The captain introduced me to Lieut. Frederick Schwatka, whom I was to meet often afterward in that campaign, and whose name has since become familiar to all the reading world as the intrepid discoverer of the fate of Sir John Franklin, amid the eternal snows and unspeakable perils of the polar regions. Schwatka briefly but courteously acknowledged the captain's introduction, and, having drained a little "elixir of life" from his superior's canteen, set out like a whirlwind to fulfill his mission.
"Close up there! Trot!" shouted Captain Sutorius, who was in advance. "Trot!" repeated Captain Wells, in stentorian tones; and away we went, up hill and down dale, leaving the wagon tram to the care of its ordinary escort.
WAR-PATH AND BIVOUAC
After going at a trot for what seemed to me, galled and somewhat jaded as I was, an interminable time, we finally reached an elevation in the road, from which we beheld, although at a considerable distance, what seemed to be a force of cavalry, apparently going into camp. We continued advancing, but at a slower pace, and, within an hour, came upon the rearmost wagons of Royall's train, guarded by a troop of horse. We soon reached the main body, and I had then the pleasure of meeting Colonel Royall, a tall, handsome Virginian, of about fifty, with a full gray mustache, dark eyebrows, overhanging a pair of bright blue eyes, and a high forehead, on the apex of which, through the cropped hair, as he raised his cap in salute, appeared one of several scars inflicted by a rebel sabre in front of Richmond during the Civil War. Among the other officers to whom I was introduced, I remember Col. Anson Mills, then in his prime; Lieutenant Lemley, Captain Andrews, Lieutenant Foster, Lieut. Joseph Lawson and Lieut. Charles Morton, all of the 3d Cavalry; and Captain Rawolle, Lieutenant Huntington and others of the 2d Cavalry. As it was still early in the day, and, as our halting place was not desirable for the horses, Colonel Royall, after our wagon train had closed up, changed his mind about going into camp, and the march was continued to a place called Hunton's Ranch, in the Chugwater valley, where, having ridden over thirty miles since morning, I was rendered exceedingly happy by the order to halt and pitch our tents. These latter did not come up for some time, and, being as hungry as a bear, I was glad to satisfy my craving with raw army bacon, hard
OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX
tack and a tin full of abominably bad water. Then I lay down on my horse-blanket, under a tree, and fell fast asleep.
Supper was being served in Captain Sutorius' tent before I thought of waking up, and it took a good, honest poke in the ribs from the hardy captain to recall me from the land of dreams. In spite of my long nap, I slept soundly throughout the night, and awoke early in the morning to hear the rain falling in torrents, and pattering on our canvas shelter like a thousand drumsticks. An orderly came with the compliments of the commanding officer, to instruct the captain not to strike tents, as, if the rain did not cease before 8 o'clock, the battalion would remain in camp, as the wagons could not be moved in the dense mud. This was welcome news to Mr. McMillan and myself, as we were both exceedingly fatigued. The rain did not cease to fall for twenty-four hours longer, and it was well on toward noon, on the morning of May 23d, when we dragged ourselves painfully out of the Chugwater mud and took up our march to Fort Laramie. This march was brief and uneventful, and we were in camp on the prairie surrounding the Fort shortly after 1 o'clock. We picked up a few more troops at this point, and, as Colonel Royall was fearful of being late at the rendezvous of still distant Fort Fetterman, no time was lost in getting the command ready for the hard road before it. The entire column crossed the Laramie and North Platte rivers early on the morning of the 24th. The sky was cloudy, and a raw wind blew from the east. All of us hoped that the cool weather would continue, but we were doomed to sore disappointment in that, as in other, respects.
WAR-PATH AND BIVOUAC
The men of the command were, for the most part, young, but well seasoned, and in their blue shirts, broad felt hats, cavalry boots and blue, or buckskin, pantaloons, for on an Indian campaign little attention is paid to uniform, looked both athletic and warlike. Their arms were bright as hard rubbing could make them, and around the waist of every stalwart trooper was a belt filled with sixty rounds of fixed ammunition for the Springfield carbine. Each man carried also a supply of revolver cartridges. The sabres had been left behind at the different posts as useless encumbrances. I well remember the martial bearing of Guy V. Henry's fine troop of the 3d, as with arms clanking, and harness jingling, it trotted rapidly along our whole flank, in the dawn twilight, to take its place at the head of the column. "There goes Henry !" said our Captain, as the troopers trotted by. They were fine fellows that morning, and proved themselves to be as brave, and enduring, as they were imposing in appearance, throughout the campaign.
CHAPTER IV.
ON TO FORT FETTERMAN.
Our route was over an unfrequented path, known as the Old Utah route, through the Indian reservation on the left bank of the North Platte. This road was selected in order that the delay and expense of crossing the rapid river at Fetterman might be avoided. The portion of the territory through which we moved had not been described, at least by the newspapers, for the reason that very few people cared to roam at that time through so dangerous and desolate a region in small parties.
Our first day's march from Fort Laramie was begun at 6 o'clock A. M., and by 12:30, including two halts, we went into camp on a bend of the Platte, twenty-four miles from our starting point. The first part of our route lay through an undulating grass country, lying within easy distance of the river. Ten miles through this kind of land brought us to an immense "park," situated in the midst of five dotted bluffs, where we halted for some minutes. This " park" was simply the portal to one of the longest, darkest and most tortuous " passes" that can well be imagined.
It was a perfect labyrinth. Bluffs rose on each side to an immense altitude, and the turns were so abrupt that our advancing column frequently expected to bring up in a culdesac. It was up hill and down dale for eight long miles, and
WAR-PATH AND BIVOUAC
had Colonel Royall been opposed to a capable foe, his part of Crook's expedition would never have reached the rendezvous. A couple of hundred resolute men could there have prevented the march of a vast army. In fact, the larger the latter the less chance would there be for successful battle. But we passed on unharmed through this "Killecrankie" of Wyoming.
The sun shone magnificently, and it was a splendid sight to see our seven companies of cavalry, their arms glittering and their equipments rattling; as they "wound like a monstrous serpent around that gloomy vale." In some places, the ascents and descents were so steep and rugged that the command had to dismount from front to rear, and lead their horses. "Sitting Bull" lost a fine opportunity for clipping Crook's wings, and nearly all the officers recognized the fact. But we neither saw, heard, nor felt any Indians. Our troops moved on unmolested.
Where's the embattled foe they seek?
The camp or watch-fires, where?
For save the eagle screaming high
No sign of life is there.
A solitary elk, standing on the edge of a cliff far above our pathway, was the only living thing that, to all appearances, beheld our column.
After more than two hours of unceasing travel through the gorge, we finally unwound ourselves therefrom and struck a red-clay country, where we could not find enough grass to give our weary horses a decent lunch; we did not, therefore, halt, but pushed on to a camp on the river bend, when we thankfully left the saddle and stretched our limbs
OR THE CONQUEST OF THE SIOUX
upon the parched earth. Owing to the roughness of the road, the wagon-train and rear guard were more than five hours behind. Yet, in that lone camping ground, we found the graves of two Mormon emigrants, killed, it was supposed, by Indians. One grave had over it a rude slab, with the name, "Sarah Gibbons, July,l854," cut upon it. The other inscription was absolutely indecipherable. Reveille sounded at dawn on Thursday, May 25th, and the