Like wildfire the news of the fight at Wounded Knee swept along the lines, and the brave Boys in Blue nerved themselves to do and dare, and to avenge their gallant comrades of the Seventh.
The noble Wallace had fallen, and died, sword in hand, with his foes about him, Lieutenant Garlington, a popular officer and utterly fearless, had been severely wounded, and Lieutenant Harthorn was another brave man wearing the shoulder-straps to suffer.
The Seventh had been well-nigh wiped out upon the fatal field where the lamented Custer fell years before, and now, when taunting the prisoners they had taken another attempt had been made to annihilate utterly the regiment that had so won the hatred of the Sioux, and but for the pluck of its soldiers it would have been successful.
Following the news of the treacherous attack of the braves of Chief Big Foot, led by the Red Hatchet, came the startling tidings that the fearless and able chieftain, who had met the unexpected attack so bravely and well, had been removed from his command in the very face of the foe he had thus far vanquished.
It was a bitter blow to the men in the field, to know that "Colonel Forsythe, of the Seventh, had been relieved from duty."
Of course, officers and men knew that they must suffer attacks, because a few people in the far off East would urge that the Indian must be subdued with tracts and argument, and would be excused for killing the soldiers, when the soldiers would be tried for striking back.
But that is a part of the soldiers' hard lot to bear, or, as it has been briefly put, to "die fighting for one's country," and have their names spelled wrong in the report of the battle.
Officers talked in low tones over the affair at Wounded Knee Creek, and the stories afloat regarding it, and wondered if they were to be allowed to fight a foe ever cunning, treacherous, cruel, yet brave.
The effect of the battle, too, upon the Sioux was to send other bands to the Bad Lands, to make those more determined to fight, and to render the younger warriors wild with the hope of butchery, scalps, and plunder.
And among the camps, around the bivouac fires, and round the mess tables, the name of Kit Carey was upon every lip.