June 11 (Friday). The day being no better than yesterday, and there being no prospect of improvement, we commenced the long-dreaded crossing. Lieutenant Alexander divested himself of all clothing, except his shirt and drawers, and entered, leading his horse. We speedily stripped ourselves, carrying our belts and haversacks around our necks, our clothes in a bundle on the ends of our rifles. Every two good swimmers taking between them one of those ignorant of the now useful art, we trusted ourselves to the mercy of the chilling, madly rushing current. The water was high, and as cold as ice. It required as much strength as we could muster to gain a step against the current, and the sharp stones on the bottom cut our feet painfully, till our legs and feet became so benumbed with cold as to be insensible to further pain. As we made a step forward, when the water was but a foot or two deep, we would sink unexpectedly to the middle, and probably the next step would take us in to the arm-pits; then the water would obtain such a force against the body that it required almost superhuman efforts to keep an upright position. We became dizzy from the rapid current before getting half way across, and by the time the opposite shore was reached most of us were pretty well exhausted. One man, Artificer James R. Kelly, was swept off his feet, but luckily enough I was able to catch hold of him and bring him ashore.
Our train, while we were crossing, started off in a stampede, and we had the pleasure of being on one side of the stream and seeing our wagons carried away over hill and valley, in every direction, on the other. Fortunately, the mules were safely brought back, although a little blown; after they were all securely landed on our side of the river they were the meekest and most humble congregation of mules I have ever seen. After we pitched our tents each received a gill of whiskey. Upon inspection, the losses of the day were found to be one linchpin and one pair of pantaloons.
June 12 (Saturday). We went as far as Rattlesnake Hill, eighteen and an eighth miles. Several rattlesnakes were seen during the march, and once or twice our men came near treading on them, but they escaped us by getting into their holes, or we escaped them by getting out of their way. The rear guard killed one or two.
We left the old road in the morning and took Bryans. After about two hours' march we reached Lodge Pole Creek and forded it, our course then lying through the valley of the creek. There was good grass all through the valley, and myriads of flowers, but no wood. We were obliged to burn buffalo chips.
June 13 (Sunday). We marched to-day, as the Colonel wishes to get to a pine country about a hundred miles ahead. We went nineteen and three-quarter miles, this being the second camp on Lodge Pole Creek.
An order was published prohibiting dogs running at large, either on the march, at a halt, or in camp—hard on the canines, but they find no sympathy. Two other orders were published, one obliging the sick to attend all roll calls—no man has a right to be sick on a campaign!—the other stating that the Company should fall in at reveille under arms, so that on days when we do not march our weapons may remain stacked outside, to give the rain a chance to wash them and to allow the sun to better season the stocks.
June 14 (Monday). We marched nineteen miles along Lodge Pole Creek, the valley of which is one of the most beautiful portions of this country, requiring only the presence of trees to make it perfectly charming. Two chains of sand-bluffs skirt the valley, one on either side, and, toward the close of our march these bluffs began to assume a rocky appearance.
A curious and interesting novelty was seen by us to-day, an Indian dead lodge. It was a wigwam, built in the usual manner, the poles covered with buffalo hides, hair side in, and the opening of the lodge sewed shut with rawhide thongs. A pole was planted in the center of the tent and projected through the covering, about eight feet higher than the door; to the pole was suspended the distinguishing badge of the chief buried within, composed of painted eagle feathers, ornamented in a very neat manner with horsehair and beads. The ground around the lodge was ditched, and the sods piled around the bottom of the skins. About ten feet from the lodge, in front of the door, was a square patch of earth, dug up and carefully smoothed, and behind it a small mound of earth and sods, on top of which were placed two buffalo skulls, bleached white with the rains; they were arranged facing the lodge, as like two silent sentinels watching the repose of the dead, and the forehead of each bore ten red stripes, signifying that the defunct dignitary had borne his share of the perils of ten war-paths.
Although our curiosity was under the reins of respect for the deceased, yet we could not resist the temptation of getting just a peep at the internal arrangements; drawing one or two pegs from the bottom of the skins, we bent our straining vision into the solemn depth of darkness that reigned within. Needless to say, the olfactory nerves were first gratified, but as our eyes became accustomed to the uncertain light we could discern a shapeless mass, elevated upon crotched poles, and lying upon a bed of twigs, closely wrapped in skins. From the poles were suspended the quiver of arrows, the bow, the tomahawk, the pipe, and the ammunition pouches of the deceased. We carefully closed the lodge and left the dead to his solitude.
But, sad to relate, when our train had passed, not only the curiosity of some of the men was excited, but their cupidity also; in less than five minutes the before sacred resting place was, by heartless and relentless hands, left in desolate ruin.