In returning here from our late march, General Sheridan was anxious to hear the result of our trip as soon as possible. I took half a dozen men, and, mounted on a good mule, I rode eighty miles in sixteen hours, through mountains, and guided alone by the compass, taking the general and every one else by surprise by my sudden arrival in camp.
CHAPTER V.
INDIAN TRAILS, COUNCILS, AND CAPTIVES.
MEDICINE BLUFF CREEK, I. T., February 17, 1868.
Yesterday we made peace with the Kiowas, and released their two head chiefs, Satanta and Lone Wolf. We are now waiting the arrival of the train with supplies from Arbuckle, when we will at once bid a final adieu to this part of the country, and set out in a westerly direction, intending to treat with the Cheyennes at some point west of here, then turn our faces northward to Camp Supply.
MEDICINE BLUFF CREEK, February 20th.
It is a bright and pleasant morning, such as we often had in Texas. The climate here is lovely, seldom a day that even a light coat is uncomfortable. We have mistletoe here as plentifully as in Texas. The scenery is sublime picturesque in the extreme; the climate all that can be desired—not surpassed, I imagine, by Italy; and such lovely sunsets! …I wish you could see with what awe I am held by the Indians. A sound drubbing, you know, always produces this. They have given me a name, Mon-to-e-te, which means Strong Arm.
I cannot write but a few lines this evening, as I am now using the last piece of candle which can be obtained anywhere in camp. So bountifully are we supplied with Government stores that not an officer here, from General Sheridan down, has any light; nor have they had for several nights, nor will we have until the arrival of the train of supplies. How we shall spend the long evenings I do not know—sleep, I presume.
As soon as the train of supplies arrives, I expect to move west about one hundred miles, through the Washita mountains, to see if the Cheyennes are in that vicinity; then I turn northward to Camp Supply. Tell Eliza I am tired of living on roast horse and parched corn, as we have had to, and I will soon be at home, and want soup every day.
General Sheridan hastens to Camp Supply, and will start with a train of supplies to meet me somewhere in the vicinity of the Washita battle-field. You see I am telling you our plans, when not a single officer of this command dreams of our destination, and all are wondering when we are going. I am telling you just as if I were with you. Look on the map and find a point on Cache Creek about one hundred miles due west from Fort Arbuckle. That is where we now are. When we move it will be nearly due south-west, following the Red River. There we expect to accomplish the object of our western detour, and will then be nearly on a line due south from Fort Dodge. I am thus minute in order that you may see what a vast extent of country we will have visited since the beginning of my experience on the plains.
Once back to Camp Supply, nothing further can be accomplished for some time; our horses will be worn out, many of them now being unable to proceed that far.
The horses are being fed on grass alone, running loose night and day. They come in at the sound of water-call as regularly and promptly as if led. The men are living on half rations of bread.
No officers' stores for the coming march. I intend to have driven along with us one hundred and fifty head of Texas cattle, so that we will not be compelled to eat horse-meat again. You know how Texas cattle can travel, equal to any horse. I also have plenty of salt, so my command will not suffer.
General Sheridan has been in on my bed talking over our plans. He said again, for the fiftieth time, that I could go east at the earliest possible moment; but I tell him, as I always have, that I would not go till the work was all done.
Last night, a few moments after I had laid away my unfinished letter and writing materials, and was sitting alone in my Sibley tent, I heard the clatter of several feet coming, as if horsemen were approaching. It was bright moonlight, and I stood peering out of a small opening in the tent trying to divine who it could be entering camp at that hour of the night.
Three muffled figures, human in shape, mounted upon mules and leading two pack-mules, rode up to my tent and dismounted. I could not recognize them, but said, Come in, who is it? Why, general, we have the mail, was the reply. Hurrah! is that you, Jack?
(Jack Corbin, one of my most reliable scouts, whom I sent to Camp Supply a month ago.)
If they had been my brothers I could not have greeted them more warmly. Shaking hands all around and asking them to sit down by my sheet-iron stove and warm (we are having a terrible norther), I called the adjutant to distribute the mail they brought. Why was I so glad to see these daring men?not purely for themselves, though they are good, very good men, but a bird whispered in my ear that there were letters for me. I could have hugged them when I thought that they had braved the perils of two hundred miles, through the Indian country, in order to bring to us, 'way out here, news from our loved ones.
I was right in thinking I had letters in the bag. There were eight. The last was dated the 12th of February, and I received it in ten days from date. Is that not remarkable time for courier mail? It has made the quickest time that any document, official or private, has reached this command. Nothing seems to be a sufficient obstacle to prevent our letters coming. It often happens that General Sheridan desires to send off couriers post-haste with important despatches and cannot burden him with mail matter, so no one is informed of his going; but he never fails to quietly notify me, so that I can get a letter to you by every opportunity.
MEDICINE BLUFF CREEK, March 1, 1869.
This is the last day of our sojourn here. In fact, it was to have been the day of our departure, but the Quartermaster and Commissary departments have disappointed us, and I am forced to wait another day for supplies. My command has been living on quarter rations of bread for ten days. General Sheridan has been worried almost to distraction by this cause. He went away with the impression, from what he heard, that we were going to have a large and heavily loaded train. I have received advance lists of all they contain, and I can barely get ten days' rations of bread for my command, and about fifteen rations of other articles.
The troops remaining here have scarcely any commissary stores, but they cannot starve, though compelled to live on beef alone: but even then they will have no salt. I wish some of those who are responsible for this state of affairs, and who are living in luxury and comfort, could be made to share at least the discomforts and privations of troops serving in the field.
I am going to march over a portion of the country to which every one is a stranger, and the distance unknown. I wrote you, however, our proposed movements. I shall be glad to get on the move again. I have remained in camp until I am tired of it. I seldom care to stay in one camp over two or three days. I am almost as nomadic in my proclivities as the Indians themselves.
I send you a likeness which it may not occur to you is the picture of your husband. How do you like the beard? The costume is a very fine one, made of dressed buckskin and fringed. The cap is the one without a visor, that I have worn all winter. Frank, the tailor, is the maker of the suit.4 One of the officers said that he thought you would not recognize it, but would think that it was the man from California, the great hunter, who gave the President the bear-skin chair.
You would not imagine that I was writing amid frequent interruptions. The officers are constantly coming in inquiring about preparations for the march. Several Indian chiefs have been in to talk to them I talk, and continue my writing at the same time, an interpreter being present. I send you a likeness of four of my scouts. The one