by 1864-1898 Indian War Veterans: Memories of Army Life;Campaigns in the West
About the third night, Lieutenant Bradley with the mounted detachment, and accompanied by First Lieutenant Joshua W. Jacobs, started ahead to locate the Indians. Two days following their departure, we had entered what is called the Big Hole Basin, when Lieutenant Bradley sent word back that the Indians were encamped about seven miles in our front. We then marched to within three miles of their camp, halted, and made preparations to attack. Here we left our wagon train in charge of Hugh Kirkendall and Sergeant John W. H. Frederick, also our Howitzer in charge of Sergeant William W. Watson and Corporal Robert E. Sale, both former artillerymen, both of whom lost their lives the next morning, although Watson’s wound caused his death some few days later in Deer Lodge. They had orders not to advance until they heard us attack the camp. After eating hardtack with water, and being issued 100 rounds of ammunition per man, we waited until about 11 o’clock at night, when we received orders to “fall in” in single file, all orders being given in whispers. At this time we were in a deep valley quite thickly covered with underbrush and scattered Norway pines. Taking the side of the hills on our left, we advanced quietly toward the Indian camp. It was quite dark, where there was brush; now and then a soldier would stumble or fall in some manner, but absolute quiet was demanded.
A Nez Perce village along the Yellowstone River in 1871, as photographed by William Henry Jackson. This camp typified many of those attacked by troops on the plains and in intermountain areas during the 1870s and 1880s. Courtesy of the National Archives
About one o’clock, we found ourselves on the side of a hill, facing the Indian village, their herd of ponies on the crest of the hill, in our rear. It was part of the plan to capture that herd. With the exception of the restlessness of the Indian ponies, it was very quiet just at that time, but it was the quiet that precedes the tornado before death and destruction follow. How unsuspicious they were of approaching danger. Now and then a tepee would flash up with light, as perhaps someone in it would throw a stick on the fire, for the nights were chilly there. Private Patrick Fallon of I Company could not resist an inclination to smoke, so he lighted a match for that purpose, but soon discovered that he had made a mistake. Thirty or forty yards below us flowed the Big Hole or Wisdom River, into which we must soon plunge, for the camp was on the other side. The river was fringed on either side by alder bush.
Chief Joseph intended to move his camp that day, so, at the first signs of the coming morn three Indian herders were seen coming in our direction on their way to their herd. Concealment now was no longer possible. We had previously received orders to give three volleys through the camp and then charge, so that as the Indians stepped up the bank on our side of the stream, they instantly fell, and as we gave three volleys into the camp we rushed to the water’s edge, everyone seeming to want to get to the opposite side first. So into the water we leaped, not knowing its depth in the dim light of the moon, [waded] through it and into the camp of the Indians. We followed with a yell that would do credit to the Indians themselves.
We will never forget that day, how we fought with those savages, kill or be killed, no time to load our rifles. With the butts and muzzles of our guns we struck right and left. The shouts of soldiers, the war whoops of the Indians, the screeching of the squaws, who with Winchesters in their hands were as much to be feared as the bucks. Our attack was a complete surprise, and we gradually forced them back to the opposite side of their camp, where the river makes a complete bend. Into the water they jumped, some of them who had a blanket first throwing it in and getting underneath, trying thus to escape. But they had to have air, so as soon as we discovered this trick we only had to notice where the blanket or buffalo hide was slightly raised, and a bullet at that spot would be sufficient for the body to float down the stream. Although at this time the sun had not yet risen, it was quite light.
Most of the Indians had taken to the brush on the east side of the camp, where they soon discovered how few in number we were compared with them. Soldiers were constantly falling, and we soon discovered they were being hit by shots coming from the tepees occupied by Indians who had not time to get away or had retreated into them at the first attack. It was necessary to get them out at once. To do so, three or four soldiers would throw a lariat over the top of the tepee, and with others on the opposite side lying on the ground with rifles ready, the tepee would be pulled over, exposing an Indian who, of course, with his last shot, at so close a distance, would kill or wound a soldier. Those detailed to run off the Indian ponies had failed in their mission; many of the Indians at the first firing had gone to save their ponies and succeeded. When we rushed them in early morning, many Indians had gone in the direction of our field piece, which was hurrying to our relief, and we met it quite near to the camp. Above the din of firing we heard one or two shots. We killed or wounded those in charge. Corporal Sale’s body was afterward found stripped, and one of the horse collars about his neck. Privates Charles B. Gould and Scott were never heard of again. Private John Bennet, a veteran of the Civil and Mexican wars, who rode the horses attached to the field piece, merely escaped with his life.
We supposed at this time we were masters of the camp. It was not so, however. It was the old story of the government in those days sending a handful of soldiers against a host of Indians better armed than ourselves. They rallied from all directions and soon every bush and tree covered an Indian. Something must be done quickly. At this point, Colonel Gibbon, while washing a wound he had received in the foot or ankle, directed Captain Rawn of Company I, then the senior captain in the regiment, to form and deploy his company toward the brush, some eighty yards distant, now full of Indians. Then the discipline of the regular soldier showed itself, for the company formed under fire and advanced toward the Indians. On they went, over dead and wounded soldiers and Indians. The move was simply to cover the retreat of the main body who were to fall back, cross the creek, and fortify as best they could on the side of the hill, where today [1924] stands a monument erected by Congress to commemorate one of the most stubborn conflicts in frontier history. The main body had now left the camp. Captain Rawn must now retreat with the remnant of his company. With faces toward the exultant savages, we gradually fell back. As we did so, those of our wounded would clutch at our legs and beg not to be left behind.
Poor Private Herman Broetz, whose knee had been shattered by a ball, reached up and grasped Sergeant [Corporal?] John D. Murphy’s rifle and would not let go; the sergeant quickly found another. Fighting thus every step of our way, we slowly retreated. But what a sight met our view in that short time. There was Henry Bostwick, our scout and guide, sitting with his back against a clump of alders, a bullet having pierced his chest, the blood streaming from his mouth and his hands tearing at his shirt. In agony, he realized his situation when the Indians would find him. There lay dead the gallant Captain Logan, for he was a soldier who won his shoulder straps through bravery in the Civil War, his iron gray hair mingled with the green grass.
Here lay Lieutenant Bradley, and no regiment ever had a more fearless or better officer; First Sergeant Frederick Stortz with the glaze of death coming in his light blue eyes; First Sergeant Robert L. Edgeworth, who left two sisters in England whom he was never more to see; Sergeant Michael Hogan, with a mother in Dayton, Ohio; Sergeants William H. Martin and Howard Clark; Corporals Daniel McCafferey, Dominick O’Connor, William H. Payne, and Jacob Eisenhut; and the many privates making a total of over sixty killed and wounded.
First Lieutenant William L. English, with other wounded, was carried to Deer Lodge, where he afterwards died. Sergeant Edward Page of L Troop, Second Cavalry, also Private Charles B. Gould of the same regiment, who accompanied us, were also killed. One incident made an impression upon our minds which is not easily forgotten. A squaw was found lying on her back, dead, with wide open eyes staring heavenward, an infant upon her bare breasts, alive and crying as it painfully waved its little arm, which had been shattered by a bullet. It was probably hit when we sent three volleys into
the camp before charging, and perhaps the shot that killed the mother wounded the little one.
Among the last to leave the camp was Captain Rawn and the few members of his company. Recrossing the creek [and] going in a westerly direction for about two hundred and fifty yards, they met the main body trying to entrench by throwing up the dirt using the Rice trowel bayonet for the purpose. One man would scrape up the dirt, while every second man would continue to fire. We were now completely surrounded by the savages, some of whom would climb the trees on the upper side of us. But our best marksmen soon dislodged them. We now lay in a square, probably forty feet each way, the Indians on every side, and not a man expecting to leave alive.
That was a long day to us. The sun seemed to stand still. We wanted the night to come that we might get water, for the cries of our wounded for water were most distressing. On the lower side of us flowed the Big Hole, or Wisdom River, only distant about thirty yards. Oh, for the darkness of night, for by this time we had no water or food, nothing since the day before. But as there must be an end to all things, so there was to that day. As the shades of night came on, so the Indians kept closing in, particularly upon that side where the water was. When it was dark, a few volunteered to get water, and loaded with canteens they crawled out into the darkness. But soon we saw the flash and heard the reports of rifle shots, and Lockwood, a citizen, and one soldier had lost their lives in the attempt.
Among the head war chiefs of Joseph were Looking Glass and White Bird, the latter a brave warrior and great chief whose strong voice could be heard all through the night, first on one side of us and then on the other, urging his braves to get ready to charge us in the morning, for he told them we had killed their braves and squaws. Every word he uttered was interpreted to us in a low voice by a half-breed by the name of Pete Matt, whom we had met on our way up the Bitterroot. The officers were a little suspicious of Pete, so a sergeant and two privates rode beside him with orders to shoot him on sight if he proved treacherous. He was a horse thief with $500 on his head offered by ranchmen in Idaho. He was afterward captured and hung.
During the time we lay there, digging and fighting for our lives, we could hear the last cries of our helpful wounded in the camp below, as the Indians closed in and finished them. Pitiful and awful as they were, they rang in our ears for days afterwards. The first night there was not much we could do to strengthen our position, for what few limbs of trees were scattered about we had already used. To the north, or upper side, were a few saplings, so Corporals Charles W. Loynes and Levi Heider were ordered to leave their guns behind, crawl out, and with the Rice trowel bayonet, which is sharp on one side, try to cut down a few. The former, followed by Heider, was soon chopping them down, but the noise quickly attracted the Indians, and their dark forms were seen creeping in that direction by the men who were stationed on that side to watch. The cry, “come back quick,” soon brought them back amidst a volley from both sides.
Colonel Gibbon’s horse, a large dark sorrel, had been with us up to the time when we were first surrounded, but he was soon hit, and with pain he commenced to rave and pitch, greatly to the danger of Second Lieutenant Charles A. Woodruff (now [1924] General Woodruff, retired), who was wounded through the hips and with a revolver in each hand was doing his best to repel the Indians while sitting with his back to the tree to which the horse was tied. “Better finish him, Woodruff,” an officer cried out, “for we may need him.” During the following night some crawled to where the bloated dead horse lay. They cut off some of the flank, but, being without salt or a fire, preferred to remain hungry.
The night passed with a shot now and then, mingled with groans of the wounded and their cries for water, some of whom at times became delirious, when the name of mother or some loved one could be heard. When the first signs of day were seen, most of us were posted on the west side, for at that point we expected they would charge us, because twenty yards away was a narrow ravine, the opposite side being covered with a dense underbrush. We had not long to wait, for soon a heavy column of smoke began to arise. We saw their intention was to either smoke us out or more probably to charge under its cover. We crouched down behind our slight earthwork with rifles loaded and cocked, prepared for what we believed to be our last struggle. But the smoke did not take the direction the Indians hoped for. It rose steadily, going in a direction to the right of us, and our hearts beat more hopefully for that.
As it became lighter, the firing increased. We were cautioned now to use our ammunition sparingly, for it was getting low. The sun was getting higher, and as its hot rays beat down upon us, our throats became parched, and the deep sunken eyes and powder-stained faces of our comrades told of the strain which was upon them. We realized our situation was a desperate one, but there was a fight left in that band of the Seventh infantrymen, as there always is in the American soldier. Generals Howard and Miles, and a few remaining officers and men who at that time met the Nez Perces, will testify to the fighting qualities of the Indians while under the leadership of the great Chief Joseph, many of the Indians at Big Hole showing courage to a marked degree. One great warrior was particularly noticeable. He crept through the light brush to within thirty yards of us in daylight wearing a blue shirt, upon the front of which was a red star, and as the red glistened a second it made a shining mark, and he fell dead.
Thus the fight went on, but we had one hope. We knew that grand soldier, General O. O. Howard, was some three days back on the trail of Chief Joseph, and if we could hold them off a while longer we would be saved. It was during the third day that the shots from the enemy became less and less and finally ceased entirely. Evidently their outposts had discovered the approach of General Howard. Suddenly there appeared in our midst one of the advance scouts of General Howard, who soon informed us that the general was only a few miles back and would soon be here. Needless to say, it was a happy moment to us when we saw him approach with the First Cavalry and detachments of the Eighth and Twenty-first infantries, also a band of friendly Bannock Indians as scouts uniformed in blue blouses, bucktails hanging from their black campaign hats. Very soon his surgeons were at work on our wounded. Generals Howard and Gibbon had a conference, and soon the cavalry bugles [sic] sounded, and they [Howard’s command] dashed away to the south of us after the fleeing Indians. The Bannocks soon found the dead Indians who were too near us to be taken away, and commenced to scalp them. They took the entire scalp from the head, and after carefully washing it had what they most highly prized. But to us it was not a pleasant sight, considering the state of our empty stomachs, and the air laden with the stench of dead bodies and ponies from the camp below mingled with burning sagebrush and the ether the surgeons were using.
A detail under Captain George L. Browning was soon deployed down into the abandoned Indian camp, where we found our dead comrades stripped of all their clothing, their bodies swollen to twice their normal size from the heat of the sun, very few being mutilated. They were buried as best we could at that time, but some few weeks after, a detail was sent to more properly perform that duty. (Some of the bodies were found torn up by bears and wolves that inhabited that wild region.) In the meantime we went back and were surprised to find our wagon train safe. We at once made preparations to move our wounded to Deer Lodge, probably sixty miles distant. They could not be carried in the army wagons, for the jolting would be too rough, so we took tepee poles, and then skinning the dead ponies lying around, we cut the hides into strips and braiding them over the poles improvised what is termed a travois, upon which we laid our wounded, the other ends dragging upon the ground, where a soldier walked for the purpose of lifting it while crossing streams or when the ground was too rough.
We finally arrived at Deer Lodge, where we left our most dangerously wounded, some of whom died there. First Lieutenant English, who had been married only a few months previously in the States, and whose wife was among those who came to greet us as we entered the town, was one of the number. Deer Lodge at that time was only a
small place of log houses, but the people did everything for our wounded they could, and they felt only too grateful that the Indians turned in another direction, for Deer Lodge was in the path of the hostiles….
The Bear’s Paw Campaign and the Surrender of Chief Joseph (By Luther Barker, formerly of Company D, Fifth U. S. Infantry. From The Oregon Veteran, December, 1922, January, 1923, and February, 1923)
As the Nez Perces had long been a peaceable tribe and had lived neighbors to the white settlers in Idaho, they had imbibed many of the white man’s ways. The cause of their going on the warpath was that the government had decided to remove them to another reservation. This was not pleasing to the Indians, and to hasten the climax some white trappers and hunters had trespassed on their hunting grounds. In the quarrel that followed, the Indians killed some of the white men and after a hurried council they decided to go on the warpath. They traveled east across the mountains intending to join Sitting Bull and fight it out in eastern Montana. The troops under Colonel Nelson A. Miles on the Yellowstone River had been kept pretty busy after Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Lame Deer, Iron Star, and the many bands of Sioux and Cheyennes. We little thought that it would fall to our lot to capture Chief Joseph and his band.