by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
Twelve Years in the Eighteenth Infantry (By Phillip Schreiber, formerly of Company H, Eighteenth U. S. Infantry. From Winners of the West, August 30, 1937)
I enlisted at Chicago, Illinois, April 18, 1884, and was sent to Columbus, Ohio. The first sergeant, having found out that I was a barber, asked me to start a shop in the company. He then took me to Sergeant Bowser, the chief bugler, and asked him to make a bugler out of me as he intended to keep me at the Columbus Barracks for a year. After the year was up I was assigned to Company H, Eighteenth U. S. Infantry, as they were in need of a combination bugler and barber. I was sent as part of an escort to take a batch of prisoners to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. There I was attached to Company G, Eleventh U. S. Infantry, to await the arrival of my regiment, which at that time exchanged stations with the Twentieth U. S. Infantry. They arrived June 13, 1885. I joined my outfit, Company H, and was given the nickname of “Kid,” which stuck to me throughout my service.
Companies G, H, and K got orders to go by rail to Caldwell, Kansas, and from there to hike 110 miles to Fort Reno, Indian Territory. On our third day out we were joined by Company F, Twenty-second U. S. Infantry. They brought word of the Cheyenne and Arapaho uprising at the Darlington Agency, near Fort Reno. We made the trip as fast as we could over the desolate roadless country. On the evening of the sixth day, a trainmaster with an escort from the Ninth U. S. Cavalry arrived with enough transportation to haul us to the post. They also brought a few cases of ammunition. Each man was issued forty rounds. Next morning we piled into the wagons, adjusted the covers, and off we went. But, oh how it did rain. We drove right through the Indian villages and at last my boyhood wish to see real Indians was amply fulfilled. I’ll never forget how a few young bucks rode from wagon to wagon pulling back the canvas flaps to take inventory of everything inside.
When we finally reached the post we were lined up on the parade ground and, not minding the downpour, were inspected by the post commander, Major Edwin V. Sumner of the Fifth U. S. Cavalry. When we finally got under roof, we all looked like drowned kittens. Brigadier General Nelson A. Miles came the next day and two days later Lieutenant General Philip H. Sheridan arrived. It didn’t take them long to bring the redskins to terms and within two weeks all the tepees from around the post disappeared. It was during this time that all the troops that were gathered around the reservation were crowded on the parade ground for the memorial services of ex-President U. S. Grant [who had died on July 23, 1885].
Two months later, our three companies were ordered to Fort Riley, Kansas, headquarters of the Fifth U. S. Cavalry. In 1887, they left Fort Riley and were replaced by the Seventh U. S. Cavalry. The following year our three companies were split up. G and K were sent to Fort Logan, Colorado, while Company H went to our headquarters at Fort Hays, Kansas. It seemed that my captain had a grudge against me for he took the bugle away from me and decorated me with corporal stripes, which gave me a raise of two dollars per month. The following spring I finished my first five years, reenlisted in the same company as a bugler, which I considered best to run a barbershop. In the same year, Fort Hays was abandoned and the whole regiment went to Fort Clark, Texas, where we doubled up with three troops of the Third Cavalry. This surely was very exciting with two colonels, two adjutants, two sergeants major, and two bands. The adjutants mounted guard alternately.
In 1891, my company was ordered to Eagle Pass for duty, while the regular cavalry troop chased Garcia [sic—Catarino E. Garza and his followers] along the Rio Grande. During the winter of 1892, I was with a mixed detachment at Camp Langtry, Texas, where I got an attack of sciatica so bad that I had to be sent to the Army and Navy Hospital at Hot Springs[, Arkansas]. In 1894, our regiment was split up again and my company with three more established headquarters at new Fort Bliss. We were the first troops to occupy that post, where I received my second discharge. I enlisted for the third time and in 1896 I took my discharge on the twelve-year veteran act. I always liked the service, especially the first enlistment when as a young soldier I came in constant contact with veterans of the Civil War, where nearly all the sergeants and officers from captains up and a good many first lieutenants were Civil War veterans. I had a great respect for them and was always ready to take their advice. But one of my happiest days was back in 1887, when Colonel Charles E. Compton called me to his quarters to shave the Commander-in-Chief of the Army, General Philip Sheridan.
Private Howard Easton, Seventh Infantry, Fort Logan, Colorado, stands in field dress with the newly issued Krag-Jorgensen rifle, ca. 1896. Editor’s collection
Cemeteries at Fort Laramie (By Michael M. O’Sullivan, formerly corporal, Company F, Seventh U. S. Infantry. From Winners of the West, May 30, 1927)
I enlisted at Springfield, Massachusetts, December 22, 1887, and was sent for training to David’s Island, now better known as Fort Slocum; and on April 2, 1888, joined Company F, Seventh U. S. Infantry, at Fort Laramie, Wyoming Territory. This fort, frequently spoken of in writings of Charles King, was first established as a trading station by the Hudson Bay Fur Company in 1844. It stood in a basin of considerable area, encircled by low lying hills and plateaus, was ninety-eight miles north[east] of Cheyenne, sixty-five miles east of Laramie Peak, and three-quarters of a mile from the confluence of the North Platte with the Laramie River. So dreary and desolate was the country by which it was surrounded, that in any direction but few habitations would be encountered within a radius of thirty miles. Aside from the yearly visit of a Roman Catholic priest, the appearance of a distant squatter or cowboy, the sight of a white man, except the soldier in uniform, was indeed so rare a thing that he was absolutely looked on as a novelty.
At the time of the station being established, as well as for several decades after, this locality was thickly infested with marauding and hostile Indians, and believing the station untenable, and the lives of those connected with it constantly in danger, the company appealed to the federal government for protection. The appeal being taken into consideration and granted, it was made a military post and remained as such until finally abandoned in the month of October, 1889. This fort in those times served a very useful purpose in that lawless and God-forsaken region. It enabled settlers in the Chug[water] Valley, the distant cottonwoods and north and south along the Platte River, to do business and live with a considerable degree of security. It kept bandits on their good behavior, and was a popular rendezvous for gold seekers in the Black Hills.
Upon gold being discovered there, Fort Laramie became a rallying point for prospectors heading in that direction. There they would remain until they were of sufficient number to start off with no little feeling of safety. But if within a reasonable time the desired number was not at hand, a troop of cavalry would escort them for half the distance, where they would be taken in hand by a troop from the other direction and conveyed to the end of the journey. In those days also, parties traveling under escort usually got through with a fairly good degree of success, but it not unfrequently happened that when traveling under different conditions the effort would end in disaster, a fact which in the opinion of many made certain places along the trail all but veritable graveyards. To the uninitiated this may seem a rather sweeping statement, but what will be said when convincing evidence to that effect was even brought to light within the limits of the garrison [sic].
In the spring of 1889 it was decided to construct a drain from the hospital, for a distance of about 700 yards, to the Laramie River. The direction of the ditch as marked out was close up to and parallel with the hospital veranda. The first day of the digging, about two in the afternoon, a human skeleton was unearthed, and the matter reported to the commanding officer, who upon arriving at the scene ordered the bones picked up and buried and the diggers to go on with the ditch. About ten o’clock the morning following, another skeleton was exposed. This was decidedly the skeleton of a young woman, because of a neatly done up ball of blonde hair which was yet in place on the skull. That was enough. The commanding officer, at a los
s to account for their being, except as the result of one of the aforementioned massacres, countermanded the digging and ordered the ditch filled in.
There were two cemeteries at Fort Laramie, one that of the soldiers daintily laid out and enclosed in a well-kept picket fence and on a hill spur eastward and about a half a mile from the barracks. The other was on a side hill, directly north of these same barracks, and at a distance of about 600 yards. Unlike the former, it had no adornments, fence, outline, or uniformity. Instead, the graves were scattered toward every point of the compass. This, dear readers, was the final resting place of victims of foul play, some of whose bodies were formerly discovered by soldiers out on a fishing or hunting trip. Nobody from Adam down knew who they were or whence they came. The result being that every grave marker not already rotted away carried the stencil and indeed impressive information that the unlucky occupant of said grave was “unknown.”
Such was the West of those days, and such the tragic and untimely end of those unfortunates, who not only died in, but were actually buried in, their boots. And who will say that even at this late day, but that for some the light is still kept burning, sustained by the hope of again meeting the loved ones whom they are destined not to meet this side of eternity.
Yet from the foregoing it would be a mistake to infer that Fort Laramie was nothing but a citadel of gloom. Indeed, the reverse might be said to have been the case. For what of its varied talents? What of its interesting rifle competitions? What of its games, socials, and dances? What of the lectures and comedy? What of the pranks and laughter of children? What of the enlivening and inspiring strains of the band? What of the innumerable calls on the bugle? And what of Old Glory waving compliments to its defenders, and defiance to its enemies, from the masthead?
Life as a Rookie (By John T. Stokes, formerly of Troop K, First U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, December, 1939)
I enlisted at Des Moines, Iowa, in March, 1892. I saw a pretty sign on East 5th Street, telling of all the good things in the Army, so I took on. Sergeant George W. Batson took about ten of us to Fort Grant, Arizona. We went from Willcox in quartermaster wagons. On coming in sight of the fort, the driver showed us the hog ranch. Well, we thought that was where the soldiers got their pork. Some of you old First Cavalry men know all about the pork.
We got to the fort about 1 p.m. Dinner was over, but they had saved us some slum. One rookie asked about butter and was told to go ask the first sergeant for “butter money” and as it was only the 8th of the month there would be about $1.50 coming. That was a lot of money. Well after we had our slum and coffee, we went strolling into the quarters and we had our leader go for his butter money. Into the orderly room he went, never stopping to knock, and asked for his butter money…. And the way he came out! Well, the rest of us did not want the butter money. The first sergeant wanted to know who sent him in. All soldiers look alike to a rookie, so it was never known who sent him in.
Next day I was [on] stable police. One man told me to ask for a star and club. I saw a lot of stars when I asked and got the club or something bigger! Then came the bull ring drill, riding a horse with a blanket. We rode the horse from one end to the other. After a few days [of] bull ring drill we had no use for a chair. After we got all the drill learned, we were sent on duty as a real soldier. The first duty was guard. Bughouse Brown [either First Lieutenant William C. Brown or First Lieutenant Oscar J. Brown] was officer of the day. I surely had one grand time trying to make believe I knew the general orders. It was down by K Troop stables. I surely would have liked to have thrown him into the water tank one time when a bunch of rookies came in. Hal Winslow of K Troop took his big U. S. belt buckle, daubed it with red ink and branded a big U. S. on his [own] hip and then told the rookies that they were to be branded with a hot iron. He then slipped his trousers down and showed them his brand. Two of that bunch of rookies were never seen after that evening. Well, it is a good man that lives through his rookieism to tell about it.
A Boyhood at Tongue River Cantonment and Fort Keogh, 1877-1882 (By Dominick J. O’Malley, a Second Cavalryman’s dependent. From Winners of the West, May 28, 1943)
Early in the summer of 1877, Colonel Albert G. Brackett of the Second U. S. Cavalry at Fort Sanders, Wyoming [Territory], received orders from the War Department at Washington to transfer his regiment from Wyoming to Montana. Orders were sent by him to the various forts and camps in Wyoming that were garrisoned by the Second for the troops to mobilize at Medicine Bow from which point the march would begin early in September. The first troops to arrive at Medicine Bow were troops A, B, D, and E, along with the regimental band from Fort Sanders. In a few days other troops came in from Fort Fred Steele, Camp Stambaugh, Fort Laramie, and other stations, and by August 26 the entire regiment, with the exception of two troops that were already serving in Montana at Fort Ellis, were at Medicine Bow awaiting orders to begin the march into the Indian country. There were a great many children in the camp, many of the officers and enlisted men being married and their families were traveling with them to the new country. To the children, the camp was a scene of never-ending interest.
Immediately after breakfast, September 2, a trumpeter sounded the call to break camp, and everyone sprang into action. Tents began to fall and were rolled and tied; camp property was put into shape and loaded. I cannot recall the different places at which we camped, but the first sign of habitation was Fort Fetterman on the Platte River. This fort was situated on a high hill close to the river and commanded a view of the surrounding country. Here the command met its first trouble. The Platte is a treacherous stream full of quicksand and holes. We were nearly all day fording it. Two teams were drowned, as was one of the soldiers who became entangled in the chains and harness of the drowning mules. We stayed in camp all the next day and the drowned soldier was buried at the fort. The two wagons were recovered from the river and put in shape again. One six-mule team was obtained from the quartermaster at Fetterman. The other wagon was left at the fort. After leaving Fetterman, orders were issued that only one move a day would be made and camp was usually made around 2 p.m.
As soon as a place was found suitable for a camp, the picket guard was placed, two or three soldiers in a place on the highest ground within a mile of the camp. I remember one afternoon about four days out from Fetterman, all stock had been brought in. Cavalry horses were tied to the company picket line. Mules were tied at their wagons. Numerous children were playing in front of the tents, when all of a sudden they heard the trumpeter at the guard tent sound that significant call, “Boots and Saddles.” Instantly the camp was a scene of excitement. The soldiers sprang from their tents to their horses. The women and children were hurried to the center of the camp where the heavy wagons were always parked in a hollow square for their protection. Then “Assembly” sounded. A troop surrounded the square where the women and children were and the rest formed in line and advanced toward where the picket had reported a body of horsemen. We could see the troop halt and then two troops advanced in a skirmish line. The skirmish line had gotten about 600 yards in advance of the main body of troops, when up on a little ridge where the picket had been stationed who gave the alarms, rode a bunch of twenty-five horsemen. One of our guard said, loud enough so some heard him, “There they come all right,” and then added quickly, “Say, they’ve got a guidon. It’s soldiers,” and it was. It was a detachment of mounted infantry from Fetterman who had been sent after us with some orders for the colonel of our command. The orders had been delayed and had not reached Fetterman until three days after we departed.
Before the command reached Wind River, signs of Indians were noticed and skirmish lines were thrown out twice, but no live Indians put in their appearance. Once, three dead bodies were found on scaffolds built in the branches of cottonwoods. On investigation, it was found they were Sioux and had not been dead long. Double pickets were put out and double guards placed at night. About eight miles from Wind River we crossed a fresh trail which eviden
tly had been made by a large band of Indians who appeared to be traveling in the same direction we were. The command was ordered into camp as soon as we reached water, and a troop of cavalry (I think it was K Troop) was sent to follow the trail and report any signs of Indians. They followed the trail for ten miles when it swung to the northwest. They found no Indians except a dead one in a tree. The scout with the troop said he thought the trail was at least three days old. We found out after we reached Fort Keogh that a bunch of about 400 Sioux had made that trail and had been engaged by troops from Fort Ellis and captured.
The next camp of any note that I remember was at old Fort Phil Kearny on the Piney. This fort had been harassed by Red Cloud and his fighting Sioux about [1866 and] 1867 until it was abandoned by the government and the troops were barely out of sight of the fort when the Indians had every building burning. It was at or near Kearny that Captain Fetterman and his command were killed by the Sioux in 1867 [1866]. We camped just below the old fort. The charred remnants of a good many of the old buildings could be plainly seen. The fort was built of logs, and much of the old charred logs were used by our command for their kitchen fires. We stayed in the camp two days, as there was plenty of wood and water and grass for the stock. The afternoon of the first day, one of the soldiers of C Troop who was on herd guard came near causing mutiny in the regiment and also among the teamsters. While the horses were on water, he got off his horse to get himself a drink and noticed in a gravel riffle quite a quantity of what he thought was gold dust. He managed to secure about a teaspoonful of it, which he put in a tin tobacco box, and when he got to camp he showed it to some of the troops and told them the creek was full of it. The news soon spread over the camp and it was with difficulty the soldiers were restrained from going in a body to get the gold. It took a show of arms to hold them, and several of the soldiers who had had experience in placer mining convinced the gold-eager men that the stuff was mica, or as it was commonly called, “Fool’s Gold,” and was not worth a dollar a ton.