by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
An Incident of the Fort Robinson Outbreak, 1879 (By James E. Snepp, formerly of Troop A, Third U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, July, 1939)
[Here is my recollection of ] the heroic deed of a buddy of mine. His name was Johnnie Hauck. In order to explain, we had about 250 [sic—130] Cheyenne prisoners held in a company quarters, and it all started by the outbreak, the Indians shooting the three men walking post at Fort Robinson, Nebraska, January 10 [sic—9], 1879. There was a heavy snow at this time. We killed and wounded more than 100 [sic] Indians the night of the outbreak. We followed their trail for several days, always losing several men whenever we located them in the mountains. On the 15th or 16th [sic-January 10th], my company was on the trail, and there were several details scouting through the timbers. The details were dismounted, on either side of the ravine where a trail led, and the men could walk on the crust of the snow. Corporal Henry P. Orr, who was in charge of one detail, was shot dead and fell on the crust of the heavy snow. It was sure death to try to recover the body, as some Indians, only a few yards away nestled in some rocks, had the body well covered.
The company commander, Second Lieutenant George F. Chase, left three men [with] Sergeant Gottlieb Bigalsky to recover the body at nightfall. When it was dark, the sergeant asked if any of the men would volunteer to undertake the job. Johnnie Hauck volunteered, if he could do it his way. No one objected. So he measured the distance in his mind from where they were under cover to where the body lay. He then cut a hole in the crusted snow and tunneled under the crust of the snow to where he thought the body was laying. Fortunately, the body was nearby. He cut the crust under it and it dropped into the tunnel. He then pulled and drug it to the entrance, unobserved. They tied the body on a horse and brought it to Fort Robinson.
For this heroic deed, my company, Company A, Third U. S. Cavalry, several months later was ordered on parade in full dress, and Johnnie Hauck was ordered to take thirty paces to the front where he halted, and the post commanding officer, Major Andrew W. Evans, advanced from the opposite side of the parade grounds and pinned a gold medal on Johnnie Hauck. The medal was issued by the secretary of war using a ceremony I do not recall. Johnnie Hauck’s act was surely one of much bravery. We finally finished the job, which we started, on January 22, having killed most of the Indians who broke out of the quarters. My old comrades of Company A, “The Gray Horse [Troop],” will remember the above if any are still alive.
An Encounter with the Cree Indians near the Canadian Line, 1881 (By Lawrence Lea, formerly of Troop H, Second U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, September 30, 1931)
In October, 1881, the Crees [Indians from Canada] invaded northern Montana, where their destination is supposed to have been the beautiful Milk River Valley with its numerous abandoned log huts. In order to reach the Milk River and have good camping ground with abundant wood and water all the time, they could proceed down any of the wooded ravines or valleys of the Milk River tributaries coming from the north, as the Woody Island Creek, Cottonwood Creek, and others. The distance from Fort Assinniboine to the first named of these creeks varies from about 70 to 100 miles.
When authorities at Washington, D. C., were apprised of this encroachment on United States territory, the troops at Fort Assinniboine were ordered out to drive the Indians back across the line. Accordingly, on October 8th the post commander, Captain Jacob Kline, left the fort with six companies of the Eighteenth Infantry, two troops of the Second Cavalry, and a battery of improvised artillery made up of infantrymen. About seven or ten miles northeast from Fort Assinniboine the column crossed the Milk River, whereupon the march was continued in an easterly direction on the north side of the said river. The first three days out the weather was mild, but then a snow storm came on and the temperature fell to 32 degrees below zero, Fahrenheit. In the afternoon of the third day the expedition encamped in a somewhat sheltered place near the river about forty-five miles from Fort Assinniboine, and the next morning a detachment was sent back one day’s march to [the Indian agency of Fort] Belknap, presumably to be on the lookout for Indians in that quarter, while scouts were scouring the country in other directions. The Indians were soon located on a tributary of the Woody Island Creek, and the detachment of Fort Belknap of which I was a member was recalled. On rejoining the command, it appeared that on the previous day the main column had been on the tributary and compelled the Indians encamped there to go back across the line…. In the course of the night, however, scouts came in and reported a large village on the Woody Island Creek.
The following day, the command started for the Indian village. The weather had moderated somewhat, but there was a considerable amount of snow on the ground, and every now and then while trotting or galloping, hard lumps of snow or ice would detach themselves from under the horses hoofs and hit the breast or face of the trooper behind. The trail led in a northerly direction upward through a narrow valley known as the Lone Tree Coulee. While marching up this coulee we had advance guards, as well as flank guards, out. A soldier by the name of John Clark and myself were on the right flank with orders to keep at a distance of from half a mile to a mile from the head of the column. Presently, a fall of snow hid the column from view. About this time the trail having become warmer, the column had taken a trot and turned to the left and northward. As our horses evinced a disposition to turn in the same direction, we gave them the reins and they rapidly brought us within sight of the column. By this time we had emerged from the coulee and found ourselves on a wide plateau where could be seen various smaller parties of Indians, whom we quickly disarmed. All these parties seemed to be moving in the direction of the ravine or valley through which flows the Woody Island Creek. In the meantime, the infantry and artillery had been sent out to the right, while Troop H, who [sic] had marched in columns of twos, responding to the command, “left front into line,” found themselves at the top of the declivity forming the right or near side of the valley. We then had before us the ravine with the creek and everywhere on the slopes to the left and in the bottom of the valley [stood] the tepees of an Indian camp or village estimated at 700 lodges, or approximately 4000 Indians. Along the banks of the creek there was considerable brushwood, and there was great activity in the village. The bottom of the valley lay presumably 100-150 feet lower than the prairie above, and its opposite side at this point was a perpendicular reddish brown earthen wall appearing as fresh as if the prairie had just sunk down to the present level of the bottom of the valley. On our side of the ravine the earthen wall had caved in, forming a slope of 45 degrees.
With loaded carbines, we immediately descended the slope, the horses fairly sliding down on their hindquarters. The Indians, who were mounted, were then rapidly forming a line of battle across the valley in such a manner as to have their village behind them. Less than 100 yards from the Indian warriors, Troop H formed a corresponding line of battle parallel to that of the Indians. It was an interesting situation, resembling that of General Hancock in the spring of 1867 in Kansas. After a brief space of time, during which the Indians were receiving constant accessions to their numbers, Captain Martin E. O’Brien of Troop H, which was that day on the right front, with an interpreter and scout, rode zigzag about halfway across the space intervening between the lines, where he was met by one or more of the Indian chiefs, whereupon a conference took place. The Indians agreed to return to their precincts in British North America and, if I remember rightly, to surrender two malefactors. It seemed that the Indians had made arrangements to stay; they had put up their tents and were well armed. But with winter at the door and confronted by a considerable armed force of the United States, on whose territory they had no right to stay, they found it prudent to yield. Accordingly, the warriors withdrew to the village, throughout which their heralds presently were heard loudly proclaiming the result of the conference.
The troops thereafter went into camp on the left bank of the creek, with the Indian village extending to its opposite bank. In the course of the evening and
night, most of the command came in from the prairie, Captain Randolph Norwood of Troop L between one and three o’clock in the morning, and encamped in the valley. Nearly the whole command was on guard that night, one-half walking post at a time while the other half were sleeping with their clothes on and their loaded guns by their sides. The next morning, both the Indians and the troops broke camp. The former were accompanied to the border by a strong military guard, while the main column continued reconnoitering and eventually returned to Fort Assinniboine after an absence of twenty days.
In regard to dates and the strength of the Indians, there may be a little uncertainty, but the incident on Woody Island Creek must have taken place on or about the 13th or 14th of October. In regard to the number of Indians, [NIWV] Comrade August Teahl at Lincoln, Washington, states that there were 1600 lodges in all. My recollection is to the effect that the Indian village in the valley of the Woody Island Creek was estimated at about 700 lodges, but the valley made a bend, and part of the village may have been hidden from view. How big the village on the tributary may have been I have never heard. If these two villages combined contained 1600 lodges, the number of Indians present in them must have been about 8000 or four-fifths of the present strength of the Cree nation….
On Patrol in Montana and Sitting Bull’s Surrender in 1881 (By John C. Delemont, formerly of Company K, Fifth U. S. Infantry. From Winners of the West, September 30, 1930)
I enlisted under the name of John C. Grasser on October 2, 1880, and was sent with a transport of recruits to Fort Keogh, Montana Territory, arriving there December 24, 1880, and was picked out by Sergeant Major Ewert to act as clerk in the Adjutant’s Office. On January 1, 1881, was appointed corporal in my Company K, Fifth U. S. Infantry, and on the 2nd was ordered to Fort Buford, Dakota Territory, and detailed on arrival there as company clerk, and after a stay of a few weeks my company was ordered back to Fort Keogh, M. T. When leaving Fort Keogh on January 2, 1881, a California broncho named “Baldy” was assigned to me. I mounted my broncho and had proceeded about five yards when he raised himself up full height and everything on his back slid down to the ground—saddle, rifle, and myself. I fell on my spine and hurt myself badly, but, nevertheless, mounted again and followed up my company, about five miles ahead.
At Fort Buford we performed garrison duty for about four months, guarding also some Nez Perce, Gros Ventres, and Blackfeet Indians, and then we returned to Fort Keogh. Soon thereafter, we were ordered to Camp Powder River to look for renegade Sioux. We performed patrol duty and then went to Tongue River. In charge of three men, we went to Camp Rosebud, M. T., for fresh buffalo and deer meat. We spotted a fat buffalo calf and shot it, but while we were going to load it up on our pack mule a bunch of Indians, no doubt attracted by our shots, appeared before us, claiming the dead calf, and more Indians appeared, and so I gave the command, “Mount,” and off we were at a dead lope back to our camp, leaving the carcass behind.
We later returned to Fort Buford to guard the Sioux to be transferred by steamer to Standing Rock Indian Agency, Fort Yankton [Yates], Dakota Territory. Chief Rain-in-the-Face, of the Sioux, and their medicine man, Sitting Bull, were among the tribe. The married daughter of Sitting Bull lost her papoose by its falling from the steamboat into the river. She jumped immediately after it and saved it, and both were pulled aboard by deck hands. The troops were standing on both sides of the gangplank at charge bayonet during the drive of the Indians on board. After the Sioux had been placed on board ship, we returned to Fort Keogh, having been in the field in 1881 for about eight and one-half months.
In 1882 I was promoted to first sergeant and we saw service for several months at Camp Poplar Creek, and then at Fort Custer. I was recommended for examination for appointment to second lieutenant, but my old mother wrote me, asking me to come home to Bavaria to help her out of her difficulties. [I] applied for a discharge, which was granted me, with character “excellent.” On my arrival in Bavaria, I found my mother very ill, and death soon relieved her. In 1886 I returned to the United States and enlisted in Company B, Battalion of Engineers, under the name of Delemont, and on my arrival at Willets Point, New York, was detailed as post schoolteacher. Was promoted first class private, corporal, and sergeant, and kept this place until I received a special discharge, character “excellent”….
An unidentified infantry sergeant and spouse pose before a studio setting at Fort Yates, Dakota Territory, during the late 1880s. Editor’s collection
The Killing of Sitting Bull, 1890 (Account of James Connelly, formerly private, Troop G, Eighth U. S. Cavalry, as related to George Grimes. From Winners of the West, August, 1924)
[James Connelly was at the scene of the capture and death of the Lakota leader, Sitting Bull, December 15, 1890.] He helped pick up the bullet-ridden body of the medicine man and chief, and convey it, accompanied by two of his wailing wives, to Fort Yates for burial. Mr. Connelly was a member of the crack “Flying Squadron” of the Eighth United States Cavalry at that [time], in the dead of winter in 1890, and served in the smart troop, commanded by young First Lieutenant Enoch H. Crowder….
The government, then as now, issued rations to its Indian wards every other Saturday. In October, 1890, Major James McLaughlin, Indian agent at Standing Rock [Agency], reported that Sitting Bull would not come in, but sent members of his family instead. At the same time, there came strange reports of new religious frenzies among the Indians—of a new dance, the “ghost” dance, and of new preachings. Indian police working for McLaughlin reported that Sitting Bull was foretelling the day soon to come when the whites would be driven forth.
At Fort Yates, James Connelly and his comrades of the Eighth Cavalry saw to it that their saddle trappings were strong, their horses in good condition, and their guns well oiled. The “Messiah” craze swept the reservations. The Indians left their log houses, and, surrounding the home of Sitting Bull, raised tepees and joined in the ghost dances. Sitting Bull proclaimed himself a high priest and made promises to his followers that their dead ancestors would be restored, that their old Indian customs of living would be returned, that the whites would be driven forth and that the white man’s bullet would not have the power to kill.
Soon about 500 Indians were gathered around his home on the upper Grand River, about sixty-five miles from Fort Yates. “Eugene G. Fechet, captain, commanded the cavalry there,” says Mr. Connelly. “The post was under Lieutenant Colonel William F. Drum, commanding the Twelfth Infantry. In August, Sitting Bull started the war dances and Major McLaughlin sent word to Washington and to Major General Nelson A. Miles, now commanding the Military Division of the Missouri.
“The Indians began to kill cattle and dry the beef and the squaw men, whites who had married Indian women, came into the agency, fearful of staying among the reds. Early in November, W. F. Cody (‘Buffalo Bill’), Sitting Bull’s friend, came to Fort Yates. After four days there he started for Sitting Bull’s camp, hoping to persuade him to give himself up, but at Oak Creek, thirty-five miles from the fort, he was recalled, after the commanding officer had telegraphed Miles that they were capable of handling the situation without the aid of a private citizen.
“Sitting Bull had his chiefs come in for a powwow and sent spies to watch the whites. Daily the strain became greater and for six weeks before the capture we kept everything in readiness for action.” McLaughlin and Drum, fearing the effects of delay as the ghost dances kept up, finally were authorized by headquarters to arrest Sitting Bull. It was decided to filter Indian police into Sitting Bull’s camp, and to arrest the chief and bring him in.
“On the night of December 14, 1890,” Mr. Connelly recalls, “the Flying Squadron was ordered to saddle horses and be ready. At 11 p.m., a hot supper was served us and at a quarter before midnight the troopers moved out. Our destination was not announced, but we knew where we were going. On the 13th, the Indian agent had sent fifty of his policemen into Sitting Bull’s camp. They were to kidnap him and leave his camp with him at midnigh
t to meet us at Oak Creek.
“We got to Oak Creek, but the police with Sitting Bull were not there. Fechet decided to push on, and sent word to Drum of his determination.” The cavalry kept on until, twelve miles from the camp of Sitting Bull, they were met by one of the Indian police. He told a story of surprise by the chief’s followers, of a fight that followed, of his own escape and the death of his comrades and of a remnant of the police barricaded in Sitting Bull’s house, surrounded by the others, carrying on.
Fechet disposed his troops for attack, ordered the men to separate the Indians from their horses and drive them into the brush, then moved to the camp and arriving there at daylight, prepared the charge. Firing was going on. A shell from the Hotchkiss gun the cavalry carried brought a sign in the form of a shirt waved from a window that some of the police were still alive. Fechet ordered a charge.
“We were told to aim low, save our ammunition and make every shot count,” said Mr. Connelly. “We separated the Indians from their horses and drove them, about 500 in all, into the brush. We fought on foot, driving them across twenty acres of clearing into the fringe of woodland around the village. Finally they put up a flag of truce and were told to lay down their arms. We formed in two rows and they marched in between, laying down their weapons.
“We found the body of Sitting Bull just outside his house riddled with so many bullets we could not count them. From the police we learned the story of his death. Of the Indian police, Chief Shave Tail, Assistant Chief Bull Head, and First Sergeant Red Tomahawk, in command of the others, entered Sitting Bull’s house the night before, finding him in bed. They made him dress and go out with them, saying they would shoot him if he resisted. When he got outside he yelled for help. They shot him down.”