The Native American Experience

by Dee Brown

  Whatever the reasons for Cooke’s appalling indifference to conditions at Phil Kearny, this new evidence of it shook Carrington much more than a second message from the general, a curt order abolishing the Mountain District. In a way this was only a paper adjustment; Carrington still commanded the 18th Infantry Regiment; he would still report directly to Omaha. If he considered the order a reprimand, he never said so. He announced the district’s dissolution on October 13, and those of his officers who had been carrying Mountain District assignments as extra duties were happy to be relieved of the paper work.

  Reporting compliance of the order to Cooke, Carrington added that “the change to fine weather fills the valleys with Indians who are getting winter provisions, and I expect some trouble with them, but can meet it.”7

  In the midst of these organizational changes, a remarkable cavalcade arrived at the fort—twenty-five cowboys driving more than six hundred head of Texas longhorns. This was Nelson Story’s legendary trail drive of 1866, probably the longest continuous overland drive ever made north from Texas.

  An enterprising young man in his late twenties, Nelson Story had washed thirty thousand dollars in gold out of a placer claim in Alder Gulch, Montana. By the time the ore was exhausted, Story had had enough of gold mining. But instead of returning to his home in Ohio, he decided to parlay his strike into a larger fortune by venturing into the cattle business. He heard that longhorns could be bought for low prices in Texas, driven north to a railhead, and sold for enormous profits.

  With ten thousand dollars sewed in the lining of his clothes, he went to Texas early in 1866. Establishing headquarters at Fort Worth, he collected a herd of about a thousand longhorns, hired a crew of cowboys, and started trailing north. Near Baxter Springs, Kansas, he met opposition from bands of vigilant Jayhawkers who refused to permit any Texas cattle to cross their small farms. Some of the Kansans feared Texas fever, a fatal cattle disease; others were willing to fight to keep the herds from wrecking fences and trampling crops. Instead of battling the Jayhawkers as many of the Texas drovers did, Story detoured. He remembered how hungry he had been for beef when he was digging gold in Montana, and he was certain he could obtain premium prices for every steer he could deliver to the northwestern mining camps. He also must have known what a foolhardy chance he was taking, but he went boldly ahead with his plans.

  At Fort Leavenworth he made thorough preparations for the long drive, buying an ox-drawn wagon and loading it with groceries. His little army of cowboys and bullwhackers moved leisurely along the old Oregon Trail across Nebraska to Fort Laramie. Army officers there tried to persuade him to abandon his plans for going on to Montana. They told him that Sioux and Arapahos were swarming all over the north country, attacking everything that moved along the Bozeman Trail, and warned that if he drove north Red Cloud would stampede all his cattle and probably take several scalps to boot.

  Story calmly purchased new Remington rapid-fire breechloaders from the Laramie sutler for each of his twenty-seven men, and started north. Below Fort Reno, they met their first Sioux, a war party that boiled up suddenly over a hill. The Indians’ hit-and-run punch left two trail drivers badly hurt with arrows. They also cut away a good slice of the herd, leaving the remainder in a state of stampede.

  As soon as Story and his men had quieted the cattle and taken care of their wounded, they organized a war party of their own to pursue the Indians. Dusk was falling, but just before darkness ended the chase, Story and his seasoned trail herders tracked the Sioux into camp. The Indians had the longhorns bedded down in the center of an arc of tepees.

  One of the drivers present on this occasion later said: “We surprised them in their camp and they weren’t in shape to protest much against our taking back the cattle.” Story also told his son some years afterward that he had never killed an Indian before that night attack. “We had to wipe out the entire group to recover our Longhorns,” he said.8

  When the herd was reassembled, the drivers pushed them north to Reno, left their two wounded comrades there, and moved on to Fort Phil Kearny. Carrington, in his new role as post commander, politely informed Story that military regulations forbade movement of trains between Phil Kearny and C. F. Smith unless there were forty armed men in the party. Story had only twenty-five.

  The young cattleman replied angrily that he had no intention of halting at Fort Phil Kearny until another Montana-bound train arrived to strengthen his own. As late as the season was, another train might never arrive. He pointed out that his men had Remington breechloaders, giving them firepower equal to a hundred men with old-fashioned Springfields. But Carrington was firm; forty men was the minimum. The colonel advised Story to corral his stock three miles from the fort and await further orders.

  When Story demanded to know why he must camp three miles from the safety of the stockade, Carrington informed him coldly that the post’s herd needed the grass near the fort.

  During these negotiations it is possible that Carrington offered Story the Army’s maximum price for his beef cattle; the post was in sore need of the entire herd to replace animals driven off by Indians. If he did make such an offer, Story surely declined it. Story knew he could obtain four or five times the Army’s price anywhere in the gold fields. Whether Carrington made the offer or not, Story no doubt suspected the colonel wanted the cattle and was purposely holding the herd at the fort in hopes of obtaining them. A prolonged delay, followed by a series of snowstorms, would jeopardize Story’s entire venture, possibly force a sale to Carrington’s quartermaster at low prices. Nelson Story knew this, and relations were strained between him and Colonel Carrington. Nevertheless, the young cattleman decided to gamble one week of time before tangling with military authority. He ordered his herd into corral and set up a vigilant guard against Indians.

  Shortly after the arrival of Story’s cattle herd, a small supply train came up from Laramie with the mail escort. It carried a long-needed shipment of medical and hospital supplies. As usual there were deficiencies in the bill of lading, the largest shortage occurring in a consignment of porter, meant for use as a tonic for invalids: 205 of 258 bottles failed to arrive. The mystery was never cleared up, even thought testimony was taken from a number of men who had access to the mildly alcoholic brew. The official assumption was that the bottles had broken en route, but few believed that. Everyone who had crossed the dry plain below Reno knew how tempting was a bottle of porter in an easily accessible covered wagon.

  Among the medicines received by Surgeon Horton for administering to his ailing or wounded patients was ammonial liquor, used as a liniment and for loss of consciousness; asafetida, used as a carminative; ceratum adipsis for dressing wounds, licorice root extract for coughs, ferrous iodide syrup for colds and consumption; castor oil and epsom salts for cathartic use; tincture of peppermint oil for nausea and flatulence; scillae syrupus for use as an expectorant and emetic; chlorinated soda and zinc chloride solution for antiseptics; barley for making malt extract to be used in digestive troubles; beef extract, tapioca, and what was left of the porter, for restoring invalids.

  To supply his hospital the surgeon received forty-five yards of adhesive plaster, twenty pounds of lint, eighty pounds of oakum, three hundred dozen roller bandages, seventy-two hair mattresses, one hundred hair pillows, seventy-three dressing gowns, twenty-seven delft bed chambers, and sixty-six meteorological report blanks. One of the extra duties of surgeons at that time on the frontier was recording temperatures, precipitation, and other weather phenomena.

  Arrival of these medical and hospital supplies—with the previously received corn and oats, rations and ammunition-brought Phil Kearny’s stores to a point where the post could operate well into the winter. The problem of replenishing stores before spring was a formidable one, but Carrington was confident he could solve it.

  On the morning of the 22nd, the colonel was notified that Nelson Story’s cow camp had vanished during the night. Unknown to anyone in the fort, Story had called his men tog
ether the previous evening and asked them to vote on whether they should continue to abide by Carrington’s orders or slip away toward Montana. “All in favor of moving out tonight say ‘Aye.’ Opposed say ‘No.’”

  One driver named George Dow said “No!”

  As soon as the word was out of Dow’s mouth, Story had the man covered with his six-gun. “We’ll have to tie you up, George, until we’re one day gone.” In the darkness, Story and his men hitched oxen to wagons, moved the cattle out of corral, and headed for Montana. Next day, Dow was released and informed that he could return to Fort Phil Kearny. He decided to stay with the drive.9

  Meanwhile Carrington was furious over Story’s willful violation of orders. At the same time the colonel remembered his responsibility for civilians’ safety, and ordered a fifteen-man detail under a sergeant to move out north, join Story, and bring the party up to regulation strength of forty men. The fifteen soldiers, armed only with muzzle-loading Springfields, were supernumeraries, of course. Story’s cowboys pushed the herd through to Montana without a hitch, trailing by night, grazing by day. They beat off two Indian attacks with ease, and lost only one man, a careless cowboy who rode too far ahead and was killed and scalped. On December 9, Story’s historic drive reached its goal, the mining country near Virginia City.

  During the day following Nelson Story’s unauthorized departure from Phil Kearny, Colonel Carrington brooded over this act of insubordination and decided he could not permit its repetition. Such actions would surely weaken his authority over other civilian travelers, possibly over his own men. He decided that personnel of all civilian trains awaiting permits to proceed over the Montana Road would in future be quartered within the stockade. And to ensure that none of them might emulate Nelson Story and depart after nightfall against orders, he issued a new four-point regulation:

  I. No citizen will be permitted to enter or leave the gates after retreat, unless connected with the sutler or quartermaster’s department, and then to be properly passed by the officer of the day or sergeant of the guard.

  II. All gates and wickets will be locked at retreat, except that at the quartermaster’s gate, which will be closed at tattoo, and then only will be opened by the officer of the day or sergeant of the guard in their line of duty or for good cause.

  III. All soldiers absent from quarters after tattoo will be promptly arrested, and unless sent on messages by officers, or otherwise duly authorized to be absent, will be confined and held to answer to charges before a garrison or general court-martial.

  IV. This order is to be read at the first parade after its issue, and posted upon the bulletin board for three days from said issue.10

  From this time it is evident that Carrington’s desire for absolute security became an obsession; he was reaching the point where he could trust no one but himself. A year later, during the inquiry which followed the Fetterman Massacre, he virtually admitted this. “I took charge of the system of police and discipline of the post, entertaining the idea that the future policy might involve more formidable Indian aggression and require a more exact and careful watchfulness and defense.”11 His wife, recalling this period of tension, wrote that he “slept for weeks in succession without removal of garments, and nightly made his rounds to secure personal knowledge of deportment of guards and condition of post.”12

  Meanwhile the weather continued bright, the air cold and crisp, the sky incredibly blue. Most of the post’s essential buildings were nearing completion.

  On the 27th, after a two-months absence on escort duty with General Hazen, Lieutenant Bradley returned with his detachment of mounted infantry. Four men failed to return. Jim Brannan, scouting ahead, had been killed, between Fort Benton and Fort C. F. Smith in a surprise Indian attack. Surgeon McCleary had his horse shot from under him, but was unharmed. Only one soldier, Private Brooks of Company H, was wounded in the brief engagement. Three others had deserted previously while the detachment was marching through the gold country of Montana.

  Carrington was immensely cheered by the return of his best mounted group, and in this temporary mood of elation announced that he was declaring a holiday on the last day of the month to celebrate completion of the fort’s construction.

  Actually many of the men enjoyed two holidays in succession, the 30th being given over to preparations for ceremonies of the 31st. One small detail spent the morning carrying out a special assignment. They placed dozens of slender poles tipped with strips of white cloth at various distances from the stockade. The poles represented different ranges of the positioned howitzers, including the maximum range, so that gunners could determine instantly whether an enemy was within accurate firing distance and thus not waste time and ammunition finding the range.

  Out in the center of the parade, two men were putting finishing touches to a towering 124-foot flagpole. They were Principal Musician John H. Barnes, who had been a ship’s carpenter before his army enlistment, and Private William Daley, an expert woodworker and mechanic. They tested and retested the halyards to make certain the new garrison flag would rise smoothly to the masthead.

  Most of the men, however, lined up by companies in front of the new quartermaster storehouse, and filed in to receive brand-new uniforms carefully hoarded for the celebration. Returning to their new pine-smelling barracks, they smoothed wrinkles out of trousers and blouses, burnished their boots, polished buttons and belt plates.

  Officers also were refurbishing uniforms, those with wives calling upon them to assist in brightening swords and shoulder scales, and seeing that plumes were properly fixed on dress hats. Several had already moved into officers’ row, and others were busily transferring from tents into still-unfinished buildings. Frances Grummond was especially proud of her large double bedstead fashioned by the carpenters, “a luxury indeed, with mattress stuffed with dried grass, army blanket and a large gay-colored shawl for counterpane.”

  The children naturally were caught up in the holiday spirit, and Judge Kinney, the sutler, handed out so many free ginger-snaps and sugar balls to the youngsters that Mrs. Wands and Mrs. Carrington had to interrupt preparations for the big day in order to empty their sons’ pockets of this oversupply of unaccustomed sweets.

  October 31 was ideal for a celebration day, the sun rising out of a clean azure sky, turning the air soft and balmy and brightening the golden leaves of aspens on the Big Horn slopes.

  First order of the day was an inspection and review held in the morning on the level plain between the stockade and Big Piney. Every man, every animal, every weapon, was rigidly inspected by company commanders, and the findings were mixed. In their new uniforms, hard-muscled and ruddy with health from weeks of rough outdoor life, the soldiers met all tests. Horses and mules, however, were suffering from unavoidable overstrain, and serious deficiencies were found among the arms. The few Spencer carbines were in good condition, but many Springfields showed effects of constant wear and tear. Regimental armorers had worked hard to recondition all rifles for this inspection, but more than a hundred were found unserviceable. Lieutenant Grummond, for instance, reported twenty of twenty-seven unfit for use in Company C.

  With this bad but not unexpected news out of the way, companies marched back into the fort to prepare for the grand ceremonies. Early in the afternoon the bugler sounded adjutant’s call. Companies formed before their respective quarters and moved out to the center of the parade, forming three sides of a square around the octagonal band platform at the base of Barnes and Daley’s towering flagstaff. The fourth side of the square was occupied by a temporary platform upon which were seated officers’ wives, civilian employees, and children.

  On the speakers’ platform with Colonel Carrington and his aides were Chaplain White and Judge Kinney. Private William Murphy, recalling afterward the presence of the obsequious sutler, noted: “There was a man who was surely ‘on to his job.’ He was a good diplomat. He made love to men, women, and children.”13 Mrs. Carrington was less trenchant in her brief comment: “Judge Kinn
ey read an appropriate poem of Miss Carmichael’s * chaste and spirited collection.” She added: “Chaplain White offered the prayer, and principal musician Barnes presented to be read an original poem of his own, which at least did justice to his patriotic spirit.”14

  Following these preliminaries, the colonel delivered the main address. He began with a salute to those men of the command who had lost their lives since the first stakes were driven at Fort Phil Kearny.

  “Fifteen weeks have passed, varied by many skirmishes and both day and night alarms. … In every work done your arms have been at hand. In the pine tracts or hay fields, on picket or general guard duty, no one has failed to find a constant exposure to some hostile shaft, and to feel that a cunning adversary was watching every chance to harass and kill. …

  “The steam whistle and the rattle of the mower have followed your steps in this westward march of empire. You have built a central post that will bear comparison with any for security, completeness, and adaptation to the ends in view, wherever the other may be located, or however long in erection.

  “Surrounded by temptation to hunt the choicest game, and allured by tales of golden treasure just beyond you, you have spared your powder for your foes, and have given the labor of your hands to your proper work. Passing from guard-watching to fatigue-work, and, after one night in bed, often disturbed, returning to your post as sentry; attempting with success all trades and callings, and handling the broad-axe and hammer, the saw and the chisel, with the same success as that with which you have sped the bullet, your work has proven how well deserved was the confidence I reposed in all of you. …

  “And now this day, laying aside the worn and tattered garments, which have done their part during weeks of toil and struggle, the veteran battalion of the 18th Infantry … puts on its fresh full-dress attire for muster and review.