On the Border with Crook

by John Gregory Bourke

We were now laboring under the serious disadvantage of having no native scouts, and were obliged to start out without further delay, if anything was to be done with the trail of the Sioux, which had been left several marches up the Powder, before we started down to the Yellowstone to get supplies. Crook had sent out Frank Gruard, “Big Bat,” and a small party to learn all that could be learned of that trail, which was found striking east and south. Terry’s scouts had gone to the north of the Yellowstone to hunt for the signs of bands passing across the Missouri. The report came in that they had found some in that direction, and the two columns separated, Terry going in one direction, and Crook keeping his course and following the large trail, which he shrewdly surmised would lead over towards the Black Hills, where the savages would find easy victims in the settlers pouring into the newly discovered mining claims. Captain Cain, Captain Burrowes, and Lieutenant Eaton, the latter broken down with chills and fever as well a pistol wound in the hand, were ordered on board the transports, taking with them twenty-one men of the command pronounced unfit for field service. One of these enlisted men—Eshleman, Ninth Infantry—was violently insane. Our mess gained a new member, Lieutenant William P. Clarke, Second Cavalry, ordered to report to General Crook for duty as aide-de-camp. He was a brave, bright, companionable gentleman, always ready in an emergency, and had he lived would, beyond a doubt, have attained, with opportunity, a distinguished place among the soldiers of our country. General Terry very kindly lent General Crook five of his own small band of Ree scouts; they proved of great service while with our column.

CHAPTER XXI.

CROOK AND TERRY SEPARATE—THE PICTURESQUE LITTLE MISSOURI—THE “HORSE MEAT MARCH” FROM THE HEAD OF THE HEART RIVER TO DEADWOOD—ON THE SIOUX TRAIL—MAKING COFFEE UNDER DIFFICULTIES—SLAUGHTERING WORN-OUT CAVALRY HORSES FOR FOOD—THE FIGHT AT SLIM BUTTES—LIEUTENANT VON LEUTTEWITZ LOSES A LEG—THE DYING CHIEF, “AMERICAN HORSE,” SURRENDERS—RELICS OF THE CUSTER MASSACRE—“CRAZY HORSE” ATTACKS OUR LINES—SUNSHINE AND RATIONS.

On the 23d of August we were beset by another violent storm, worse, if such a thing were possible, than any yet experienced. All through the night we lay in from three to four inches of water, unable to shelter ourselves against the strong wind and pelting Niagara which inundated the country. Sleep was out of the question, and when morning came it threw its cold gray light upon a brigade of drowned rats, of disgusted and grumbling soldiers. It was with difficulty we got the fires to burn, but a cup of strong coffee was ready in time, and with the drinking of that the spirits revived, and with a hearty good-will all hands pulled out from the valley of the Yellowstone, and plodded slowly through the plastic mud which lay ankle deep along the course of the Powder. There was a new acquisition to the column—a fine Newfoundland dog, which attached itself to the command, or was reported to have done so, although I have always had doubts upon that subject. Soldiers will steal dogs, and “Jack,” as he was known to our men, may have been an unwilling captive, for all I know to the contrary.

There was no trouble in finding the big Sioux trail, or in following it east to O’Fallon’s Creek, finding plenty of water and getting out of “the burnt district.” The grass was as nutritive as it ought to have been in Wyoming and Montana, and as it would have been had not the red men destroyed it all. Another trying storm soaked through clothing, and dampened the courage of our bravest. The rain which set in about four in the afternoon, just as we were making camp, suddenly changed to hail of large size, which, with the sudden fall in temperature, chilled and frightened our herds of horses and mules, and had the good effect of making them cower together in fear, instead of stampeding, as we had about concluded they would surely do. Lightning played about us with remorseless vividness, and one great bolt crashed within camp limits, setting fire to the grass on a post near the sentinel.

The 29th and 30th of August we remained in bivouac at a spring on the summit of the ridge overlooking the head waters of Cabin Creek, while our blankets and clothing were drying; and the scouts reconnoitred to the front and flanks to learn what was possible regarding the trail, which seemed much fresher, as if made only a few days previously. Hunting detachments were sent out on each flank to bring in deer, antelope and jack rabbits for the sick, of whom we now had a number suffering from neuralgia, rheumatism, malaria, and diarrhœa. Lieutenant Huntington was scarcely able to sit his horse, and Lieutenant Bache had to be hauled in a “travois.”

The night of August 31, 1876, was so bitter cold that a number of General Crook’s staff, commissioned and enlisted, had a narrow escape from freezing to death. In our saturated condition, with clothing scant even for summer, we were in no condition to face a sudden “norther,” which blew vigorously upon all who were encamped upon the crests of the buttes but neglected those in the shelter of the ravines. The scenery in this neighborhood was entrancing. Mr. Finerty accompanied me to the summit of the bluffs, and we looked out upon a panorama grander than any that artist would be bold enough to trace upon canvas. In the western sky the waning glories of the setting sun were most dazzling. Scarlet and gold, pink and yellow—in lovely contrast or graceful harmony—were scattered with reckless prodigality from the tops of the distant hills to near the zenith, where neutral tints of gray and pale blue marked the dividing line between the gorgeousness of the vanishing sunlight and the more placid splendors of the advancing night, with its millions of stars. The broken contour of the ground, with its deeply furrowed ravines, or its rank upon rank of plateaux and ridges, resembled an angry sea whose waves had been suddenly stilled at the climax of a storm. The juiciest grama covered the pink hillocks from base to crest, but scarcely a leaf could be seen; it was pasturage, pure and simple—the paradise of the grazier and the cowboy. We gave free rein to our fancy in anticipating the changes ten years would effect in this noble region, then the hunting ground of the savage and the lair of the wild beast.

We crossed the country to the east, going down Beaver Creek and finding indications that the hostiles knew that we were on their trail, which now showed signs of splitting; we picked up four ponies, abandoned by the enemy, and Frank Gruard, who brought them in, was sure that we were pressing closely upon the rear of the Indians, and might soon expect a brush with them. A soldier was bitten in the thumb by a rattlesnake; Surgeon Patzki cauterized the wound, administered ammonia, and finished up with two stiff drinks of whiskey from the slender allowance of hospital supplies. The man was saved. The trail kept trending to the south, running down towards the “Sentinel” Buttes, where our advance had a running fight with the enemy’s rear-guard, killing one or two ponies.

The next point of note was the Little Missouri River, into the valley of which we descended on the 4th of September, at the place where General Stanley had entered it with the expedition to survey the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad in 1873. This is called by the Indians the “Thick Timber” Creek, a name which it abundantly deserves in comparison with the other streams flowing within one hundred miles on either side of it. We emerged from the narrow defile of Andrus’ Creek, into a broad park, walled in by precipitous banks of marl, clay, and sandstone, ranging from one hundred to three hundred feet high. Down the central line of this park grew a thick grove of cottonwood, willow, and box-elder, marking the channel of the stream, which at this spot was some thirty yards wide, two to three feet deep, carrying a good volume of cold, sweet water, rather muddy in appearance. The bottom is of clay, and in places miry, and the approaches are not any too good. A small amount of work was requisite to cut them down to proper shape, but there was such a quantity of timber and brush at hand that corduroy and causeway were soon under construction. The fertility of the soil was attested by the luxuriance of the grass, the thickness of timber, the dense growth of grape-vines, wild plums, and bull berries, already ripening under the warm rays of the sun and the constant showers. Where the picket lines of Terry’s cavalry had been stretched during the spring, and the horses had scattered grains of corn from their feed, a volunteer crop had sprung up, whose stalks were from ten to twelve feet high, each bearing from two to four large ears still in the milk.

Our scouts and the advance-guard of the cavalry rushed into this unexpected treasure-trove, cutting and slashing the stalks, and bearing them off in large armfuls for the feeding of our own animals. The half-ripened plums and bull berries were thoroughly boiled, and, although without sugar, proved pleasant to the taste and a valuable anti-scorbutic. Trial was also made of the common opuntia, or Indian fig, the cactus which is most frequent in that section of Dakota; the spines were burnt off, the thick skin peeled, and the inner meaty pulp fried; it is claimed as an excellent remedy for scurvy, but the taste is far from agreeable, being slimy and mucilaginous.