The Indians left on the ground (103) one hundred and three warriors, including Black Kettle, whose scalp was taken by an Osage guide. 875 horses and mules were captured, 241 saddles (some of fine and costly workmanship), 573 buffalo-robes, 390 buffalo-skins for lodges, 160 untanned robes, 210 axes, 140 hatchets, 35 revolvers, 47 rifles, 535 pounds of powder, 1050 pounds of lead, 4000 arrows and arrow-heads, 75 spears, 90 bullet moulds, 35 bows and quivers, 12 shields, 300 pounds of bullets, 775 lariats, 940 buckskin saddle-bags, 470 blankets, 93 coats, 700 pounds of tobacco; all the winter supply of dried buffalo meat, all the meal, flour, and other provisions; in fact, all they possessed was captured, as the warriors escaped with little or no clothing. Everything of value was destroyed. 53 prisoners were taken, squaws and their children; among the prisoners are the survivors of Black Kettle and the family of Little Rock. Two white children, captives with the Indians, were captured. One white woman in their possession was murdered by her captors the moment the attack was made. A white boy, 10 years old, a captive, had his entrails ripped out with a knife by a squaw. The Kiowas, under Satanta, and Arapahoes, under Little Raven, were encamped six miles below Black Kettle's village. The warriors from these two villages came to attempt the rescue of the Cheyennes. They attacked the command from all sides, about noon, hoping to recover the squaws and the herd of the Cheyennes.
Though displaying great boldness, about three o'clock the cavalry countercharged, and they were driven in all directions and pursued several miles. The entire command was then moved in search of the villages of the Kiowas and Arapahoes, but after an eight-mile march it was ascertained that they had taken fright at the fate of the Cheyennes, and fled.
The command was then three days' march from the train of supplies, and the trail having led over a country cut up by ravines and other obstructions, difficult even for cavalry, it was impossible to bring the wagons on. The supplies which each man carried were nearly exhausted, the men were wearied from loss of sleep, and the horses in the same condition for want of forage. About 8 P. M. the return march was begun, and continued until the wagons were reached. In the excitement of the fight, as well as in self-defence, some of the squaws and a few children were killed and wounded; the latter were brought on under medical care. Many of the squaws were taken with arms in their hands, and several soldiers were wounded by them. In one small ravine 38 warriors were found dead, showing the desperation of the conflict. Two officers, Major Elliott and Captain Hamilton, were killed, and 19 enlisted men. Captain Barnitz was seriously wounded.
The command marched through snow-storms and rough country, sleeping without tents; and the night before the attack the men stood for hours by their horses awaiting the moment of attack, when the thermometer was far below freezing-point. No one complained, the one regret being that "the gallant spirits who fell were among the bravest and best."
Many of the squaws and children fought like the Indians, darting in and out and firing with cool aim from the opening of the tepees. Some of these squaws followed in the retreat, but there were some still prudent enough to remain out of sight. While the fight was going on they sang dirges in the minor key, all believing their own last hour had come. Captain Smith was sent round before the fight was ended to count the tepees for the official report. The squaws and children fired away at him so fast that he told his wife afterwards, "The first count of those lodges was made pretty quick, as the confounded popping kept up all the time."
The attention of Captain Yates was attracted to the glittering of something bright in the underbrush. In a moment a shot from a pistol explained that the glistening object was the barrel of a pistol, and he was warned by his soldiers that it was a squaw who had aimed for him, and was preparing to fire again. He then went round a short distance to investigate, and found a squaw standing in the stream, one leg broken, but holding her pappoose closely to her. The look of malignant hate in her eyes was something a little worse than any venomous expression he had ever seen. She resisted most vigorously every attempt to capture her, though the agony of her shattered limb must have been extreme. When she found that her pistol was likely to be taken, she threw it far from her in the stream, and fought fiercely again. At last they succeeded in getting her pappoose, and she surrendered. She was carried forward to a tepee, where our surgeon took charge of her.
As soon as the warriors were driven out, "Romeo", who spoke the dialect, was sent by the commanding officer to set the fears of the self-imprisoned women at rest, and they were then all gathered in some of the larger lodges. Two of the squaws had managed during the mêlée to mount and reach one of the herds of ponies, but in the flight, while driving the property off, California Joe had captured women, ponies, and all, and he came into camp swinging his lariat and wildly shouting.
Before leaving the battle-ground it was necessary, if our troops hoped really to cripple the enemy and prevent further invasion, to destroy the property, for it was impossible to carry away much of what had been captured. The contents of the village were collected in heaps and burned. The ponies were crowded together and shot. It took three companies an hour and a half to kill the 800 ponies. This last duty was something the officers never forgot. Nothing but the exigencies of war could have driven them to it. There were the several grades of animals as the Indian uses them: the ponies for marching, those for pack-animals to carry the luggage, the hunting-pony, and finally the best, truest, and swiftest, for battle alone. But the value of the animals was not what affected the officers; it was that, mute and helpless as they were, they must be sacrificed. But they could not be driven away in the deep snow, and with so small a command it was impossible to spare men to even attempt such a rescue. Besides, the presence of such a herd would still more strongly have tempted the constantly menacing Indians to follow and recapture so much valuable property. There was little time to deliberate, for one of the captured squaws reported, what afterwards proved to be true, that along the Washita, for twelve miles, were scattered many other villages. In this comparatively sheltered valley all the southern tribes had congregated. It was a hundred miles outside the reservation, but the timber, water, and grass were favorable for winter camps.
There was still one detachment from which no news had come. Men were sent out for two miles in the direction taken by Major Elliott, but no clew to his whereabouts was obtained. Officers and men felt the imminent danger that surrounded them. Nine hundred men so far from a base of supplies, exhausted from a long fast, and with horses worn out with a difficult march through the snow, were in no condition to risk the lives of the whole command in further search for their dead comrades. Not till the regiment returned to the battle-ground, a short time later, were the bodies of the brave officer and his men found.
In order to escape from the situation, which was most threatening, for the Indians were assembling constantly on the bluffs overlooking the command, General Custer put on a brave front, and ordered the band to play "Garryowen", and the colors to be unfurled; the skirmishers were sent on in advance, and the command set out in the direction of the other villages. I have often thought what nerve it required to assume so bold an attitude and march towards an enemy scattered for twelve miles in advance; the horses and men so exhausted, the ammunition low, and Indians outnumbering them three to one. The Indians, perceiving not only the determined advance, but appreciating that every sign of past victory was apparent, supposed the triumphant troops were about to march on the villages below, and they fled before the column. After dark the order to countermarch was given, and as rapidly as possible the tired troopers rode back to the train of supplies that had been endeavoring for days to make its way to the regiment.
In General Sheridan's letter to General Custer, after the battle, he says, in congratulation: "The Battle of the Washita River is the most complete and successful of all our private battles, and was fought in such unfavorable weather and circumstances as to reflect the highest credit on yourself and regiment."
The following extracts are from General Custer's letters to me:
The sad side of the story is the killed and wounded. Major Elliott and six men, who charged after two Indians, and Captain Hamilton, are gone. I had Captain Hamilton's body brought to this point (Beaver Creek, supply depot), where we buried him with full military honors. Eleven companies of cavalry and three of infantry followed him to the grave. The band played the dead-march; his horse was draped in mourning, carrying his boots, sword, etc., and followed his body. We intend to take the remains