Assistant surgeons: Patzki, Stevens, and Powell.
Chief of pack trains: Mr. Thomas Moore.
Chief of wagon trains: Mr. Charles Russell.
Guides: Frank Gruard, Louis Richaud, Baptiste Pourrier (“Big Bat”).
The press of the country was represented by Joseph Wasson, of the Press, Philadelphia, Tribune, New York, and Alta California, of San Francisco, California; Robert E. Strahorn, of the Tribune, Chicago, Rocky Mountain News, Denver, Colorado, Sun, Cheyenne, Wyoming, and Republican, Omaha, Nebraska; John F. Finerty, Times, Chicago; T. B. MacMillan, Inter-Ocean, Chicago; R. B. Davenport, Herald, New York.
Our camp on the north side of the North Platte presented a picturesque appearance, with its long rows of shelter tents arranged symmetrically in a meadow bounded on three sides by the stream; the herds of animals grazing or running about; the trains of wagons and mules passing from point to point, united to form a picture of animation and spirit. We had a train of one hundred and three six-mule wagons, besides one of hundreds of pack-mules; and the work of ferriage became too great for mortal strength, and the ferrymen were almost exhausted both by their legitimate duties and by those of mending and splicing the boat and the cable which were leaking or snapping several times a day.
May 29, 1876, saw the column moving out from its camp in front of Fort Fetterman; the long black line of mounted men stretched for more than a mile with nothing to break the sombreness of color save the flashing of the sun’s rays back from carbines and bridles. An undulating streak of white told where the wagons were already under way, and a puff of dust just in front indicated the line of march of the infantry battalion. As we were moving along the same road described in the campaign of the winter, no further mention is necessary until after passing old Fort Reno. Meinhold, with two companies, was sent on in advance to reconnoitre the country, and report the state of the road as well as any signs of the proximity of large bands of the enemy. Van Vliet was instructed to push ahead, and keep a look-out for the Crow and Shoshone scouts who had promised to join the command at or near Reno. In spite of the fact that summer was already with us, a heavy snow-storm attacked the column on June 1st, at the time of our coming in sight of the Big Horn Mountains. The day was miserably cold, water froze in the camp-kettles, and there was much discomfort owing to the keen wind blowing down from the frozen crests of the Big Horn. From Reno, Gruard, Richaud, and “Big Bat” were sent to see what had become of the Crows, and lead them back to our command on the line of march.
Before he left Frank gave an account, from the story told him by the Sioux who had participated in it, of the massacre near this place of the force of officers and men enticed out from old Fort Kearney. In this sad affair we lost three officers—Fetterman, Brown, and Grummond—and seventy-five enlisted, with three civilians, names unknown. The Sioux admitted to Frank that they had suffered to the extent of one hundred and eighty-five, killed and wounded. I mention this story here at the place where we heard it from Frank’s lips, although we afterwards marched over the very spot where the massacre occurred.
We broke camp at a very early hour, the infantry being out on the road by four o’clock each morning, the cavalry remaining for some time later to let the animals have the benefit of the grass freshened by the frost of the night previous. We were getting quite close to Cloud Peak, the loftiest point in the Big Horn range; its massy dome towered high in the sky, white with a mantle of snow; here and there a streak of darkness betrayed the attempts of the tall pine trees on the summit to penetrate to the open air above them. Heavy belts of forest covered the sides of the range below the snow line, and extended along the skirts of the foot-hills well out into the plains below. The singing of meadow-larks, and the chirping of thousands of grasshoppers, enlivened the morning air; and save these no sound broke the stillness, except the rumbling of wagons slowly creeping along the road. The dismal snow-storm of which so much complaint had been made was rapidly superseded by most charming weather: a serene atmosphere, balmy breeze, and cloudless sky were the assurances that summer had come at last, and, as if anxious to repair past negligence, was about to favor us with all its charms. The country in which we now were was a great grassy plain covered with herbage just heading into seed. There was no timber except upon the spurs of the Big Horn, which loomed up on our left covered with heavy masses of pine, fir, oak, and juniper. From the innumerable seams and gashes in the flanks of this noble range issue the feeders of the Tongue and Powder, each insignificant in itself, but so well distributed that the country is as well adapted for pasturage as any in the world. The bluffs are full of coal of varying qualities, from lignite to a good commercial article; one of the men of the command brought in a curious specimen of this lignite, which at one end was coal and at the other was silicified. Buffalo tracks and Indian signs were becoming frequent.
Clear Creek, upon which we made camp, was a beautiful stream—fifty feet wide, two feet deep; current rapid and as much as eight miles an hour; water icy-cold from the melting of the snow-banks on the Big Horn; bottom of gravel; banks gently sloping; approaches good. Grass was excellent, but fuel rather scarce in the immediate vicinity of the road. Birds, antelope, and fish began to figure on the mess canvas; the fish, a variety of sucker, very palatable, were secured by shooting a bullet under them and stunning them, so that they rose to the surface, and were then seized. Trout were not yet found; they appear in the greatest quantity in the waters of Tongue River, the next stream beyond to the west. There is a variety of tortoise in the waters of these mountains which is most toothsome, and to my uncultivated taste fully as good as the Maryland terrapin.