by Zina Abbott
Otto was among the twenty-five volunteers who were marching ahead of the main column by a quarter of a mile when they were surprised by hostiles. One of the men was killed, another wounded, and Otto found himself lying face down with a burning pain in his back and unable to move his right leg. He later learned a messenger was sent back to Colonel Cole two miles behind them, who worked to get the wagon train across the river. Colonel Cole put a halt to the river crossing and his men moved up to repel the attack. From where Otto lay, he could hear the boom of cannon along with rifle fire.
Ellis later told Otto how, at a place called Pilgrim Creek, a handful of soldiers charged up a steep hill being held by a few warriors, driving them away. Not many men were lost. The biggest loss to the men were horses captured by the hostiles. With all the animals that had died as a result of being unable to adapt to the harsh mountain environment, they could not be spared.
Mostly what Otto experienced from that battle was, first, the searing pain in his lower back that immobilized him. Second, he felt completely helpless and exposed in the midst of the shouts of men and explosions of weapons. As the battle moved beyond him, the fear set in—fear that he would be forgotten and left behind for the hostiles to find. He’d rather die than suffer being the one upon which they exacted their revenge. Those feelings and fears, imprinted in his brain, became the source of future nightmares.
Ellis was among those who found Otto after the battle and helped carry his litter. The pain was almost more than Otto could bear, and he passed out more than once. To make matters worse, a snowstorm hit during the night. The next day, the men only moved about two and a half miles. Most of the soldiers were on foot at that point. Their clothes were in rags and inadequate for the early winter storm. They were forced to eat raw horse meat.
Harassed by natives as they traveled, several days later two of Connor’s scouts found the men, at which time the men learned about Fort Connor on the Powder River in Wyoming. Another week of marching passed before the men reached the fort.
Soon, all the men in the three columns had arrived at Fort Conner.
Much to the relief of most of the men of the expedition, Connor looked them over and decided the majority were unfit for additional duty. He sent them back to Fort Laramie to be mustered out.
The exception was the 16th Kansas. They were chosen to staff Fort Connor.
The assignment did not sit well with the Kansas men, who already suffered from low morale. They had signed up to fight the South and protect Kansas from guerrillas like Quantrill’s bunch. They expected to be mustered out at the end of the war. Instead, they had been sent unprepared into the wilderness set aside as Indian reservation land against an enemy they didn’t understand. They were forced to watch other units leave to be released from service once they reached Fort Laramie due to being unfit. Yet, although they shared in that same level of lack of fitness, they were required to stay in Wyoming.
Otto remained oblivious to much of what took place. He heard about it later. His superiors questioned what they should do with him, especially once Dr. Erickson, the surgeon for the regiment, died while at the fort.
His health already compromised by poor diet and exposure to the elements, Otto’s body did not heal well. Unable to stand on the side where the ball entered his lower back, he found it almost impossible to walk. He certainly could no longer ride a horse, even if a strong, healthy mount could be found for him. He was deemed unfit to travel with the other volunteers.
Finally, the decision was made to send him back to Fort Leavenworth while the weather still held to be treated there until he was healthy enough to go home.
Otto recalled Ellis stopping by just before the makeshift ambulance wagon moved out.
“Wish I was going with you, Otto. You just be sure you get well, so you can get that locket from your ma and give it to your sweetheart when you find her.”
Otto thanked him. However, he had his doubts he would live long enough to return to his home in Salina. Finding a sweetheart to whom he could give his locket was the furthest thing from his mind.
Ellis’s final words did stick with Otto. “You know, Atwell, if those hostiles had been shooting at us with the same repeaters we have, instead of the few old muskets they own, none of us would ever have made it out of that scrape alive.”
While he traveled in the bed of a wagon guarded by men who wondered from moment to moment if they would be attacked by hostiles, Otto often thought of Private Ellis and his final words. He still wondered if he was going to make it out of the scrape alive.
He became addicted to laudanum. With no doctor to attend him, the men in charge of the ambulance kept him drugged most of the trip in order to not listen to his groans as the wagon jostled his body along the rough roads.
Back at Fort Leavenworth, in addition to his lower back healing and the doctors working with him so he could regain as much use of his leg as possible, they helped him through the ordeal of weaning himself off laudanum. It was an experience he hoped to never endure again. That was why, no matter how much he hurt, he avoided using the drug except as a last resort.
Otto was sent home with the optimistic prognosis that as long as he walked and exercised his leg and back, he probably would regain almost the full use of his limb, and the pain should eventually disappear. Later, when that did not happen, a private doctor offered the opinion that the great nerve that traveled from the spine down the back of Otto’s leg must have received permanent damage. Also, scar tissue could have built up and be pressing on it, but there was no way of knowing for sure without surgery.
Otto could not bring himself to submit to surgery.
Going up to Powder River may have started as a grand design for the Army, but over time, Otto realized the campaign of retaliation and intimidation against the Cheyenne, Arapaho and Sioux had enjoyed limited results. The Army probably would have achieved more if it had swallowed its collective pride and submitted to the demands of the Cheyenne and Arapaho who had lost tribal members at Sand Creek. However, the Army refused to arrest and hang Colonel Chivington for his actions prompted by his hatred and disregard for the tribal people, not to mention the treaty-making efforts of other Army officers.
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ABILENE, KANSAS – MAY 1868
CHAPTER 14
~o0o~
When Otto finished speaking, the room remained quiet for several seconds—a rare occurrence when Henry was present.
“That’s some story, Otto. I never heard it before.”
Otto shuddered and pressed a fist to his lips, before he tightly folded his arms. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“You ever tell Pa?”
“Most of it.” Otto drew in a deep breath to loosen the band of fear that constricted his chest as he thought back on those dark days. “It’s getting late, Henry, and you’re heading for home at first light to go back home with Pa. You need to go find your bedroll in the hayloft before the moon sets and leaves you in the dark.”
“You coming out with me?”
“In a little while. I need to take more of that salicylic powder and rub on that joint salve Mrs. Palmer swears by. I do think it does me some good.”
“Much as it stinks, it ought to be doing you some good. You want me to take your bedroll up with me?”
“No. Tell you the truth, Henry, I think I’ll wander around and look at the stars a bit, maybe bed down under the big tree by the corral. I’d hate to be up in the loft and have one of my nightmares. I’d wake up everyone else trying to get some shuteye.”
“So, you’re going to sleep outdoors where your yelling and screaming will stampede your cattle, is that it?”
Otto responded with a soft chuckle. “You have a point there, Henry. I don’t want to stay downstairs and chance waking the Palmers and Miss Jones. I guess I could try the front porch.”
“You won’t wake Libby. She’s already awake. She’s been sitting on the other side
of the wall, listening the whole time.”
Before Otto could respond, he heard the rustle of Libby pushing herself to her feet. He rose out of his chair and stepped through the doorway that separated the kitchen from the dining area. He leaned forward and grabbed for her forearm, stopping her just as her body stood in front of the window. The moonlight backlit her form, creating a silhouette while it hid the details of her facial features. Otto was struck with how beautiful she looked. Aware that she trembled under his grasp, he loosened his hold. “Miss Jones? Please don’t run off. Is there something you need that I can help you with?”
Her voice came out in a whisper. “I…I’m sorry. I came down for a glass of water. I heard the two of you talking. I know I shouldn’t have listened—I should have gone back to my room, but…my brother was a soldier in the war. I wished to know what it might have been like for him.”
I wished to know more about you.
Otto slid his hand down until he held hers. “Come in the kitchen, Miss Jones. I’ll guide you so you won’t stumble. Henry, can you see to get her some water from the barrel?”
“Yeah. Here’s a chair for her, too.” The sound of wood scraping against the floor followed.
Otto placed her hand on the chair back. “Here’s the chair, Miss Jones. Just sit here while Henry gets your water. I’ll light a candle so you can see to drink it.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t bother. I don’t need the candle…” Before she could finish, Otto turned from the stove with a candle lit from one of the still-glowing coals. He placed it in its holder on the table. Conscious of her state of undress, she pulled her shawl more tightly around her as she studied his face in the flickering light.
“Here, Libby. It’s not real cold, but it’s wet.”
Libby smiled at Henry, who held a cup out to her. Clutching her shawl with one hand, she accepted it with the other and took a sip. “Thank you, Henry.”
“You want some water, Otto? Bet after all that talking, your throat’s dry as a summer dust storm.”
“I could use some water, Henry. Thanks.”
Sipping on the cup of water Henry handed him, Otto turned his attention to Libby. “Was your brother regular Army or did he join your state militia?”
“I’m not sure.”
He joined the 8th Minnesota Volunteer Infantry at Fort Snelling six years ago.
“Where are you from, Miss Jones?”
Libby’s lip quivered as she faced Otto who asked the question. She dare not let anyone, not even him, know. “Kentucky.”
Minnesota.
“There were several Kentucky volunteer regiments on the Union side. Do you know where he fought?”
“No.”
He spent most of his time in Dakota Territory, where they tried to subdue some of the same tribes you fought against.
Otto softened his voice. “Did he make it home all right?”
Libby hesitated before she answered. “No. He died. We never heard the details.”
He told some of the soldiers before he deserted he wished to stay in the West and search for gold.
Otto studied her but said nothing in reply. Based on what he knew of his regiment, it was customary for an officer to write to the family of a fallen soldier.
Henry took the silence as an opportunity to ask his own question. “So, you said you’re no relation to Charlie Gray Cloud, and if you’re from Kentucky, I guess that means your Indian ancestor probably wasn’t Kaw. What tribe are you from, anyway?”
Libby didn’t know. So many tribes around the Great Lakes had been pushed west by white encroachment on their lands. She recalled her mother speaking of one of the tribes from the mountain country south of the lakes where her people had come from. “Cherokee.”
Ojibwa. What you call Chippewa.
Henry leaned forward. “Cherokee? I thought you came from back east somewhere. Cherokees live in Indian Territory south of here—south of the Kaw.”
Libby’s lips quivered. Had she made a mistake about where the different tribes were located? She felt a wave of relief when Otto answered for her.
“Henry, most Cherokee went to Indian Territory, but some stayed back in their original homeland in North Carolina. Others moved north. I hear there’s quite a few in eastern Tennessee and maybe Kentucky.”
“Oh.” Henry wrinkled his forehead. Next, he shrugged. “If you say so. I never liked studying geography in school. As for where all the Indian tribes came from…”
The sternness in Otto’s voice cut Henry short. “That’s enough, Henry. Way I hear it, many Cherokee married Europeans who were then adopted into the tribe and were considered Cherokee no matter their features or color of their skin.”
It is the same among the Ojibwa.
“Miss Jones said earlier she has mostly white ancestors and was raised in the white world. She is white. Leave it be at that.” Otto turned to Libby. “I hope we haven’t embarrassed you, Miss Jones. I also hope what you heard tonight doesn’t overly upset you. It isn’t a story I like to share with anyone, let alone womenfolk.”
“Mr. Atwell, like your brother, you asked me to call you by your first name. I will do so only if you call me Libby. And to answer your question, I don’t think most women like hearing tales of pain and suffering, especially about their kin, or if it’s only for the sake of glorifying in such matters. Otherwise, women are stronger than you think. I believe your mother would want to know what you’ve been through, especially if it still affects your life, rather than being kept in the dark.”
In the silence that followed, Libby took another sip. “I appreciate knowing your story, Mr. Atwell…”
“Otto. I just hope it doesn’t give you nightmares.”
“I doubt it will.”
I suffer my own nightmares.
Libby swallowed and chose her words carefully. “I appreciate knowing your attitude about tribal people. As you can see, my native heritage is written on my face. There are many people who look down on me because of it.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m one of them.”
“No. If you did, I don’t think you would…” Knowing he probably took her refusal of his offer as an insult, Libby halted what she started to say. She studied him in the dim light. “Otto, I truly appreciate you asking me to marry you. It meant a great deal. However, I did you a favor by refusing.”
“What? You mean, Otto asked you to marry him and you said no? Why? He needs a wife. I like you plenty well, and I can tell he does, too.”
The sharpness of Otto’s words put a halt to Henry’s outburst. “Enough, Henry. She has a right to decide who she wishes to marry.”
Libby turned to Henry. “Henry, no one here knows my story. There are reasons why it is best for your brother I made the choice I did.”
“So, tell us your story.”
Silently, Libby stared at the coals in the stove’s firebox. What had she done by opening that door? “There’s not much to tell, really.”
I can never tell. It would disgust you, and you would have nothing to do with me.
“Libby, I would think agreeing to travel long distances to marry a total stranger that you knew only from exchanging a few letters would be taking a large risk. Well, today sort of proved it. Why did you feel you must use a marriage service and marry?”
Libby thought about how best to answer.
Because I must hide the truth. The bigger risk was returning home.
“The reason is on my face. Most men where I lived do not want their children to look Indian.”
Henry leaned forward and shook his finger in the air. “What do you mean, ‘today sort of proved it’? Something happened to you today, didn’t it? I mean, something really big. Otto leaves me stuck here on his farm all by myself only for me to find out all the rest of you saw or did something worth telling. Now, no one wants to talk to me about it.”
“I agreed to marry a man who was far different than what he claimed in his letters. Both your brother and the Palmers offered hel
p so I could get away from him.”
Henry grumbled. “I’ll bet there’s more to it than that.”
“I’ll be living on the farm next to you, Henry. Someday, I’ll tell you the whole story. First, I need you to stay with your brother until I return. Then we must sleep.”
Not allowing the two to ask her more questions, Libby hurried up to her room as quickly as the darkness allowed. She returned with her pallet, the one Otto had bought for Henry. “Otto, where I have been, I learned a few things about caring for people with injuries such as yours. Whether you think your sleep will be more peaceful under the stars or in the house, please use the pallet to keep the cold and dampness away from you. I have slept on a floor most of my life. Tonight, I have a wood floor plus some of Mrs. Palmer’s quilts instead of bare packed earth. It is enough for me.”
Having shared that one last tidbit about her life, Libby escaped before Otto could refuse.
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CHAPTER 15
~o0o~
After Libby had insisted he take the pallet before she disappeared back upstairs, he began to feel the walls of the house close around him. He followed Henry outside long enough to grab his blanket roll which, thankfully, remained at the foot of the ladder. After making his bed, he returned to the kitchen to take more of pain powder and to rub some of the liniment on his lower back.
Otto smiled as he massaged the inflamed muscle that covered the nerve shooting darts of pain. It was good those in the house were asleep, and he was going to be outdoors risking a cattle stampede if he hollered in the night with one of his nightmares. The salve really did stink.
The next morning, after a restless night in which Otto had awakened more than once due to his nightmares, he winced as he rolled on the pallet on which he had made his bed under the tree across the yard from the house. With his arm flung across his eyes, he listened to his body tell him of its pain level. His lower back ached, but he barely felt the stabbing pain that tended to trail from his spine down the back of his leg.