In the spring of 1867, Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer joined Major General Winfield Scott Hancock’s campaign into the western plains. The objective was to subdue the Cheyenne and Sioux, tribes that had carried out raids and killings against settlers along the Kansas frontier. Women such as Mrs. Marlin and Mrs.
Ward had been taken by the Indians, and nothing more was heard of them. Custer, commanding the cavalry attached to the expedition, later recorded the campaign in his 1874 book, My Life on the Plains. His account offers a firsthand view of what happened when the army marched into Indian country. The expedition was massive in appearance.
It consisted of eight companies of cavalry, seven companies of infantry, and a battery of light artillery, totaling about fourteen hundred men. Despite its size, it attracted harsh public criticism, particularly from a group known as the Indian Ring, which accused Hancock of provoking a war with the Indians without cause. Custer insisted this was unfair. He maintained that the campaign’s purpose was not to punish past wrongs but to prevent future ones.
In letters Hancock sent to the agents of the various tribes, he made his intentions clear. He stated that he was preparing an expedition to convince the Indians that the government could punish any who attacked travelers or committed hostile acts against whites. He expressed a desire to avoid trouble, to treat the Indians fairly according to treaty obligations, and to work through the Indian agents whenever possible. He invited the agents to accompany him, and he said he would be glad to speak with any chiefs they might meet.
In another letter, referring to recent killings traced to the tribes, he wrote that those cases would be left entirely in the hands of the Indian departments, and that he did not expect to make war against any Indians of their agencies unless they began the war themselves. The Indians, however, had given reason for concern. During the previous summer and fall, they had committed numerous robberies and murders without being held accountable. They attacked stations along the overland mail routes, killed employees, burned stations, and seized livestock.
Citizens were murdered in their homes on the Kansas border, and killings also occurred on the Arkansas roads. The principal offenders were the Cheyenne and Sioux. The agent for the Cheyenne, Custer claimed, knew who was guilty of the Arkansas killings but took no steps to bring them to justice, likely because doing so would have conflicted with his trading interests. The campaign, therefore, was meant to awe the Indians through its imposing appearance and early presence in their country.
This was considered especially necessary because the tribes had threatened that once the grass grew in the spring, they would rise up along the entire border, particularly against the main travel routes. In early March, letters were sent to the agents of the tribes the army wished to meet, asking them to gather their people near the Arkansas River. Hancock arrived at Fort Riley, Kansas, from Fort Leavenworth by train in the last week of March, accompanied by artillery and six companies of infantry. There, four companies of the Seventh Cavalry and an additional company of infantry joined him.
It was at this point that Custer joined the expedition. From Fort Riley, they marched ninety miles to Fort Harker, where two more companies of cavalry reinforced them. After a short stop to replenish supplies, they moved toward Fort Larned, near the Arkansas River, about seventy miles to the southeast. They arrived on April 7, after a march that had begun on the third.
Agents for the Comanche and Kiowa accompanied them, and at Fort Larned they met the agent for the Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Apache. He reported that he had sent messengers to the chiefs, who had agreed to gather near Fort Larned on the tenth. Hancock agreed to wait. On April 9, while the command was in camp awaiting the council, a terrible snowstorm struck, lasting all day and into the evening.
The soldiers were fortunate to be in camp rather than on the march, as the cold and snow would have caused losses. The cavalry horses suffered severely and were kept alive only by doubling their grain ration. To keep them from freezing during the bitterly cold night, guards were ordered to continuously walk the horse lines and keep the animals moving. The snow reached eight inches deep.
The council was postponed until the weather improved. Then began what Custer called a display of the diplomacy for which the red men were famous. The Cheyenne and a band of Sioux were camped on Pawnee Fork, about thirty miles above Fort Larned. They did not want to approach the army, nor did they want the army to approach them.
The next morning, they sent word that they had started to visit the camp but had discovered a large herd of buffalo and stopped to lay in a supply of meat. The excuse was not believed. Hancock decided to wait one more day, but if the Indians did not come, he would move his troops to their village and hold the council there. Late on the evening of April 12, two chiefs of the Dog Soldiers visited the camp.
This was a band made up of the most warlike and troublesome Indians on the plains, mostly Cheyenne. They were accompanied by twelve warriors and asked to meet with Hancock, which he agreed to. A large council fire was built in front of the general’s tent, and all his officers gathered. The chiefs, before they felt ready, asked for supper, which was provided.
When they were finally prepared, they advanced to the council fire in single file, accompanied by their agent and interpreter. There was another delay, as the Indians insisted on filling their pipes and performing the important ceremony of smoking before entering any council. At last, they declared themselves ready to talk. The chiefs seemed impressed by the dress of a few artillery officers present, with their red feathers and bright insignia, and appeared uncertain whether these marks indicated chiefs or medicine men.
Hancock opened the meeting by explaining his purpose. He told them he had not come to make war but to promote peace. He expressed regret that more chiefs had not visited him and announced his intention to move his troops near their village the next day to hold a council with all the chiefs. Tall Bull, a war-like-looking chief, replied, but his speech contained little of importance.
He spoke of the increasing scarcity of buffalo, his love for the white man, and the usual hints that presents would be welcome. He added that he would have nothing new to say at the village. Custer recalled that years before, the people of the region had captured two Indian children, believed to be survivors of the Chivington massacre at Sand Creek, Colorado. They had been cared for and taught civilized ways, but their relatives demanded their return, and by treaty the government agreed to surrender them.
One was a little girl being raised by a family near Denver. The other, a boy, had been sent east and was difficult to locate. When he was finally found, he was sent to Hancock to be delivered to his tribe. The boy accompanied the expedition and attracted much attention.
He was dressed in comfortable civilized clothing and seemed content, having been taken from his people at a very early age. The Indians who came to camp showed great interest in seeing him, but they showed no emotion, and it was clear they were not pleased to see him dressed as a white man. The boy, then about eight or ten years old, seemed unwilling to return to his people. When Custer saw him the following year in the tribe’s village, the boy had lost all trace of civilization, had forgotten his English, and had become as shy and suspicious of white men as his companions.
The first thing the tribe had done after recovering him, Custer was told, was to strip off his ready-made clothes and replace them with a blanket and the traditional breechcloth. The Indians having made clear they did not intend to come to camp, the army prepared to move toward their village. The morning after the meeting with the Dog Soldier chiefs, the entire force marched out from Fort Larned toward Pawnee Fork. The first night they camped about twenty miles from the fort.
During the day, several groups of Indians were seen watching the army’s movements, and heavy smoke rose in the direction of the village. It was learned afterward that the Indians had set fire to the grass, burning it for miles in the direction from which they expected the army to come, hoping to prevent the soldiers from camping near them. Before reaching the campsite, several chiefs and warriors of the Cheyenne and Sioux met the column. Among them were Pawnee Killer of the Sioux and White Horse of the Cheyenne.
It was agreed that these chiefs would remain with the command overnight, and in the morning all the chiefs from both tribes would come to Hancock’s headquarters for a council. On the morning of the fourteenth, Pawnee Killer left camp early, saying he was going to the village to bring the other chiefs to the council. The meeting was set for nine o’clock. The hour came, but the chiefs did not arrive.
Custer noted wryly that the first thing necessary for an Indian council was to bring the Indian. At nine-thirty, Bull Bear, an influential Cheyenne chief, arrived and reported that the chiefs were on their way but would not reach camp for some time. It was a trick to gain time. Hancock told Bull Bear that since the chiefs would not arrive soon, he would move his troops across the stream near the village, and the council could be held in camp that night.
Bull Bear agreed. At eleven o’clock, the march resumed. Within a few miles, the column came upon one of the most impressive military displays Custer said he had ever seen by Indian standards. It was a line of battle drawn directly across the army’s path, as if to say, “Thus far and no farther.
” Most of the Indians rode good horses. All were painted and decorated in their brightest colors. They wore war bonnets, carried lances with crimson pennants, and their quivers were full of barbed arrows. In addition to these weapons, each man was armed with a breech-loading rifle or a revolver, sometimes both.
These weapons, Custer noted with bitter irony, had been provided by the Indian departments, which seemed determined that both sides should be equally armed. The only difference was that a soldier who lost his weapon had to pay double its value, while the Indian was given his without any conditions. There were hundreds of Indians in the line of battle before them, with organized groups behind acting as reserves, and small detachments farther off serving as messengers to the village. For a few moments, the appearance promised anything but a peaceful end.
The infantry was in front, the artillery close behind, and Custer’s cavalry on the flank. Hancock, seeing the hostile formation extending far to the right and left less than half a mile ahead, hastily ordered the infantry, artillery, and cavalry to form a line of battle. The cavalry, being last to form on the right, charged into line without waiting to align ranks, and the order was given to draw sabers. As the blades flashed in the morning sun and the infantry raised their rifles, a scene of great beauty unfolded.
Before them stood the representatives of civilized and savage warfare, facing each other. The Indians wore the same primitive style of dress and carried the same weapons their ancestors had used for centuries. The soldiers faced them in the uniform and equipment of modern civilization. Neither side seemed to understand the other’s intentions.
Each waited for the other to strike the first blow. The chiefs rode along their line, urging their warriors. After a few moments of tense anticipation, Hancock rode forward with General A. J.
Smith and other officers. He asked the chiefs whether they intended war, saying that if so, the army was ready to engage. The chiefs replied immediately that they wanted peace, not war. They were told the army would continue to the village and camp nearby, with orders preventing any soldiers from disturbing the Indians.
The chiefs agreed to meet at Hancock’s headquarters once camp was established. The interview ended, the Indians moved toward their village, and the army followed slowly behind. After a march of a few miles, the village came into view, located in a beautiful grove on the riverbank. It consisted of more than three hundred lodges, a little more than half belonging to the Cheyenne and the rest to the Sioux.
The site was well chosen, with wood, water, and grass in abundance, and high bluffs to the north and west sheltering it from cold winds. The army pitched its tents about half a mile from the village, with a guard placed between the two groups to prevent any intrusion by the soldiers. Some Indian horses that had been grazing near the camp were caught and returned, to show that the army’s intentions were friendly. No sooner were the tents pitched than Roman Nose, Bull Bear, Gray Beard, and Medicine Wolf, all prominent Cheyenne chiefs, came to camp.
They reported that their women and children had fled the village at the approach of the soldiers, fearing another massacre like Chivington’s. Hancock insisted they all return, promising protection and good treatment. If the camp was evacuated, he said, he would hold them responsible. The chiefs expressed confidence they could bring back the fugitives.
They were given horses, and two of them set off. It was agreed that one of the interpreters, Ed Guerrier, a mixed-blood Cheyenne working for the government, would remain in the village and report every two hours whether any Indians were leaving. At about seven in the evening, the interpreter returned to headquarters to report that all the chiefs and warriors were saddling their horses to leave, packing their belongings, and cutting up their lodges to use as temporary shelters. Custer was in his tent, a few hundred yards from Hancock’s, when a messenger woke him and told him the general wanted him.
Hancock outlined the situation and ordered Custer to mount his cavalry as quickly and quietly as possible and surround the Indian village to prevent the inhabitants from leaving. Silence was essential. No bugle calls could be sounded. The soldiers had to adopt some of the Indians’ own methods of stealth.
Every soldier was asleep in his tent. Custer woke the adjutant, then the company commanders, who passed the orders to the first sergeants, who woke the men. Disciplined soldiers, experienced in campaigning, prepared quickly. No questions were asked.
The first goal was to saddle and bridle the horses. When the horse was ready, the rider completed his own preparations, checking his weapons and spurs. If a few moments remained, he filled and lit his pipe. The night was perfect for the task.
The weather was mild, and the moon, though nearly full, was constantly hidden behind clouds. No one imagined that if the Indians discovered the attempt to surround them and their village, there would be no fighting. The Indians would have every advantage, sheltered behind the trunks of the great trees under which their lodges were pitched. Hancock ordered the artillery and infantry to be ready, anticipating that the Indians might detect the approach and that fighting might break out.
Custer’s command soon was mounted and moving silently toward the village. All conversation was forbidden except in whispers. Sabers were fastened to prevent clattering. Using the campfire visible in the village as a guide, the cavalry swung around to place the village between themselves and the infantry.
Occasionally the moon appeared from behind the clouds, granting a brief glimpse of the village. Under the dense foliage, the white conical lodges could be seen. Were the inhabitants sleeping, unaware of how close the soldiers were? Or were the dark-skinned defenders hidden along the banks of the Pawnee, ready to greet them with war cries?
The line was formed in a circle around the village, each rear company halting at the proper point and deploying like skirmishers. The entire circle faced the village, perhaps a few hundred yards away. As the lines were completed, the moon came out from behind its veil and illuminated the whole scene. It was a remarkable sight: the great circle of troops, each man sitting on his horse as still as a statue, the dense leaves of the cottonwoods sheltering the lodges, and the small stream flowing through the middle.
But the troops were not there to study artistic effects. The next step was to determine whether they had surrounded a populated village, which would necessarily mean a fierce struggle, or whether the red man had once again proven more cunning than his civilized brothers. Custer ordered the entire line to remain mounted, rifles pointing forward. He dismounted and, taking Guerrier, Dr.
Coates, and Lieutenant Mollineaux, advanced on hands and knees toward the village. The prevailing opinion was that the Indians were still asleep. Custer hoped to get close enough for Guerrier to call out to the village in the Indian language and establish friendly relations. There was a debate about how far to advance from the horses.
If the small party was discovered entering the village in such a suspicious manner, they would likely be killed without questions. Guerrier’s opinion was valued. His wife, a full-blooded Cheyenne, was in that village, giving him an additional reason to want a peaceful outcome. When the party had covered about two-thirds of the distance, they decided to announce their presence.
Guerrier called out in Cheyenne at the top of his voice. The only response came from the throats of twenty or more Indian dogs, which began barking fiercely. One or two of the party said they saw shapes moving under the trees. Guerrier repeated his call, with no better result.
The presence of so many dogs was, to the half-breed, a near certainty that the Indians were still there, but their silence was difficult to explain. Guerrier called out again, identifying himself and saying their mission was friendly. Still no answer. He expressed the opinion that the Indians were on alert, perhaps waiting in the shadows to spring on them if they came closer.
The decision was made to press forward. Each man held his revolver, resolved to do his best, whether that meant running or fighting. They approached close enough to see that some lodges were set apart from the main camp. They chose the nearest one.
Moving cautiously on all fours, stopping to listen, they finally concluded that the Indians had fled before the cavalry arrived and that only empty lodges remained. At the first lodge, one of the party lifted the curtain that served as a door, and Custer and the doctor entered. The interior was dimly lit by the dying embers of a small fire. The usual ornaments and implements of an Indian household were scattered around.
Buffalo robes were spread on the floor. The headrests were arranged as if for the comfort of their owners. Parfleche boxes were neatly stored under the edges of the lodge, their contents untouched. A kettle hung over the fire, and in it, by the faint glow, could be seen what had been intended for the supper of the former occupants.
The doctor, always alert for new knowledge, sniffed the appetizing odors rising from the kettle. Finding a horn spoon, he began exploring the contents. He succeeded in obtaining a piece that might have been half a duck or a rabbit, judging only by its size. He began eating with appetite.
Guerrier entered the lodge. He picked up a large piece and attacked it eagerly. His first word settled the mystery. “Well, this is dog meat.
” Custer chose not to repeat the few but strong words uttered by the deeply disgusted doctor as he rushed out of the lodge. Other members of the party entered other lodges and found them equally deserted. Little had been taken, showing how hurried the flight had been. Reinforcements joined the search party, and it was decided to examine every lodge.
A messenger was sent to Hancock to report that the Indians had fled. Some lodges were closed by piling bushes or wood before the entrance, as if to protect what was inside. Others had large pieces cut from their sides, taken to provide temporary shelter for the fugitives. In most lodges, the fires were still burning.
Custer entered many lodges without finding anything significant. Finally, accompanied by the doctor, he reached one where the interior was completely dark and the fire nearly out. He seized a burning stick and prepared to explore, but the stick went out as he entered, leaving him in total darkness. He handed it to the doctor to relight and began feeling his way around the inside of the lodge.
He had nearly completed the circuit when his hands touched a human foot. At the same time, he confirmed he was not alone by a sound, no doubt from an Indian, coming clearly from the owner of the foot. His first impression was that the Indians, in their hurried flight, had left this person sleeping. His second thought was naturally about himself.
To reach the entrance, he would have to pass over or around the owner of the foot. He crouched in silence, hoping the doctor would return with a burning stick. He heard a slight movement from his unknown neighbor. At last, he saw a light approaching from outside.
When it reached the entrance, he called to the doctor and told him there was an Indian inside and that he should be ready for a possible struggle. Custer had drawn his hunting knife as soon as he discovered the foot. The doctor entered cautiously, carrying a burning stick in one hand and a loaded revolver in the other. There, directly between them, wrapped in a buffalo robe, lay the cause of Custer’s concern: a young Indian girl, perhaps ten years old, not of pure blood but of mixed race.
She was in a state of extreme terror at finding herself in their hands without any of her people nearby. Guerrier was summoned, and he soon received answers to his questions. The girl, initially the object of curiosity, immediately became the object of pity. The Indians had deliberately abandoned her.
And after the entire village had fled, some of the young men of the tribe had returned to the abandoned lodge and committed atrocities against the child so cruel that Custer said their details could not be mentioned in his pages. She was taken to the fort and placed under the care of kind hands and warm hearts. Other search parties found a very old Sioux man who had also been left behind because of his age and inability to travel with the tribe. He, too, was well cared for by the fort authorities.
The search of the village revealed nothing to indicate the direction of the Indians’ flight. The Indians had gone, but they left behind a young girl and an old man, a rare occurrence among the Indians, according to Custer. The girl, of mixed blood, may have belonged to another tribe, such as the Pawnee, and been captured, which would explain the harsh treatment she received. The doctor’s accidental meal of dog meat was one of the more memorable details of the night.
The campaign, however, was far from over. The Indians had slipped away into the plains, and the army was left with an abandoned village and the grim reminder of what flight could mean for those left behind.
