texas was induced to commute the punishment of Satanta from hanging to imprisonment for life, a step which all familiar with Indians and Indian management knew would result sooner or later in his release, and that of his confederate, Big Tree.

Importuned constantly by the tender-hearted representations of the peace commissioners, who could not be induced to look upon Satanta and Big Tree as murderers, the Governor of Texas very unwisely yielded to their persistent appeals, and upon the strength of promises solemnly made by the peace commissioners, according to which not only Satanta and Big Tree were to abstain from acts of bloodshed and murder in the future, but their entire tribe was also to remain at peace and within their reservation limits, the two chiefs who had unfortunately escaped the halter were again turned loose to engage in acts of hostility against the whites; an opportunity they and their treacherous people have not been slow to improve from that day to this.

The winter of 1868–’69 was rapidly terminating, acting as a forcible reminder to us that if we hoped to operate in the field with any advantage over the Cheyennes, the movement must be made before the spring grass should make its appearance for the benefit of the Indian ponies. Accordingly, as soon as our arrangements were perfected, our camp at the present site of Fort Sill, Indian Territory, was broken up, and General Sheridan, accompanied by his staff and escort, set out for Camp Supply in the north, while my command faced westward and began its search for the Cheyennes, passing along the southern base of the Witchita mountains, on the afternoon of inauguration day, at old Camp Radziminsky, a station which had been occupied by our troops prior to the war between the Northern and Southern States, and whose name, no doubt, will recall pleasant reminiscences to many who afterwards wore the blue or the gray.

On the morning of the first day after leaving the Witchita mountains behind us, no little excitement was created throughout the command by the discovery of a column of smoke directly on our course, and apparently about fifteen or twenty miles in front of us. That Indians had originated the fire was beyond a doubt, as we all knew that beyond us, in the direction of the smoke, the country was inhabited by no human beings save hostile Indians. I at once decided to push on with the command to the point from which the smoke was ascending, and discover if possible some trace of the Indians. Be it understood that neither I nor any members of my command supposed for one moment that when we arrived at the desired point we would find the Indians there awaiting our arrival, but we did hope to discover their trail. Of the many experienced frontiermen embraced in the command, including of course California Joe, there were none who judged the distance which separated us from the smoke as greater than could be easily passed over by us before three or four o’clock that afternoon.

It was evidently not a signal smoke—ascending from a single point and regulated by human control—but appeared from our standpoint more like a fire communicated to the prairie grass from an abandoned or neglected camp fire. Pushing on as rapidly as our horses could travel, we were again reminded from time to time of the deceptive character of the plains as regards distances. When three o’clock arrived, and we had been marching steadily for nine hours, the dense and changing columns of deep gray smoke, which had been our guiding point all day, seemed as far distant as when our march began in the morning. Except to water our animals, and once to enable the men to prepare a cup of coffee, no halts were made from six o’clock in the morning until we finally reached the desired locality—not at three or four o’clock in the afternoon, but at two o’clock that night.

Our surmises proved correct. The fire had evidently been communicated to the dry winter grass from some Indian camp fire. The Indians of course had gone; but where? As this was a question that could not be solved until daylight, and as all of us were glad enough of an opportunity to get a few hours’ repose, the troops bivouacked in promiscuous order as they arrived.

Only those who have enjoyed similar experiences know how brief the preparation required for sleep. As for myself, as soon as the necessary directions had been given relating to the command, I unsaddled my horse, arranged my saddle for my pillow, tethered my horse within easy reach, and in less time than has been required to write these few lines, I was enjoying one of those slumbers which only come as the reward of a day of earnest activity in the saddle.

As soon as it was light enough for our purpose, we were in the saddle and searching in all directions for the trail left by the Indians who had fired the prairie. Our Osage scouts were not long in making the desired discovery. The trail led westward, following the general course of a small valley in which it was first discovered. The party was evidently a small one, numbering not more than fifteen persons, but the direction in which they were moving led me to hope that by following them carefully and with due caution to prevent discovery of our pursuit, we might be led to the main village.

All that day our Osage scouts clung to the trail with the pertinacity of sleuth hounds. The course led us up and across several different streams of beautiful, clear water; but to our great disappointment, and to that of our horses as well, we discovered, upon attempting to quench our thirst at different times, that every stream was impregnated to the fullest degree with salt.

Later in the day this became a serious matter, and had we not been on an Indian trail, I should have entertained earnest apprehensions as to whether or not we were destined to find pure water by continuing further in the direction we were then moving; but I felt confident that the Indians we were pursuing were familiar with the country, and would no doubt lead us, unintentionally of course, to streams of fresh water.