The Indian War of 1864: Events in Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado and Wyoming. Eugene Fitch Ware

fingers in their vest pockets, leaving their other two fingers out. Nobody in the regiment that I know of, was initiated when I was, and I was told where to make reports in case I had something to communicate. I did not know whether there were any persons in the regiment when I got to Omaha, who belonged to the Loyal League. But the third day while I was there, I was lying down in the tent, late in the afternoon, with my feet near the mess-chest. My Captain came in, and as he was a warm-hearted, true-blue Union officer of great gallantry, and great courage, it occurred to me that he might belong to the Loyal League, so with my foot I tapped on the mess-chest two couplets of raps. Captain O'Brien looked up at me and said, "What sort of a sign is that?" and I said, -How do you know it is a sign?" And he said, "When did you join?" And I said, "What do you mean? Join what?" Then he put out his hand and gave me the grip, to which I responded. The grip was a two-and-two grip. I had been recently promoted into the company Thereupon he told me who belonged to the Union League in our regiment, and told me who was suspected. Among others was our senior Major, who was believed to be thoroughly "secesh," although professing quite the contrary. His name was H. H. Heath, and afterwards, in 1866, one of his letters was found in the Rebel archives, and read upon the floor of Congress. He had arrived in 1885 to the rank of Brigadier General, but had offered his services to the Confederates for a remuneration of magnitude during the dark days. Once at roll-call shortly afterwards, in the presence of my men, while the first sergeant was calling the roll, I gave the sign, and some half-dozen of them responded. How or where they got into the order I never knew, but I tied up to them afterwards.

      We had a number of accidents in Omaha. Several of our men were sick and our company became reduced to about 80 effective men.

      I kept a daily journal, and while in the service I frequently wrote to my mother long letters. Upon her death many years afterwards I found that she had saved them. So, the journal and letters and the company field-desk still in my possession enable me to write more fully and accurately than I otherwise might about the happenings of the year and a half hereinafter described.

      Chapter II.

       Table of Contents

      September 26, 1863 - March from Omaha - The Elkhorn River - Two Brothers - September 27, 1863 Fremont - September 28, 1863 - Shell Creek - Major Wood - September 29, 1863 - The Captain and the First Lieutenant - Loup Fork - Columbus - Pawnee Agency - September 30, 1863 - Lushbaugh - The Agency - The Pawnee Indians - The Paymaster - The Money

      On September 26, 1863, our company started on the march west. We went over the high tableland, rough and rolling, and after twenty-three miles came to the Elkhorn River. Upon this day's march I remember the first appearance of a very strange character, to whom I shall hereafter refer. It occurred this way: Shortly before we started to march, a grown, mature man, who gave his age as thirty-six, came and wanted to enlist. He said he had been on the frontier, and had served in the regular army. As we were going out there again, he wished to go; he declared his intentions to be loyal to the Union, and that he would enlist in some command for three years or during the war. His name was James Cannon. About one-third of the boys when we started in the morning were more or less intoxicated. Cannon was talkatively full. He wanted to ride at the head of the column and talk with me, the most of the trip. Finally I reached out and took his canteen, which I found half-full of whisky, and poured it out on the ground, and told him if he did not sober up and quit drinking I would not send in his enlistment papers, and would let him go without either muster-in or discharge, and he promised he would never drink any more.

      The condition of the country between Omaha and the Elkhorn River was that of a wild Western country. The road was a well-beaten track, four or five hundred feet wide, on which an enormous baffle for years had been operating. The country was rough, and timberless; there were no settlements of any note, except, there might be seen, here and there, far off down some long swale, a haystack, or a shack of some kind, or herd of cattle handled by one or two men, but far off from the road. The wind had blown almost all the time since we had been in Omaha, and as we went over this upland the road was hard and smooth as a floor, for the dust and sand and gravel had been blown off from it by the violence of the wind.

      The companies of our regiment while in Omaha were formed into two battalions of four companies each; companies A, B, Q and D forming the first battalion, and E, F, G, and H, the second. The companies had been sent out of Omaha one at a time, so that they might scatter along the road in their progress west, and have better grass and forage than if they all went together. Those companies went out first which were ready, and provided for, first; several companies went ahead of our company, and several companies came behind us. In going over to the Elkhorn River we met long trains of wagons coming in. Almost all of them were ox trains, and their wagons were mostly empty. It was no uncommon sight to see three yokes of oxen pulling three or four wagons coupled together in a sort of train. The Elkhorn River did not have much timber on it, but in its valley new farms were being opened.

      Upon September 27th we marched through fremont, and camped on the Platte valley two and one-half miles west of town. At this point the country was level, and somewhat settled. That evening a soldier who had served in the war, and been discharged, came into camp, and when he found that we were an Iowa company, he told of a couple of Iowa soldiers who were living about a mile from camp. When he gave their names, I thought I remembered them; so I went out to see them. They were two brothers, unmarried, keeping "bach" in a little cabin made of the trunks of cottonwood trees, daubed up with mud ready for the winter. They had each taken a quarter-section, and settled upon it as a homestead. One had been discharged from the hospital, his health having been impaired down near Vicksburg. The other was severely wounded at the battle of Shiloh, and was discharged on account of wounds received. Neither one was drawing a pension. They spoke at considerable length of the difficulties which they encountered with their neighbors, saying that several of their neighbors were old Confederate soldiers who had deserted and left the Confederate service, but who were still strongly against the "Abolition war." Each one of these boys had two revolvers, and a rifle. They said that there had been a Union League formed at the village of Fremont.

      On September 28, 1863, we started early in the morning, and camped on Shell Creek. It was quite a long, deepcut stream, but apparently not flowing much water. We camped on the stream a half-mile above where the road crossed it. Captain O'Brien and I went out hunting for ducks, the Captain having bought a double-barrel shotgun and ammunition at Fremont. The Major commanding our battalion, with an escort, joined us in the afternoon, shortly before we went into camp. He was one of the old pioneers of the West, Major John S. Wood, of Ottumwa, Iowa. He had been to California with the forty-niners, and in camp that night he told us of a battle which he and his wagon train, over fourteen years before, had with Indians on the bank of Shell Creek. The Major was not a man who praised himself very much, and when he told the story of the Shell Creek fight it was very interesting to us. In the morning he took us out to where he said he had dropped an Indian with his rifle.

      The country along the route of the day's travel was considerably settled. I would say that one-fourth of the quartersections had occupants-that is, down in the valley; the upper lands seemed to be entirely uninhabited, We passed a large number of trains during the day coming in, and some few going out. Those that were going out seemed to be loaded only for Fort Kearney, or else were the wagons of private ranchers along the line to about a point of two hundred and fifty miles west of the river. It was a sort of custom of the place to talk to everybody and ask everybody where he came from, and we, being on horseback, had time to ride back a few yards with the boss of a train to talk with him further regarding the grass and water, and where the best camping-places were. We passed during this day several little bands of Indians, generally not more than four together. They were mostly in pairs, bucks and squaws; hardly any children. They seemed to be sort of migratory; to be in camp a great deal, and to make but little progress in their wandering. The settlers said the Indians were apparently friendly, and nobody showed any fear of them. They seemed to be wanting the protection of the whites. One woman at a ranch near the road where we stopped to water, said that they kept walking around the house, and looking in the windows, and at first scared her considerably,