Trumpet on the Land: The Aftermath of Custer's Massacre, 1876

Chapter 51

20-24 September 1876

The general had them up at four A.M., resaddled, and back on the road within a half hour, without breakfast or coffee.

Pointing to a ridge still at least twenty miles away to the south, Crook later halted the group as the sun was emerging in the east. “Would anyone care to hazard a guess what that is?” the general inquired.

“Those box-shaped buildings on the top of that high ground?” Finerty asked.

“Yes.”

“Could it be Camp Robinson?” asked Robert Strahorn.

“Exactly,” Crook replied. “Let’s push on, gentlemen!”

That last stretch of country before reaching Red Cloud’s reservation took the horsemen through some barren badlands. For the first time in weeks dust rose from the hammering hooves beneath them, covering them all with a fine layer of yellowed talc by the time that dirty detail rode in among the agency buildings. Near the sawmill a fatigue detail was hard at work and turned to watch the band of riders pass by.

One of the soldiers called out to the dust-caked horsemen, “Where the devil have you fellas been?”

“In Hades, of course!” sang out Thaddeus Stanton.

Suddenly a second infantryman slapped the first on the shoulder, exclaiming, “Jesus! They’re soldiers!”

“N-not just soldiers—officers!”

With a flurry of salutes to the mud-covered band of officers, the soldiers sheepishly turned back to their work in a great hurry.

It didn’t take long for more of an audience to gather on the road easing through the agency buildings. At least a thousand Sioux crowded to take a look at Three Stars himself—the soldier chief who had fought Crazy Horse several suns before the Hunkpatila war chief had defeated the Long Hair beside the Greasy Grass. These men with Three Stars must be some of the same soldiers who had attacked the village of American Horse.

As they moved slowly through the throng of dark-eyed visages, Finerty leaned in his saddle toward Donegan and said, “I wonder if any of these are the warriors we fought at Slim Buttes right before they hurried off to get here ahead of us.”

Seamus nodded. “I have no doubt, Johnny. You can feel it in the way they look at us. Makes my marrow go cold.”

By pushing Egan’s horses so hard, Crook had used them up and was forced to remain at Camp Robinson for the rest of the day and into the next until Randall and Sibley showed up late on the afternoon of the twenty-first. That Thursday evening after supper, Major Jordan and his officers gave Crook’s officers a crowded but grand reception held around the stoves in the sutler’s store. For many it was a delightful reunion of old warriors, and though they had only coffee and a dram of brandy to share, there was much to toast and celebrate.

Together again the entire party prepared to set out behind an anxious Crook early on the morning of the twenty-second. They were leaving behind one of the correspondents, Robert Strahorn of the Rocky Mountain News, who would be going south to Sidney, Nebraska, alone, where he could board a train east.

“How long’s it been, Bob?” Seamus asked as he dropped the stirrup down, finished tightening the cinch.

“Since last February when I came north to Cheyenne, Laramie, and on to Fetterman, hoping to investigate the rumors we’d heard that the army was taking the field for a winter campaign,” he replied as the rest of Crook’s party milled about, completing the last of their preparations before putting Camp Robinson behind them.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day beside the Powder River,” Seamus said.

“I won’t ever forget charging in with Teddy Egan’s boys and John Bourke at my side!” Strahorn replied.

“You sure you won’t come on to Laramie with us?”

“No, I’m sure,” the reporter said. “I’ve been wanting to see the Centennial Exposition back in Philadelphia, maybe write a story or two about it for the paper. They’ve got a presidential campaign going on right now too. Good chance for a reporter, you know. Been thinking about both of those things more and more ever since last winter. All through the blasted summer too.”

“Just make sure you don’t ask for any horse-meat steaks while you’re back there!” Donegan cheered, holding out his hand.

Strahorn took the Irishman’s in his, and they squeezed more than shook. Then, more quietly than he had been speaking before, the newsman said, “You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you? I mean, now that I’m not going to be around, Seamus?”

“You watch yourself back there, Bob,” Seamus said, sensing the sting at his eyes. “I’m afraid you won’t quite know how to act with all those civilized folk.”

Strahorn smiled and clapped a hand on the tall man’s shoulder. “Likely I have picked up some damned crude manners, indeed—what with spending the last half a year with you, Irishman!”

Pushing their jaded horses and captured ponies as fast as they dared, the general and his men rode long into the evening before halting to graze the horses and grab a little sleep.

They were back in the saddle before sunrise on 23 September, reaching the camp of Ranald S. Mackenzie’s escort from the Fourth Cavalry that Saturday night. Having left most of his troops behind at Camp Robinson until Wesley Merritt could bring down the Fifth Cavalry to take over the task of disarming the Sioux at Red Cloud, the colonel was already on his way to Fort Laramie, called there to meet with Sheridan and Crook.

Together, the three of them would plan the prosecution of the Sioux War into that fall, even unto the winter if necessary, hoping to bring a resolution to the thorny “Indian problem.”

Some time after supper that evening, Donegan made his way to the leadership fire. In that ring of cheery light he recognized a few familiar faces, then carefully measured the back of a tall officer who was talking and laughing with Captain Randall.

Seamus stepped up and said, “General Mackenzie?”

The handsome soldier turned. “Yes?”

Holding out his hand, Donegan pressed on. “You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“Irishman!” Mackenzie bellowed, grabbing Donegan’s hand and pumping it vigorously with his own right hand that was missing some fingers. “By glory—I sure as hell do remember you!”

Proud and startled at the same time, Seamus said, “I wasn’t sure you would, General.”

The colonel put his hand to his cheek. “You don’t look quite the same as you did.”

Touching his own cheek, Seamus said, “Oh, this? With winter coming it won’t be long and I’ll have that full beard back what I wore that campaign down on the Staked Plain.”

“You might look a bit older—but we all do! I can’t believe you’d think for one minute I wouldn’t remember you and that time we pitched down the sheer cliff into the Palo Duro to catch the Kwahadi napping.”*

Crook got to his feet and came to stand at the taller Mackenzie’s shoulder. “You mean this reprobate really was with you when you flushed Quanah Parker’s Comanche into that miserable winter?”

“When we butchered more than fourteen hundred of their ponies,” the colonel replied.

“Settlers down that way in the Panhandle talked about that for a long time after,” Donegan said as the four correspondents crowded up to listen in.

Mackenzie asked, “So what are you doing here? When did you show up?”

“This evening, with General Crook, sir.”

Mackenzie glanced at his superior. “Do you have Donegan serving you as a scout?”

With a nod the general answered, “From time to time he’s made himself quite valuable. Quite valuable—all the way back to the mess Reynolds made of things on the Powder River last March. Yes, this Irishman’s served me admirably.”

“I should say, General,” Mackenzie replied, gazing at the Irishman. “You sure have covered some ground, Donegan.”

“I have at that, and haven’t seen my wife since May.”

“A wife, is it?” Mackenzie roared. “Well, now—when did you decide to settle down?”

“Not long after you convinced Parker to come in, General,” Seamus answered. “In many ways, though, it seems like it’s been ages. Feels even longer since I’ve seen her.”

Mackenzie said, “And where is she while you’re out scouting for General Crook here?”

“Waiting for me at Laramie.”

“By glory! You’re no more than a good day’s ride from her now, Irishman. I envy you, I do. Getting to see her by tomorrow.”

Donegan nodded eagerly. “I can’t wait to see how she’s … well, how big she’s grown. She’s carrying … er, we’re expecting our first child, General.”

“What, ho! Not only do I learn that you’ve married and settled down—but you’re going to be a family man now!” Mackenzie turned to one of his staff officers. “Lieutenant Otis! Bring me that flask of mine. This truly is a cause for celebration and at least one stout toast all around to this father-to-be!”

Then Ranald Mackenzie turned back to slap a hand on Donegan’s shoulder in that frosty air beside a merry fire. “Who would have thought—Irishman! That I’d go and find one of the finest white scouts ever there was who led my Fourth into battle.”

H. G. Otis came back and handed the colonel his flask of German silver. Taking loose the cap, Mackenzie promptly began to pour a dribble into every one of those cups that suddenly made their clattering appearance out of nowhere.

“Hear, hear, gentlemen!” Mackenzie roared. “To Seamus Donegan! Let’s drink to the Irishman! By Neptune’s beard, let’s all drink to one of the finest scouts it’s been my pleasure to follow into battle!”

Samantha saw Martha Luhn dashing across the parade with a bundle of newspapers under her arm, waving one of them as she shouted, disturbing the peaceful quiet of that Sunday morning right as most of the officers’ wives were gathering on the front porch of Old Bedlam. It was warm and sunny there, a pretty place to wait until the time came when they all walked over for church together.

In an instant women pressed against the whitewashed porch banister, crowded on the steps, every one of them listening as Lieutenant Gerhard Luhn’s wife hurried their way chattering nonstop, her skirts and petticoats billowing about her ankles like a rush of foam.

“It’s true! It’s true!” she shouted as she burst past the flagpole.

Now Samantha could make out Mrs. Luhn’s words.

“They did capture a village!”

“I told you,” Elizabeth Burt declared self-assuredly, moving down to the first step. “When that rumor first got here to us—I told you there was truth to it!”

As Margaret Luhn reached the bottom of the porch steps, a crowd swallowed her, flying hands and arms reaching for the stack of newspapers she held out for the others. This latest edition of the Rocky Mountain News had reached Fort Laramie just last night, and Mrs. Luhn had always been the first to stand in line at sutler Collins’s trading post, where she commandeered what copies she could for the other wives.

Hugging Elizabeth Burt’s elbow, Sam stared at the banner headlines. The bold letters printed in black ink across the newsprint all but leaped off the front page.

New York Times, dated 16 September

headlines read:

ATTACK UPON A CAMP OF SIOUX

COMPLETE VICTORY FOR THE TROOPS

How quickly her eyes flew from that brave announcement to the smaller type running completely down the three columns against the far left-hand side of the page.

Crook Stumbles Upon and Surprises

an Indian Village.

CHEYENNE, September 16—A courier who left General Crook’s command September 9, brings the following news: Since General Crook’s column turned south toward the Black Hills on the 5th inst. there has been considerable hardship through wet weather and living on bacon and hard bread, and a good deal of grumbling. On the 7th it was decided to send a portion of the pack train ahead under escort of Colonel Mills, with fifteen men on the best horses of each company of the Third cavalry, making 150 in all. Lieutenants Von Lutwitz, Schulle and Crawford composed the subordinate officers, with Lieutenant Babb, Fourth infantry, chief commissary; Tom Moore, chief packer; and F. Gruard, Crook’s chief scout. The latter was to serve both as guide and scout, and on yesterday evening he discovered through the rain and fog, without being himself observed, a hostile Sioux village, consisting of forty-one large lodges and a band of several hundred ponies and a few American horses.

Mills concluded to attempt an attack with his 150 men without waiting to send word to Crook for reinforcements. He fell back a few miles, hid his command in a ravine, and at two o’clock this morning marched for the village, which was situated on a little creek, a tributary of Grand or Owl creek. He formed on the north side before daylight and ordered Lieutenant Schwatta, of Company M, to charge through the village while the rest of the force, dismounted, were to form skirmish lines on either side and pick off the Indians as they came out.

The latter were completely surprised, and scattered out pell-mell, half-naked, returning the fire to some extent. Their ponies were effectually stampeded, but, owing to Mills’ small force he only succeeded in securing the lodges and property therein and about 140 ponies. There was an immense quantity of dried meat, berries, etc., all that Crook’s whole pack train could carry, and sufficient to postpone the proposed purchase of supplies. There were wagon loads of robes and savage spoils of all kinds, including some of the equipments and arms of the Seventh cavalry which Custer used in the Big Horn massacre, and various articles of wearing apparel worn on that occasion was also captured … Von Lutwig was seriously wounded in the knee, and privates Milbury and Charles Foster, of Company B, Augustus Dorm, of Company D, and Sergeant Glass, company E, were wounded, and private Wensall, of company A was killed in the action.

As soon as she could grab a copy for herself, Sam lumbered up the narrow steps to her tiny room and fell upon the bed, where she continued to read the story, regarding each word just as carefully, every bit as slowly as she had been poring over each one of the newspaper stories the women at Fort Laramie always received days, sometimes as much as a week, after the Rocky Mountain News was printed in Denver.

In the morning about 7 o’clock, word reached Crook fifteen miles back, with the main column, and he came forward with two sections of cavalry, reaching Mills at 11 o’clock. The latter had kept up a good picket fight during the forenoon, but Crook was very much disappointed because Mills didn’t report his discovery last night, as there was plenty of time to have got the entire command there and so effectually surrounded the village that nothing would have escaped; but the General is also pleased, all things considered.

About 100 yards from the village is a little ravine, in which a band of seven warriors and fifteen women and children were safely lodged in cavernous rocks, and it was in trying to dislodge them that Mills lost his killed and most of his wounded. General Crook desired to save the women and children and, by means of Gruard’s interpreting, a parley ensued, and three warriors came out, one chief named American Horse being mortally wounded. Before this parley was effected, however, Frank White, a citizen, was shot through the heart, and privates Kennedy and McKenan of company F, 6th Cavalry, wounded. About twenty minutes past four o’clock this afternoon sudden picket firing sprung up, beginning on Colonel Mason’s front, resulting in the wounding of Sergeant Schruber, company K, and private Dorm, company F, Fifth cavalry. It proved to be the result of reinforcements received from Crazy Horse’s band and a running attack began all around the circle, but troops were quickly thrown out and the enemy driven off in every direction. The latter got about a dozen horses too poor to get in to camp back a mile on the line of march.

The village was thoroughly ransacked and the spoils divided around. Colonel Mills and his men got the ponies … Much ammunition and many guns were found in the lodges, and all evidence is to the effect that the Indians were prepared for the winter … It is regretted that other of the villages near by were not surprised and destroyed, but this affair demonstrated the good policy of a stern chase after Indians, even with foot soldiers, who come in here to the relief of the cavalry, as their part in the play gives them renewed vigor and esprit.

No, his name wasn’t there. Not printed among the others as she reread the list of the dead. Not even among the wounded. Reassured, her heart hammering as it hadn’t in so long, Sam continued down the page.

LATER—September 10th—There was a little picket firing throughout last night, and this morning after the command was on march a number of Indians came down on the rear of the column, but were met with a warm reception by Captain Sumner’s battalion of Fifth cavalry, who covered the enemy in the ravines, killed several and disabled others. Privates Foster, company F, privates Wadden, Company M, and Geo. Clantier, company D, were wounded. The command marched fifteen miles to-day toward the Hills, bringing all the sick and wounded on twelve litters. Medical director Clements amputated the right leg of lieutenant Van Letwitz last evening and private Kennedy died of his wounds. No other amputations or deaths are likely to occur. American Horse died last night. Most of the captives are brought along, a few squaws being left back by the General to advise the hostile bands to go into the agency and behave themselves and all will be well with them. Colonel Mills, Lieutenant Cubbard and Frank Gruard go through to the hills tomorrow with a view to secure future supplies.

Lying on her back, holding the paper right above her face, Sam licked her lips thoughtfully, her eyes searching for some word of him. Maybe she had been wrong all along thinking he had gone with the column. Maybe he had stayed behind with the wagons up north at that camp General Crook established before he fought the Sioux on Rosebud Creek. No, Sam decided. Seamus would have come back here with one of the supply trains if he wasn’t going to stay on to fight with the rest of Crook’s troops.

So again she read the casualties. Despite the fact that she could not find his name anywhere, Sam could not rid herself of that lump in her throat, that cold hole in her chest. She tried to convince herself that there was no way to know for sure—maybe the correspondent who wrote that story simply could not list every one of the civilians who were wounded. Scouts were civilians, after all.

And maybe that’s why Seamus’s name wasn’t printed. He could have been wounded! He could be on one of those twelve litters. Bleeding and in pain. But being a civilian—

“Samantha!”

At that first shriek of her name she rolled onto her side and struggled to sit up. She heard steps, loud footsteps clattering on the stairs.

“Samantha!” It was Elizabeth Burt’s voice. “Look out your window!”

Suddenly the woman stood framed in the narrow, open doorway, having flung open the door, the knob still clenched in her hand. She pointed to the solitary window. “Samantha Donegan—do as I say! Go look out that window!”

Dread gripped Sam as surely as had the morning sickness that plagued her the first three months of this pregnancy. She fought for air as Mrs. Burt helped drag her from the side of the narrow bed, across the carpet Samantha had sewn from discarded burlap bags, right to the window.

“There! Look! Can’t you see, dear?”

Elizabeth was tapping on the windowpane with her knuckle, then pointing with the same finger at the horsemen entering the far corner of the parade. From the northeast. They were ragged. Their horses dusty. Everything about them frightened her. But she was immediately relieved to find that none of those weary, played-out horses dragged a litter behind it.

“It’s Crook!” Mrs. Burt declared. “He’s got his staff with him!”

She turned to Elizabeth, filled once more with hope as she asked, “He’ll have word from the rest, won’t he?”

“Word about Seamus? Is that what you mean, dear?”

Her head bobbed eagerly, sensing the cold knot in her chest. She simply had to know. One way or the other, she had to be told.

“Look, Samantha,” Elizabeth said reassuringly, patting Sam’s shoulder. “You don’t have to ask General Crook about your husband. If you look real closely—you’ll see one of those riders is Seamus Donegan himself!”

^* The Plainsmen Series, Vol. 7, Dying Thunder