Burning Ground

by D. A. Galloway

  “Lieutenant Grugan, who is this fellow Graham Davidson in your report?” he asked, turning to his colleague.

  “A civilian. We met him along the Yellowstone River just north of the lake. He was prospecting in the region and lost his horse and belongings crossing the river. Hayden invited him to join the survey team.”

  “And what are his credentials?’

  “I believe he is studying botany at a school back east.”

  “Your report indicated he was with Foley when the soldier fell into the hot spring.”

  “That’s correct. He was assisting Albert Peale, one of the geologists, in collecting samples from the springs.”

  “Your statement also notes Davidson suffered no burns or injuries even though both men walked the same ground. Does that make sense to you?”

  “I investigated the scene. It happened as Davidson described.” Grugan was irritated. Who was this second lieutenant to question his investigation and its findings?

  “It seems Davidson was reckless with the lives of one of our men.”

  “Do you have any other questions about the expedition?” Tyler interrupted Doane’s line of inquiry.

  “Just a few more. You said Davidson is a botanist, and he collects samples. Does he assist other ways?”

  “He’s also a guide. A damned good one. He saved some of the men from travelin’ extra miles through fallen timber more than once. You may need to make use of his land navigation skills.” Grugan couldn’t resist needling Doane about his self-proclaimed guiding prowess.

  Doane’s face flushed.

  “Hayden specifically requested I lead the military escort based on my experience in traveling through this wilderness, and my reputation for effectively fighting hostile Indians should the need arise.”

  “That’s enough!” Tyler interjected. He could see both junior officers were struggling to keep their composures and decided to end the pissing contest.

  “Lieutenant Doane, your second-in-command is Sergeant Alexander Anderson. You will have twenty-one men under your command. Hayden sends for supplies from Bottler’s Ranch every five days or so. He estimates returning to Fort Ellis by September 1. You also have security responsibilities for Captain Barlow’s team. His small group is following the same general route as Hayden, but they work independently. Any other questions?”

  “Have you seen any hostiles?”

  “Nary a one. It seems all the Indian activity right now is in Montana,” Tyler remarked as he stood. “The Fort Ellis group will depart first thing in the morning.”

  The junior officers stood and saluted, swiftly departing in opposite directions from the captain’s tent.

  * * *

  Frank Grugan walked along the lakeshore for ten minutes pondering the briefing. He had to assign men to their respective groups, allocate and divide equipment, and collect mail from everyone. Before doing these things, he decided to talk with Graham Davidson. Knowing Gustavus Doane’s personality and based on his questions, it was clear Graham was going to be in his sights. And he wanted to warn him.

  “Graham, do you have a minute?” Grugan asked as he approached the faux botanist’s fly.

  The Pennsylvanian looked up from the envelope he was addressing and stood. “Sure, Frank.”

  “Did you hear we are splitting up the group tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Mr. Peale told me a few hours ago.”

  “Well, Captain Tyler and I are going back to Fort Ellis with half the soldiers. The new commanding officer of the escort is Lieutenant Doane.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Lieutenant Doane reported John Foley was sent to Saint Louis to receive treatment for his burns. He survived but will have a lengthy recovery. I thought you would like to know.”

  “Thanks. I’m so glad to hear it. Foley is a good young man. I hope he heals.”

  Grugan drew closer and spoke in a low voice. “What I’m about to tell you is private. I’m sharing this as a friend, not an army officer. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely.” Graham couldn’t imagine what information the lieutenant might share that would merit a confidentiality disclaimer.

  “Lieutenant Doane is an egotistical and quick-tempered man,” Grugan stated bluntly. “His actions are driven by his desire for personal advancement, and he is blinded by his own ambitions. His behaviors have poisoned the relationships with his fellow officers at Fort Ellis. He is almost universally disliked.”

  Grugan paused to allow his friend to digest what he said.

  “I’m not sure how to respond, Frank. Why are you telling me these things? I’m a civilian and work for Doctor Hayden.” Graham was bewildered.

  “I just finished a briefing session in which Doane inquired about your role in Foley’s accident. It’s clear he thinks you are culpable for what happened. Plus, he was upset when I mentioned you assisted Makawee as a guide. He sees himself as the perfect guide. For these reasons, he sees you as a threat.”

  “But what if Doctor Hayden asks my opinion?”

  “You decide what to do if that happens. My advice is to stay clear of Doane. He can discredit you and make your life miserable.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Graham responded with a sense of foreboding.

  “Is that a letter?” Grugan asked looking at the envelope in Graham’s hand.

  “Oh, yes. It’s a letter to my hometown newspaper describing a few of the things I’ve seen.”

  The envelope was addressed:

  Newspaper Editor

  Adams County

  Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

  Graham didn’t know the name of the newspaper published in Gettysburg in 1871. But it was a small town, so his note would likely reach its destination. He thought it would be interesting to make a few observations about the future park. Perhaps he could research the newspaper archives when he returned to his current time to see if his submission had been printed. He signed the letter with the pseudonym “David Graham, resident of Adams County.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s delivered with the other mail to Fort Ellis,” Grugan promised, extending his hand to accept the letter. “Graham, best of luck to you. I hope we meet again when you return to Fort Ellis in early September.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Although he was a civilian, Graham spontaneously saluted the lieutenant. It was a simple gesture to demonstrate his respect and appreciation.

  Grugan grinned and returned the younger man’s salute. They shook hands, and Lt. Grugan pivoted toward the army’s cluster of tents. His next mission was to identify the soldiers who would be returning to Fort Ellis and those who would remain under Doane’s command.

  As Graham watched the lieutenant walk along the lakeshore, he reflected on the information about the new commanding officer. If Grugan’s assessments of Lt. Doane were accurate, Graham would have to be wary not to cross paths with him. He was already considered persona non grata by Rides Alone. Graham didn’t want to give the mercurial cavalry officer any reason to harbor an animus toward him.

  Graham opened his backpack and retrieved his journal. He had decided to take notes on the events of the past few days. So many things had happened at the lake and in the geyser basins, he wanted to capture them on paper. He chastised himself for not considering this sooner. His latest entry was written just thirty minutes ago after he had consulted with meteorologist John Beaman:

  Next full moon is August 30 at 9 pm.

  The time traveler knew the date and time he needed to be at the Dragon’s Mouth to transport back to the twentieth century. He resolved to be there on August 30.

  Chapter 19

  January 19, 1870

  Light snow was falling as Lt. Col. Alfred Sully walked east along Wallace Street in Virginia City late in the afternoon. The once-booming Montana mining town of nearly ten thousand residents was on the decline.

  Seven years ago, prospectors using placer-mining methods struck gold in nearby Alder Gulch. But after the initial discovery, alluvial deposits from the creek yie
lded fewer precious metals each year. A group of die-hard miners was currently working the land using hydraulic sluicing methods. Only a few merchants were still trying to make a living in this remote settlement. The town still had stagecoach, banking, blacksmith, and telegraph services. But most saloons, dry-goods stores, barbershops, and brothels had relocated to Helena after gold was discovered at Last Chance Gulch.

  Sully turned right onto Idaho Street and pulled up the collar on his wool greatcoat to shield against the biting winter wind. He walked a few blocks until he reached a one-and-a-half-story log cabin with a false front. The government official stomped his boots on the porch before opening the front door. He had rented the basic residence located just off the commercial district last summer after he was appointed Montana superintendent of Indian affairs.

  Sully’s wife greeted him and hung his greatcoat and hat on a peg by the door. His second wife was a young woman from the Yankton Sioux tribe he had married eight years ago. The superintendent poured a whiskey and sat by the fireplace with a copy of The Montana Capital Times. The weekly newspaper was another indication of the declining fortunes of the town. Its defunct predecessor was the territory’s first publication and had been printed daily in Virginia City.

  The editorial page opined harsh measures should be taken by authorities to quell the behavior of the savages, who continued to steal livestock and harass farmers and miners in the Helena area. It was a topic he had heard and read about ever since he arrived at his post six months earlier.

  Sully sighed as he contemplated the dilemma he faced as an official with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. A few months ago, he had filed an annual report to the commissioner of Indian affairs in Washington, DC. In his report, Sully noted no appropriations had been made for the Blackfeet Indians the previous year, and there were no plans to distribute any promised annuity goods during the coming year. The major tribes of the Blackfeet Confederacy had been ordered to a reservation, yet how were they supposed to sustain their families? Since many were faced with starving, raiding livestock was a matter of survival.

  The wind picked up and rattled the front door. It was going to be another frigid night in western Montana. Two hundred miles north of Virginia City, a contingent of the army was staged at Fort Shaw preparing for an assault on a rogue band of Piegan Blackfeet. Sully slouched into his ladder-back rocking chair, took a sip of whiskey, and stroked his bearded chin. He tried to recall the events leading to this pending military action.

  * * *

  Livestock raids occurred with increasing frequency during the first half of 1869. Settlers and farmers became more restless when no actions were taken against the perpetrators. When several members of a Piegan Blackfeet band murdered rancher Malcolm Clarke and severely wounded his son on August 17, the settlers’ frustrations boiled over into collective anger. They demanded the government do more to protect them and suppress the rogue Blackfeet bands.

  When Sully investigated the incident, he discovered the murder involved a domestic squabble. Malcolm Clarke had married a Piegan Blackfeet woman. One of her relatives, Owl Child, allegedly stole some of the rancher’s horses. Clarke tracked down the young warrior, humiliated him in front of his tribe, and purportedly raped his wife. Years later, Owl Child extracted revenge by killing Clarke and severely wounding one of his sons, then fled with four accomplices, one of whom was the son of Mountain Chief.

  Although he was an officer, Sully did not have authority over military personnel because the Bureau of Indian Affairs was part of the Interior Department. The “Peace Policy” implemented by President Grant stated Indians would be confined to reservations and managed by civilian agencies, while the army would treat Indians who did not comply as “hostiles.” Military forces could interfere with Indians on a reservation only by the direct request of the Indian Bureau officials.

  Realizing something needed to be done to bring the rogue Indians to justice, Sully formally requested assistance from the War Department in early December. While awaiting a response, he arranged for a meeting with tribal leaders. On New Year’s Day 1870, he met with several Piegan and Blood chiefs including Grey Wolf, Big Lake, and Heavy Runner. Mountain Chief was notably absent. Nevertheless, Col. Sully demanded the Piegan chiefs deliver those involved with Clarke’s murder and return all stolen livestock within two weeks or face severe consequences. As recognition for their willingness to counsel on this matter, the chiefs who attended the meeting were issued “safe conduct” papers from the Indian Bureau declaring they were not hostiles. The documents stated their respective clans were friendly to the US government and should be treated accordingly.

  When military intervention was officially approved in early January, Lt. Gen. Philip Sheridan, commanding officer of the Military Division of the Missouri, sent orders to Col. Philippé R. de Trobriand, military commander of the district of Montana. The brief telegram set the tone for the army’s actions:

  “If the lives and property of the citizens of Montana can best be protected by striking Mountain Chief’s band, I want them struck. Tell Baker to strike them hard.”

  Maj. Eugene Mortimer Baker was a West Point graduate and had served in the Civil War. After an assignment in the Oregon Territory, he was promoted to major and given command of Fort Ellis on December 1, 1869. Baker was barrel chested and had a thick beard. Although he was personable with fellow officers, he drank heavily. Baker took a tough-minded approach to the treatment of all Indians.

  On January 6, Col. de Trobriand ordered Maj. Baker to muster four companies of the Second Cavalry based in Fort Ellis and proceed to Fort Shaw, where fifty mounted infantrymen would join his force. Although Baker was given wide latitude on the execution of these orders, de Trobriand clarified the lodges and villages of the New Year’s Day counsel attendees should not be oppressed. The target for the assault was the camp of Mountain Chief.

  Baker’s cavalry units arrived at Fort Shaw after a march of nearly two hundred miles over eight days. The column of three hundred fifty men set out toward villages on the Marias River on January 19. A mixed-blood Piegan named Joe Kipp accompanied the troops as a guide. Kipp had scouted the Marias River two weeks earlier and reported several winter camps along the waterway.

  The soldiers spent three days marching and camping in brutal subzero temperatures, wearing buffalo robes over their greatcoats. Baker wanted to surprise the Indians, so he ordered the army to camp during the day and march at night.

  At dawn on January 22, they encountered a small camp. After surrounding the lodges, Baker sent Kipp to identify the residents. The guide reported it was the camp of Grey Wolf, one of the friendly Piegan chiefs whom Baker had been ordered to leave undisturbed. The tribal leader claimed Mountain Chief’s camp was located farther downstream at the Big Bend of the Marias.

  After bivouacking for the day, Baker’s military column marched again at night with Lt. Gustavus Doane’s company in the advance. Just before dawn on the bitterly cold morning of January 23, Doane spotted a herd of horses on the bluffs overlooking the frozen river. Riding to the edge of the bluffs and peering into a deep ravine, the lieutenant saw the outlines of over thirty tepees in the predawn darkness, smoke wafting into the frigid air from the centers of the conical pole lodges. He estimated over three hundred Piegans were encamped on the banks of the Marias. Although the army leaders were unaware of it at the time, many of the able-bodied men were away on a hunting trip. Most of the camp occupants were women, children, or elderly.

  “Sergeant Anderson!” Lt. Doane called out.

  “Yes, sir” came the answer from a soldier as he rode up beside the company commander.

  “Do you see all those ponies on the other side of the river?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We need to cut off access to those horses. Take a dozen men. Ride above the village, cross the stream, and deploy your men there to prevent any hostiles from escaping. We will attack the village from this side.”

  The sergeant wheeled his horse, and within
ten minutes his small group had crossed the river. Doane gave the order to advance, and F Company slowly descended toward the village. The horses struggled to maintain their footing on the slippery, snow-covered slopes. They stopped just a few hundred feet from the camp, retaining their position on higher ground.

  The other three cavalry companies and the mounted infantry arrived soon afterward. Maj. Baker sat on the bluff with his three lieutenants and surveyed the scene before him. Doane’s company had the sleeping village surrounded. Baker was still somewhat inebriated from whiskey he had gulped from a flask during their night ride. But this did not hinder his fighting mood. All those hard miles in subzero weather were about to pay off with a massive and complete victory over the hostiles encamped below.

  “Our orders are to strike them hard,” Baker asserted, slurring his words. “Remember my motto. Nits make lice!”

  Baker’s company commanders understood this phrase. It was a crude way to communicate that noncombatants, including women and children, were not to be spared. If you reported to the major, you were expected to align with this repugnant philosophy. The motto gave Baker’s soldiers an implicit license to commit atrocities.

  “Have your men dismount and line up along the edge of the bluff. Form two firing lines,” Baker ordered.

  The cavalrymen lined up along the bluff in two ranks. Each man in the second row held the reins of his horse and the horse of the man in front of him. This alignment allowed the men in the front row to concentrate on shooting.

  Joe Kipp was watching the battle preparations unfold when he suddenly realized this was not the camp of Mountain Chief. He recognized some of the designs on the tepees as those belonging to Heavy Runner. He urged his horse forward and approached Baker with this news.