by Tim Slessor
He had come West at his own request. In the much-reduced post-war army, he had been compelled to accept demotion. Now, as a mere Captain, he would have felt rather cheated. After all, that showman Custer, even though two years his junior, had just been given command of his own regiment. So he would have calculated that (as in Vietnam exactly a century later, or in Iraq and Afghanistan today) heading for “where the action is” was a necessary course to gain promotion.
Carrington and Fetterman might, just, have made a complementary pair: the one a careful logistician, the other a competent and ambitious man-of-action. But, within days, Fetterman would have been less than human if he had not been concerned about his Colonel’s lack of aggression. This, he must have thought, was no place to regain the higher rank he had come west to win. Despite his total lack of experience of Indian fighting, he is said to have impatiently claimed that, with just one company of 80 men, he could “ride through the whole Sioux nation”. That statement, whether he actually made it or not (and the evidence is uncertain), has long become so central to what one might call the Fetterman legend that it cannot be ignored. On the evidence that has come down to us, it seems reasonable to suggest that, even if he never actually made the comment in such specific terms, it was characteristic of his thinking.
Anyway, within days of his arrival, he dreamt up a scheme which made good sense: to stake out some horses one evening in an exposed position near the fort. He and a posse of cavalry would hide in some cottonwoods nearby. They waited all night and, just as they were bringing the decoy horses back the next morning, the Sioux made off with some mules from the other side of the fort. He came up with another more personal tactic, which made rather less sense, of quietly voicing his impatience to some of his brother officers. He would have found some willing allies; they would be useful witnesses if things came to a head, and if General Cooke back in Omaha ever held an inquiry into what was going wrong. Almost certainly, when he himself had paused in Omaha on his way west, he would have heard rumors that the General had doubts about Colonel Carrington.
In fact, every infrequent mail from Omaha contained some peremptory order for action from the General. The incoming mail of 25 November was typical:
“You are hereby instructed that so soon as the troops and stores are covered from the weather, to turn your earnest attention to the possibility of striking the hostile band of Indians by surprise in their winter camps... You have a large arrears of murderous and insulting attacks by the savages upon emigrant trains and troops to settle, and you are ordered, if there prove to be any promise of success, to conduct or to send another officer on such an expedition.”
As the second-in-command, Captain Fetterman would surely have seen that order. He would have been most anxious to be that “other officer”, before the winter closed in. But, for Colonel Carrington, the order would have demonstrated that the General’s staff, 700 miles away in the comfort of their headquarters, were quite unappreciative of his problems, particularly his shortage of officers and sergeants.
If all this were a melodrama of the period, the second act would begin with the curtain rising on Red Cloud’s winter camp. “Sound of Indian drums. Red Cloud and other chiefs are seated round a fire inside a tepee.” And, for all we know, it may have been like that. Certainly we can conclude that, after a last buffalo hunt to top up their winter larders, Red Cloud and his allies were now discussing how best to rid themselves of the white intruders...
Before first light on Wednesday 5 December, more than 400 Sioux were on the move; that evening they camped a few miles short of the fort. Early the next day they split into three groups and quietly rode forward to take up position. One group hid itself just behind the ridge-line overlooking a valley; the second group did the same just behind the ridge-line on the other side of the same valley. The third party, smaller than the other two (this was the decoy group), made its way 3 miles further south and hid in a thicket within a few hundred yards of the trail running from Fort Kearny up to the wood-cutting area.
It is fairly certain that Red Cloud was in command - so far as any Sioux was ever in command. It is said that, peeping over one of those ridges, he watched the distant “firewood” trail through a captured telescope. In time, when he saw some wagons and their escort creaking towards the timberline, he knew that the decoy party would shortly show themselves.
The first the fort knew about it was the distant crackle of rifle fire. The Colonel immediately ordered Captain Fetterman to take a detail of about 50 infantrymen up the trail to relieve the wood-cutting wagons. Just as they were leaving the fort, he told Fetterman not to pursue the Sioux too sharply; he wanted time to get round behind the enemy with his own detachment. Then, a few minutes later, he himself led a group of cavalry (about 40 men) off at an angle from the trail in order to get across the line that he reckoned the enemy would take to escape Fetterman’s advance.
In the event, all sides failed in their purpose. Fetterman’s soldiers marched too quickly towards the Sioux decoy party, who started to retreat just as they had planned, enticing the soldiers to follow. Then, typically, this same decoy party had second thoughts: seeing that they were being pursued by only 50 men, they thought to grab a bit of glory for themselves. So, instead of enticing their pursuers into the trap, they turned to skirmish. Meanwhile, a mile or so away, several of the waiting ambush party jumped the gun and, emerging over the ridge, raced towards Carrington and his men. For a few minutes there were two separate fights - until the decoy warriors, hearing firing behind them, thought that they might be missing the main show. So, scattering, and followed by Fetterman’s posse, they raced away again.
Meanwhile, the Colonel’s group had dismounted and was now in some difficulty. The Sioux were all around, and for a few minutes there was some very bloody close-quarter fighting. The cavalrymen had some of the recently issued breech-loading carbines and, with these, they just managed to hold off their attackers. But it was the arrival of Captain Fetterman and his men that saved the day. The Sioux, probably discouraged by the way their plan had gone awry, melted away.
Neither side could claim any honors. According to some accounts, Captain Fetterman, who, ironically, seems to have been the single subordinate on either side to have carried out his orders almost to the letter, now became even more dismissive of his Colonel. And Jim Bridger, the old mountain man turned civilian scout, reckoned that everyone was to blame. “These men are crazy”, he reportedly said. “They don’t know anything about fighting Indians.”
The soldiers’ casualties were two killed and seven wounded. Both sides learned some lessons. Carrington determined never again to be drawn beyond the ridge to the north of the wood-trail. As he still needed firewood, he ordered the doubling of escorts up and down the trail, and the intensive drilling of his men in quickly turning the wood wagons into a tight defensive corral. All the garrison’s horses - at least all those that were still fit, now only about 50 of them - were to be saddled every morning and held in readiness until all the wood-cutters were safely home in the evening. And once again he wrote to Omaha for reinforcements and, pathetically, for mittens. It might be the last mail out for several weeks, what with the Sioux and the snowdrifts.
The Sioux would have had their debriefing sessions too. What had gone wrong? Not much, except that a few impetuous braves did not understand the reason for patience and collective discipline - which is hardly surprising given that, to this day, it is said that no exact translation exists for either concept in the Sioux dictionary. Anyway, next time it would be different. And one can reasonably assume that if Red Cloud had anything to do with it, there was going to be “a next time”. In fact, it came just two weeks later.
Again, a decoy party attacked the wood wagons. Again, the fort heard the sound of distant firing. But this time the Colonel dispatched a very cautious officer, Captain Powell, with strict instructions to drive the attackers off but not then to pursue th
em. And this time no flanking party was sent out to cut off the retreating Sioux. The decoys withdrew just as soon as they were sure that the soldiers could see where they were going. But the soldiers did not follow. The whole engagement was over in less than hour, and there were no casualties on either side.
There is no record of what Captain Fetterman thought of the afternoon’s events, but one can guess. As he surely would have seen it, this was a deteriorating situation that cried out for decisive leadership. He must have reasoned that, unless met by timidity, the Hostiles always turned and ran; he had seen it for himself. Carrington’s caution was not only personally exasperating, but it would reduce the regiment to an object of ridicule throughout the army. And how then would he, as the second-in-command of such regimental nervousness, ever gain promotion? It seems entirely reasonable to suppose that he reckoned that he had to Do Something.
His chance came just two days later. The Sioux and their Cheyenne allies were certainly persistent. Twice they had tried to lure the troops into a decisive battle; now they tried a third time. Once again, there was the sound of distant firing. Once again, the Colonel gave his orders to the cautious Captain Powell. But this time, Captain Fetterman interrupted. As second-in-command he asked (some say he demanded) that he be given command of the relief column. The Colonel acquiesced. Perhaps he simply wanted to avoid a showdown, and anyway he could assume that even Fetterman would stick to the very specific orders he now gave him. “Relieve the wood train. Do not under any circumstance pursue over Lodge Trail Ridge.”
By now Fettermen’s infantrymen, their breath misting on the freezing air, were drawn up at one side of the parade ground; a hurried inspection of arms, a quick volley of orders, and they were on their way. A few minutes later, a detachment of cavalry under Lieutenant Grummond raced to catch up with Fetterman’s infantrymen. Captain Fetterman had command of 81 men. From the fort, the Colonel could see that the column was not moving straight along the wood-trail, but, as he had himself done three weeks earlier, it was striking off at an angle - presumably to attack from the flank, or even from behind.
Presently, Fetterman saw a party of Sioux some way ahead. He would have been disappointed and annoyed because, obviously, they had got wind of his attempt to cut them off. Now they were breaking off their attack on the wood-train, in order to escape. Not if he could help it... Although the range was extreme, he ordered some of his infantrymen to open fire. He thought that he might have hit a few. Certainly, one of the Hostiles was now lagging behind his fellows; he seemed to have a wounded horse. But, strangely, the others also appeared to be in no hurry to ride off. Maybe they were trying to distract and delay the soldiers while the main war party made its escape. Fetterman moved forward in pursuit. In their eagerness, the cavalry under their impetuous leader, Lieutenant Grummond, raced ahead; the Sioux moved away, just keeping their distance.
By now, the far end of Lodge Pole Ridge sloped away into a further valley. Given that the terrain has obviously not changed over the intervening decades, one can see that there is no way that Fetterman would not have realized that, while he had not actually crossed over the “forbidden” ridge, he had chased over the rising ground at the far end of it. Maybe his concern was to help Lieutenant Grummond and his cavalrymen who, having rashly galloped ahead, could now be in some danger. Perhaps, too, Fetterman thought that unless he hurried, the Sioux might get away. But they had no intention of escape; they rode to and fro, shrieking and yelling, just out of effective rifle range. They were drawing the soldiers on.
Suddenly there came a sound from nowhere - and everywhere. It must have been like a crescendo roll of muffled drums: thousands of hoof beats on the hard-frozen ground. From half a mile away, erupting over the crests of the hills on either side, hundreds of Sioux and Cheyenne came galloping down on them. It must have happened so quickly that there was time for only a flash of thought: no way out, no cover.
A good deal is known about how they died: from where the bodies were found, from accounts given years later by the Sioux, and from minute debris - bullets, arrowheads, buttons - found by metal detectors up to the present day. We know that Lieutenant Grummond and his men (racing ahead to catch the decoys?) were the first to be overwhelmed. We know that Fetterman’s infantrymen made a desperate scramble for the side of a rocky hill off to their right. There they held off the Sioux as long as they could - maybe ten minutes? We know that they were almost out of ammunition, and they would have known it too. We know that very few of them were killed by rifle shots; mostly by arrows and clubs. There must have been much frantic courage, and, no doubt, some panic, and even cowardice too. But by whom, or how, or where, we do not know.
And the Sioux? Unless, years later in their old age, they were making it all up, we know the names of most of the decoys: Dull Knife, Big Nose, White Bull, Little Wolf, Young Man Afraid, American Horse and, most daring of all, the one with the “wounded” horse, Crazy Horse. We know that there were at least 1,000 warriors in the ambush; some say twice that number. We know that Red Cloud planned the trap, but, strangely, we cannot be sure that he took part in it. We know that in the immediate aftermath the Sioux, their blood high with victory, were still unsatisfied. They began an orgy of mutilation.
Back in the fort the soldiers had heard the distant firing. The Colonel had immediately ordered Captain Ten Eyck and a detachment of 75 men to march out and, if possible, to reinforce Captain Fetterman. He also sent two wagons with them, in case there were wounded to bring in. Ten Eyck was nobody’s fool, and he determined first to gain some high ground from where he might get a clear view before he straightened course toward the sound of the rifle fire.
As they climbed away from the fort, Ten Eyck’s detachment paused every now and then to “locate” the distant noise of the now intermittent shooting. Then the noise seemed to stop. Either Fetterman had pulled off something spectacular or... or what? By now it was late in the day; already the temperature was well below freezing; the sky was darkening. Perhaps a snowstorm was coming. Both the Sioux and the soldiers knew that, without shelter, few would last the night. The Sioux turned from their plundering of the bodies and rode away. The soldiers crept forward to see what they could find.
***
Just to the east of the Big Horn Mountains, Interstate Highway 90 swoops along a line that follows or parallels what was once the Bozeman Trail. Not many people pull off at a rather insignificant exit road to drive ten minutes to a small car park. At one end is a rough stone monument carrying a large bronze plaque. As one reads it, squinting against the summer sunshine, it is difficult to imagine the carnage of that mid-winter’s day all those years ago. And yet, one wonders, is it really that long ago?
On this field on the 21st day of
December, 1866
Three commissioned officers,
Seventy six privates
Of the 18th U.S. Infantry, and of the
2nd U.S. Cavalry and four civilians
under the command of Cpt. Brevet
Lieutenant Colonel William J. Fetterman
were killed by an overwhelming
force of Sioux, under the command of
Red Cloud.
There were no survivors.
That last line is in larger lettering than the preceding lines. If the plaque is correct, in all, there were 83 people killed that day. Yet some accounts tell of 81 people leaving the fort. Whatever the number, it was more than the 80 men that, some claim, Captain Fetterman had said he needed for the job.
Recently, a small subsidiary notice has been put up at the foot of the memorial. It points out that “there are several inaccuracies...and some language reflects the racial feelings of the times”. Clearly it is referring to the last line on the memorial plaque which claims that “there were no survivors”. In fact, of course, there were a large number of survivors - among the Sioux.
***
The day had almost gone when the Colonel saw Ten Eyck’s column coming home. He would have known, from the way no one rushed ahead with an answer to the unspoken question, that the worst had happened.
They brought back 49 bodies; there was no room in the wagons for more. The dead were unloaded into the guardroom. There was no time to do anything else, because, for the living, the situation was now urgent: surely the Sioux, exultant with success, would not wait too long before they attacked again. In the growing darkness, everyone worked with ordered panic. Ammunition had to be allocated, defenses shored up with extra timber, rifles checked, the howitzers placed and readied; and a message dispatched to the outside world.
Two civilians on the quartermaster’s staff, Portugee Phillips and Daniel Dixon, volunteered to take the message south to Horseshoe Station, 190 miles away. It was the nearest point on the military telegraph. What with the Sioux and an approaching blizzard, their chances of getting through were very uncertain. Perhaps they were tempted by the promise of $300; perhaps they reckoned that the blizzard was more of a blessing than a hazard, as it would give them some cover. While they prepared themselves and their horses, the Colonel wrote his dispatch. If its tone borders on the frantic, it is surely forgivable:
“Do send me reinforcements forthwith.... I have today a fight unexampled in Indian warfare. I hear nothing of my arms that left Fort Leavenworth September 10. The additional cavalry ordered to join me has not been reported; their arrival would have saved us much loss today.... Promptness will save the line, but our killed shows that any remissness will result in mutilation and butchery beyond precedent... Promptness is the vital thing. Give me officers and give me men...”
Presumably each of the two couriers carried a copy and each planned a slightly different route - to double the chances of one of them, at least, getting through. The Colonel watched them go and then turned back to the next task. He had all the available wagons turned on their sides as a defensive barrier around the ammunition store. He ordered a powder barrel to be primed and fused. If the worst came to the worst, and the enemy climbed in over stockade, they would blow themselves up.