Step by step the whites were fighting their way across the country, and in 1832 had frontier settlements in the territory between the Illinois and the Mississippi rivers. The Sacs and the Foxes here had their towns, their principal leader being Black Hawk, a man of splendid physique and noble bearing. He was not only a warrior, but was also an orator of distinction and ability, many of his speeches possessing a poetical eloquence which is remarkable. Personally he was a brave man, but he showed no special generalship in handling his forces, and, although at first successful in attacking the whites, he soon was overwhelmed by the superior ability and prowess of the men of another race.
In 1830 the Sacs and Foxes, through a chief named Keokuk as negotiator, sold much of their land to the United States and agreed to move to the west of the Mississippi. Black Hawk was not consulted in this matter, and became very indignant when he learned what had transpired. Finding that a considerable number of Indians were dissatisfied with the treaty, he offered to place himself at their head and to rebel against Keokuk. But open rebellion did not occur, because of difficulties with the whites, which soon turned the vindictive spirit of Black Hawk against them, and not against the men of his own race. The act which led to hostilities was peculiar.
One of the Sacs found a beehive in a hollow tree, and carried it to his wigwam. Some of the white squatters claimed that it was theirs and made the Indian give it up. But not content with this, they now plundered the savage's wigwam of all the skins which he had collected by hunting in the winter. When the Indian protested, they laughed at him, and thus ill-blood was aroused between the whites and the redskins, which finally culminated in open warfare. "We must have war," said Black Hawk in the council chamber, "or else we shall be driven into the far West, without lands, horses, or shelter. Those of you who are cowards may follow Keokuk, but those of you who wish to maintain your own against the aggressions of these whites, must take up your tomahawks with me."
An old residence of the tribe was the Sac village, situated upon a point of land at the confluence of the Mississippi and Rock Rivers, which had been occupied by them for over a century and a half. As this spot was in the limits of the ceded territory, the Americans demanded the evacuation of the village, but Black Hawk convinced Keokuk that his cession of land was illegal and made him promise to open a negotiation with the Americans, and to have the village restored. With this expectation the Indians still kept possession of the village, until the autumn of the year 1830, when they went into the deep forests, as usual, for their winter's hunt after furs. No sooner had they departed than the whites occupied the tepees and houses in the village, and when the Indians returned, they found that hundreds of white men and women were in their own wigwams. These refused to leave, claiming that the village rightly belonged to them, and so angered the savages by their obstinacy that the chiefs of the allied tribes of Sacs and Foxes determined to drive them out by force.
The white settlers were not in sufficient numbers to oppose the savages, and, realizing their weakness, offered to compromise by living in company with the tribe. Strange as it may seem, the Indians agreed to this, but soon regretted their bargain, as the whites appropriated all the best planting lands, crowded the red men out of their homes, and at length told them that they must leave the village. Many complied, but Black Hawk and a number of warriors refused to move; a fact which led the whites to complain to the Governor of Illinois of the "encroachments of the Indians, and unfair dealings of the Sacs and Foxes."
"I will immediately send the militia to your assistance," wrote the Governor to the complaining citizens. "I furthermore proclaim that the state has been invaded by foreign enemies. The soldiers are for the public defense. They will remove the Indians, dead or alive, to their proper position across the Mississippi River." Seven hundred militiamen began an immediate advance upon the settlement, but General Gaines, the commander of the United States troops in that section of country, foreseeing that this movement would provoke the Indians to open hostilities, hurried to Rock River in order to mediate between the soldiers and redskins. He arrived before the Illinois militia had reached the ground, and, by means of a long harangue, persuaded about a third of the Indians to peacefully retire across the river. The rest, including Black Hawk, refused to leave the place, the women imploring their husbands to fight rather than to abandon their homes.
Seeing that he would have to use his best powers of persuasion, Gaines held a council with Black Hawk on the seventh of June, and there argued for peace for over an hour. The savage leader was painted and armed for battle, and was surrounded by many of his best warriors. "I am not afraid of the Americans," said he, "and I will not remove from my rightful possessions. I am fully able to make war against your soldiers, and to drive them into the sea, if necessary. Let your men come on. I am ready to receive them." Notwithstanding their proud boasts, as soon as the militia came up on the twenty-fifth, the followers of Black Hawk abandoned their position without firing a gun. Two days later, Black Hawk made his appearance again, with a white flag, and demanded another parley, after which a treaty was agreed upon, whereby he and his malcontents relinquished their claim to the territory under dispute. Satisfied with this turn of affairs, the militia withdrew.
Peace was to be of short duration, for the Indians still retained their feelings of exasperation caused by the treatment which they had received, and the Americans did not live up to the terms of their treaty. As usual, they scoffed at the requests of the redskins, and told them that their demands were unjust, when they asked for a supply of corn which had been promised them. Black Hawk's men grew bold and surly. Early in 1831 they attacked a band of peaceable Sioux, encamped near an American fort at Prairie du Chien, and killed twenty-eight. This exasperated the white settlers, and a demand was made for the murderers. Black Hawk refused to deliver them up. "This is an affair between two Indian tribes, independent of the authority of the Great White Father," said he. "I will not give up my people, because of this. You can do what you like about it." As the murdered men were, at the time of the killing, under the protection of the United States Government, the Indian chief was, of course, in the wrong.
It was now the spring of the year 1832, and Black Hawk had collected a force of Sacs, Foxes and Winnebagoes amounting to about a thousand warriors. Crossing the Mississippi, the redskins marched upon the frontier settlements, burning and scalping with a ruthless hand, and driving the white inhabitants before them in alarm. Farms were abandoned; remote settlements were left to their fate; while forts and stockades were crowded with refugees. The Governor of Illinois ordered out a brigade of militia, and, under General Atkinson, the soldiers marched for the scene of hostilities. Regular troops soon joined with the state militia, so that three thousand four hundred men were marching towards the arrogant chief of the rebellious Indians. Black Hawk saw that he could not cope with such a force, and so withdrew from the open country into the swamps, from the protection of which he sent out marauding parties against the settlements. The country was in the greatest fear and alarm.
Atkinson halted for reinforcements and dispatched a Major Stillman with two hundred and seventy men to make a reconnoissance in the direction of Black Hawk's hiding place. Learning of their approach, the chief sent out three of his warriors with a flag of truce, and an invitation to the officers to visit his camp. The white soldiers paid no attention to the flag, took the Indians prisoners, and killed two other Winnebagoes who came up to look for their first party, when the emissaries did not return. This was not the boasted method of warfare which the white man prided himself upon, and it naturally enfuriated the followers of Black Hawk. There were but forty in the camp, as the rest were out hunting, and, when the whites pressed forward to the attack, these armed themselves for the fray, and quietly waited for the rangers to approach. The latter advanced in much disorder, crossed a narrow creek, and were confidently pushing towards Black Hawk's camp, when they were fiercely assailed by the savages. Although outnumbering the redskins, they were no match for them, and soon were thrown into great disorder. Their situation finally became so desperate that the retreat was sounded on the bugle, and they ran away in great confusion. It was a signal triumph for the savages.
More troops were ordered to join with Atkinson. Five companies of artillery made a rapid march of eighteen days from Fortress Monroe, on the Chesapeake, to Chicago, on Lake Michigan, but were attacked by cholera on the route, so that all were unfit for service before they even reached the seat of war. Only nine were left alive in one entire corps. Many men already at the front deserted. Some died in the woods, and their bodies were devoured by wolves. Others straggled into the settlements with their knapsacks on their backs, staggering from faintness and wounds. They were shunned by the inhabitants as the source of a mortal disease, and were left to shift for themselves. General Scott, who was advancing with reinforcements, directed Atkinson to pursue the campaign without waiting for him, as his entire force was knocked out by the dread scourge, so the American leader determined for an immediate advance upon the warriors of the now much-feared leader of the Indian forces.
As the frontier soldiers scoured the country in the endeavor to drive the savages from their lurking-places, Black Hawk began to retreat. Abandoning a camp which he had formed at the Four Lakes, he moved towards the Mississippi, having been assured by the tribes who lived in this quarter that they would not only join his party, but would also furnish him with plentiful supplies and provisions. He was to be grievously disappointed. No allies joined him, no provisions were brought to his camp, and scouts told him that the Americans were close upon his trail. As he was about to cross the Wisconsin River, about forty miles from a frontier fortress, called Fort Winnebago, he was attacked by an advanced body of the Americans, under General Dodge. The fight began just at dusk, and, although sixteen of the red men were slain, the rest escaped across the stream. Many of the women and children were captured by the white soldiers as they attempted to run down the river in canoes, and many of them were drowned, as their frail barques were sunk by the fire of the frontiersmen.
The once boastful Indian chief was now terrified by the advance of his despised enemies, and his vaunted courage had ebbed with the decay of his fortunes. Had he been a Tecumseh, or a King Philip, he would have made one last desperate stand against the whites, and would have died at the head of his rebellious warriors. He had suffered no wrong from the white settlers beyond that of personal insult, and, although he had been driven from the home of his forefathers, it had been only after a treaty with members of his tribe. Yet, it is hard to restrain our sympathy for him and his people, for now, surrounded on three sides, his one thought was of safety, and he was bent solely on the means of escape for the remnant of his fighting force.
On August 1st, as he was attempting to cross the Mississippi, he was interrupted by an armed steamboat, called the Warrior, the Captain of which has written the following account of the engagement which then took place:
"I was dispatched with the Warrior alone to Wapashaw's village, one hundred and twenty miles above Prairie du Chien, to inform them of the approach of Black Hawk, and to order down all the friendly Indians to Prairie du Chien. On the way down we met one of the Sioux band, who informed us that the Indians (under Black Hawk) were on Bad Axe River, to the number of four hundred. We stopped to cut some wood and prepare for action. About four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon (August 1st), we found the Gentlemen where he stated that he had left them. As we neared them, they raised a white flag and endeavored to decoy us, but we were a little too old for them, and, instead of landing, ordered them to send a boat on board, which they declined. After some fifteen minutes' delay, giving them time to remove a few of their women and children, we let slip a six-pounder, loaded with canister, followed by a severe fire of musketry, and if ever you saw straight blankets (Indians running) you would have seen them there. I fought them at anchor most of the time, and we were all very much exposed. I have a ball which came in close by where I was standing and passed through the bulkhead of the wheel-room. We fought them for about an hour or more, until our wood began to fail, and, night coming on, we left and went on to the Prairie. This little fight cost them twenty-three killed, and, of course, a great many wounded. We never lost a man, and had but one wounded—shot through the leg. The next morning, before we could get back again, they had the whole of General Atkinson's army upon them. We found them at it, walked in and took a hand ourselves. The first shot from the Warrior laid out three. I can hardly tell you anything about it, for I am in great haste, as I am now on my way to the field again. The army lost eight or nine killed, and seventeen wounded, whom we brought down. One died on deck, last night. We brought down thirty-six prisoners, women and children. There is no fun in fighting Indians, particularly at this season, when the grass is bright."
What he says of Atkinson's arrival is only too true. Atkinson arrived with a vengeance, and, after a three hours' action, totally defeated the Indians; great numbers of them being driven into the Mississippi and drowned, or captured, by the American sharpshooters. Black Hawk stole away and got safely off, during the action, leaving all his baggage behind him, and certificates signed by British officers, testifying to his good character and excellent services rendered by him to the British cause in the war of 1812. With a small party, he reached the Winnebago village of Prairie du Chien, and, despairing of eluding his persevering pursuers, told the chiefs of this settlement that he wished to surrender himself to the whites, and that, if they wished, they might put him to death. But the Winnebago warriors did him no harm. Their women presented him with a suit of white tanned deerhide, as a testimonial to his bravery and gallantry; made much of him, and crowded about the renowned chieftain in wonder and delight. After a few days of rest he was accompanied by two Winnebago chiefs to the headquarters of General Street, where he was delivered into the hands of the American General.
The soldier was seated at a table, when the famous warrior entered, and, greeting him cordially, he asked him if he had anything to say for himself. The captured chieftain drew himself up to his full height, and then spoke in a slow and majestic manner. Although renowned only as a warrior, his oratory is quite equal to that of Red Jacket and other famous speakers of the Indian race; and had he not been noted as a war chieftain, his speeches would have given him distinction among those of his own color.
"You have taken me prisoner with all my warriors," said he. "I am much grieved, for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much longer and give you more trouble before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but your last general understands Indian fighting. The first one was not so wise. When I saw that I could not beat you by Indian fighting, I determined to rush on you and fight you face to face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me; it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sunk in a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white man; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian.
"He has done nothing for which an Indian has been ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, the squaws, and pappooses, against white men, who came year after year to cheat him and take away their lands. You know the cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians and drive them from their homes. But the Indians are not deceitful. The white men speak bad of the Indian and look at him spitefully. But the Indian does not tell his. Indians do not steal.
"Black Hawk is a true Indian and disdains to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and friends. But he does not care for himself. He cares for his nation and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. The white men do not scalp the head; but they do worse, they poison the heart; it is not pure with them. His countrymen will not be scalped, but they will, in a few years, become like the white men, so that you can't trust them, and there must be, as in the white settlements, nearly as many officers as men, to take care of them and keep them in order.
"Farewell, my nation! Black Hawk tried to save you and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are stopped. He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk."
Although much impressed by this oration, the General ordered the noted chief to be made a prisoner, and sent to Washington to confer with Andrew Jackson, who was the President. Arriving at the seat of government, the celebrated warrior was soon ushered into the presence of the chief magistrate, whom he greeted with the words: "I am a man and you are another. Do with me as you will. I know that you will give me fair treatment."
Later on, he said: "We did not expect to conquer the whites, no. They had too many houses; too many men. I took up the hatchet, for my part, to revenge the injuries which my people could no longer endure. Had I borne them longer without striking, my people would have said, 'Black Hawk is a woman; he is too old to be a chief; he is a Sac.' These reflections caused me to raise the warwhoop. I say no more of it; it is known to you. Keokuk once was here; you took him by the hand, and, when he wished to return to his home, you were willing. Black Hawk expects that, like Keokuk, we shall be permitted to return, too."
"You must feel no uneasiness about your women and children," said the President. "They will be looked after and will be protected from their Indian enemies. You must promise me never to lift the hatchet again against the white man, and then you can return to your own race."
Having secured the necessary promise, Black Hawk, with some companions, was sent to Norfolk, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York, where he was amazed and much flattered by the immense crowds of spectators who flocked from all quarters to obtain a view of him. The sight of the navy yards, arsenals, and ships of war made him realize the weakness and insignificance of his own nation compared with the Americans, and, upon viewing some troops in New York, he exclaimed: "I once thought that I could conquer the whites, my heart grew bitter and my hands grew strong. But the white men were mighty. I and my people failed. I see the strength of the white men. I will be the white man's friend. I will go to my people and speak good of the white men. I will tell them that they are like the leaves of the forest, very many, very strong, and that I will fight no more against them."
From New York the Indians returned by way of Albany and the Great Lakes to the Upper Mississippi, where they were set at liberty. No incident worthy of record took place for three years after his liberation, until the summer of 1837, when a battle occurred between the Sacs and Foxes, on one hand, and the Sioux upon the other, in which this noted chieftain participated. The remainder of his life was peaceful enough, as he was honored by both reds and whites. Invited to a dinner at a Fourth of July celebration at Fort Madison, Wisconsin, he was seated to the right of the toastmaster, who spoke of him as follows, when his health was proposed:
"Our illustrious guest. May his declining years be as calm as his previous life has been boisterous and filled with warlike events. His present friendship to the whites fully entitles him to a seat at our board."
To which the now aged warrior responded:
"It has pleased the Great Spirit that I am here today. The earth is our mother, and we are now permitted to look upon it. A few snows ago I was fighting against the white people; perhaps I was wrong; let it be forgotten. I love my towns and cornfields on the Rock River; it is a beautiful country. I fought for it, but it is now yours. Keep it as the Sacs did. I was once a warrior, but I am now poor. I love to look upon the Mississippi. I have looked upon it from a child. I love the beautiful river. My home has always been upon its banks. I thank you for your friendship. I will say no more."
Black Hawk—the orator, and defeated, though not crestfallen chieftain—died October 3rd, 1838. Many whites, as well as Indians, assembled at his tepee to pay their last respects to the noted red man, and buried him as the Sac chieftains had always been interred. This was according to his wish. Instead of covering his body with earth, it was placed upon the ground in a sitting posture, with a cane between the knees, supporting the hands. Slabs and rails were then piled around the remains, and the bones of Black Hawk were left to the care of the elements. During the following winter the body was stolen, and a year later was found in the possession of a surgeon of Quincy, Illinois. But the Governor of Iowa, learning of this outrage, compelled the thieving medical man to restore the skeleton of the noted warrior to his friends. These interred the bones of the chief beneath the ground, with a simple headstone to mark the last resting place of the once powerful warrior of the Sacs and Foxes.
In a rude stockade in Florida, an officer of the United States Government sat before a rough-hewn table, upon which was laid the papers of an Indian treaty. It was the year 1832. Before him stood several Seminole chieftains, one of whom was nearly white and had a sharp, intelligent and crafty-looking countenance.
"You see," said the American soldier, pointing to the paper, "by the terms of this agreement, you Seminoles are to give up all your possessions in Florida, are to receive $15,400 upon arriving at your new home, and shall each have a blanket. Your women will each have a new homespun frock. Seven of your chiefs must consent to this agreement before it becomes a law. That is the will of our great father, President Jackson."
"I will sign your paper," said one of the gaudily-attired Seminoles, stepping forward.
"And I, also," said another.
But he of the sharp features jumped quickly between them and the parchment. It was Osceola, half Indian and half white, a redskin of treacherous courage and implacable hatred for the whites.
"I shall never sign these lies," said he with violence, "you whites are all cowards and cheats!" and, seizing his long knife in his right hand, he plunged it through the paper with such force that it went clean through the table upon which it lay. Then turning haughtily, he left the room, and disappeared.
The officer wrote to Washington that, in spite of the opposition of some of the chiefs, the treaty would be ratified by the Indians and they would leave their homes in the Everglades and swamps to the possession of the whites. But, in this, he was mistaken. It became apparent that the Seminoles intended to fight rather than to give up their lands to the white pioneers. A General Thompson called the real leaders of these Southern redskins to another conference, in October, 1834, and said:
"I have told you that you must stand to your bargain; my talk is the same. Your father, the President, who is your friend, will compel you to go. Therefore, be not deluded by any hope or expectation that you will be permitted to remain here."
"We will remain and will fight," answered the spokesman of the chiefs.
Six months later, they were again called together to hear the message of their father, President Jackson, the great white chief in Washington. General Thompson read them the message of this wise statesman, which ran:
"My children, I am sorry to have heard that you have been listening to bad counsel. You know me, and you know that I would not deceive you, nor advise you to do anything that was unjust or injurious. Open your ears and attend now to what I am going to say to you. They are the words of a friend, and the words of truth.
"The white people are settling round you. The game has disappeared from your country. Your people are poor and hungry. All this you have perceived for some time. And nearly three years ago you made an agreement with your friend, Colonel Gadsen, acting on the part of the United States, by which you agreed to cede your lands in Florida, and to remove and join your brothers, the Creeks, in the country west of the Mississippi."
After going into the terms of the treaty, the message concluded with:
"I now learn that you refuse to carry into effect the solemn promises thus made by you, and that you have stated to the officers of the United States that you will not remove to the Western country. My children, I have never deceived you, nor will I ever deceive any of the red people. I tell you that you must go, and you will go.... But lest some of your rash men should forcibly oppose your arrangements for removal, I have ordered a large military force to be sent among you.... Should you listen to the bad birds that are always flying about you, and refuse to go, I have directed the commanding officer to remove you by force. This will be done. I pray the Great Spirit, therefore, to incline you to do what is right."
This strong appeal divided the Seminoles, a considerable number consenting to their removal; but Osceola would not hear of such a step, and, when protesting against the matter in the presence of General Thompson, grew so angry that he drew a knife. "Arrest this man, immediately!" cried the now irate soldier, "and put him in irons until further orders."
Maddened and outraged by this treatment, Osceola secretly swore revenge. The devil rose in the soul of this mongrel of the Florida canebrakes, and he made an oath to never rest until he had the life blood of General Thompson. But, simulating a spirit of peace, he agreed to sign the treaty, and to do all in his power to persuade his people to follow his example. He was playing a part, and his true nature soon asserted itself, after seventy-nine of his people (men, women, and children) signed the compact with the Government of the United States at Fort King. Osceola, himself, put his name to the deed, but two weeks later shot down a white interloper who had penetrated the dense jungle of the Everglades, where he had made his home. Soon all of the Seminoles were in arms, and the Government of the United States was plunged into a desperate conflict, which was to last for seven long and tedious years.
There were three important and crucial events in this bitter struggle. One was the annihilation of Major Dade and his men; another the shooting of General Thompson, and a third the capture and death of the crafty and treacherous Osceola.
Only five hundred regular troops of the United States army were in Florida in the fall of 1836. One company was at St. Augustine; six were in the centre of the state at Fort King, and three were near what is now the town of Tampa, at Fort Brooke on Hillsboro Bay. "Two companies will leave Fort Brooke on December 16th, to meet an equal number from Fort King near the forks of the Ouithlacoochee River, in order to make an active campaign against the Seminoles," wrote General Clinch, the director of the Southern army at that time, to the commander at Fort Brooke. So, collecting the necessary men, that part of the expedition which was to come from Fort Brooke was soon made up, placed under the charge of Major Francis L. Dade, who had fought gallantly at Tippecanoe twenty-five years before, and, with one hundred and nine effectives, and a guide (half negro and half Spanish) started towards the place of rendezvous. One six-pound cannon, drawn by four oxen, brought up the rear.
The troops were not able to make speedy progress, for tangled weeds, branches, and vines grew across the roadway in dense confusion. In four days they only went sixty-five miles into the jungle, in whose dank and soggy depths the keen eyes of Osceola's men watched like ferrets. Lean-bodied warriors crept like snakes through the undergrowth, by paths known to themselves alone, and kept their cruel chieftain continually advised of the advance of the little army. Even the half-breed guide was a spy and a traitor; he had told the Seminoles by what route the whites were to advance, and had hinted to them that it would be an excellent opportunity to annihilate the entire band. Osceola prepared to do so, and, in a place favorable for attack, collected a strong body of half-naked and well-armed redskins.
On December the 28th, Major Dade's little battalion crossed the waters of the Ouithlacoochee and marched slowly along the sandy trail which was the only road. The ground was rather open and covered with a sparse growth of tropical palmettos. On the right was a small pond, surrounded by a swampy marsh, overgrown with rank grass, five feet high, and scrubby bushes and trees. On the left it was open and without much grass. The troops pushed on unsuspectingly, but behind the rank growth of weeds several hundred Seminoles, under Micanopy, lay in ambush. Osceola was away upon a mission of death, and had left strict orders that not a savage was to fire his piece until the signal was given.
The Americans were strung out in a long line, and were totally unsuspicious of any attack. Two Lieutenants were in the advance, and after them marched Major Dade with the main force, the six-pounder in the midst of the light-hearted soldiers. They trudged along singing, but Micanopy had his eye upon the leader of the expedition, and, as he passed by, the Indian took careful aim at his head. Crack! a rifle shot rang out upon the clear air, the gallant Major fell prostrate to the ground, and, with a wild, blood-curdling warwhoop, the Seminole warriors discharged a gruelling volley into the advancing column. The two Lieutenants in front immediately went down. The suddenness of the attack appalled and staggered the Americans.
But, although staggered, there was no panic, and the whites were not disorganized. With immediate promptitude the soldiers fell back from the road into the trees, and returned the rifle fire of their savage enemies. Crouching behind fallen logs and palmetto stumps, they only discharged their muskets when they saw a redskin show himself, and so accurate was their fire that the attackers finally withdrew. For forty minutes the battle had raged with fury.
About fifty Americans were now left, and, with a knowledge of Indian tactics that is commendable, they instantly began to fell trees for a breastwork in the form of a triangle. The wounded were carried to the centre, and the six-pounder was placed where it could rake the oncoming foe. Working with desperation, the whites had succeeded in raising a protecting barrier, three tree trunks high, when a terrible yell from the forest of palmettos announced another Indian attack. The Seminoles poured a destructive fire into the little fort. Men fell upon every side, but with stolid and grim determination, the soldiers fought on in silence.
Unfortunately for the soldiers, their palisade was in a slight hollow, so the Indians commanded it from all sides. Lieutenant Keais lay helpless against the breastwork with both arms broken, until killed by a bullet through the head. Another officer, Henderson, continued to load and fire his musket with a broken arm, until dispatched by a leaden missile in the chest. A Doctor did great damage with two double-barreled shotguns, until finally knocked over by the accurate fire of some Seminoles who had crawled into the trees. Captain Gardiner was seen by one of the survivors to fall, crying out: "I can give no more orders, my brave boys. Do your best!" But soon there was no more fire from the log breastworks; the Indians swarmed into the rude fort, and it was all over with Major Dade's battalion.
Although the Seminoles took many scalps, they left three men alive, who feigned death, and, as they were bodily wounded, looked as if they had suffered the fate of all. One of them was shot by a lurking warrior when he tried to get away. The other two, however, crawled off towards Fort Brooke, sixty-five miles through the Everglades, and one of them reached this haven of refuge. The third was shot by a Seminole. When news of the annihilation of Dade's men reached civilization, it sent a thrill of horror through the entire country, and made the whites more determined than ever to annihilate the followers of Osceola.
This chief, it will be remembered, had sworn vengeance against General Thompson for throwing him in irons, and now was to have his oath fulfilled. The General was, on December 28th, dining with nine other gentlemen at the storehouse of Mr. Rogers, two hundred and fifty yards from Fort King. As the weather was mild, doors and windows were thrown open wide. The repast was a good one, wine was upon the table, and it is said that one officer had proposed a toast: "To the speedy capture of that knave Osceola and a termination of the war." No sooner had the words left him than a volley rang out. The officer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded; a wild yell sounded in the ears of those who survived this sudden and unexpected assault, and Osceola bounded into the room, followed by a dozen warriors.
At the first fire, General Thompson had been struck and had fallen prostrate to the ground. Leaping to his bleeding form, Osceola scalped him, held his hand aloft, and uttered a yell of triumph which was long remembered by all who heard it. Five others lay dead upon the ground. Those who were not killed leaped from the windows and fled. Five of them, who were fortunate enough to start towards the fort, escaped; but the others, who dashed towards a sheltering hill of sand, near by, were shot down by the skillful Seminoles. The cook, who was a negro woman, crouched behind a barrel in a dark corner, and was so thoroughly protected by her color that she was not seen by Osceola, who, pausing for a moment to take another scalp, darted out again, uttering a peculiarly shrill and piercing yell, so that those in the fort might know who was the leader of this bloody attack. His vengeance had been complete.
After this tragic affair the war continued as before. The Seminoles increased in numbers, through additions of runaway negroes and criminals from the Creeks and other tribes adjoining. Their strength seemed to be greater than usual, and, when driven into a corner, they fought like wildcats, without any thought of surrender. All Florida was in a panic of fear. The fugitives from Seminole wrath were reduced to such sore straits that Congress passed a bill to send them food and clothing until peace could be declared. To such extremities was the Government driven, that a force of one thousand Southern and Western Indians was enlisted to help subjugate the dreaded Seminoles.
In the last days of October, 1837, a solitary Indian was one day seen in the edge of the timber before Fort Peyton. He held up his hand in token of peace, and, being allowed to approach nearer, said: "I have a talk from Osceola to Big Chief."
"What does he want?" asked the sentry who had challenged him.
"He not far off. Wish to speak with Big Chief Jessup" (the commander of this stockade).
"I will give him Osceola's message," said the sentry.
When General Jessup heard that the savage Seminole was near by, he immediately devised a scheme for capturing him. Finding that he could not entice him into the fort, he ordered one of his officers, with over a hundred soldiers, to seize the Seminole chief, under cloak of a flag of truce. This sharp trick was successfully operated, and, although it was a piece of the most flagrant treachery, the wily enemy to white government was at last secured. The affair is a perpetual stain upon the honor of the United States.
In spite of his vigorous protests, Osceola was sent to St. Augustine and afterwards confined in the dungeon at Fort Moultrie, Charleston, South Carolina. Crushed by the humiliating position to which he had sunk, and brooding over the misfortunes of his race, he pined away and died within a year. The war kept on as vigorously as before, and did not terminate until 1842. Then the great bulk of the Seminoles was sent beyond the Mississippi, and a few, who were harmless, were allowed to remain in Florida.
The skeletons of the unfortunate soldiers who fell with the gallant Major Dade were collected, and buried in St. Augustine with appropriate ceremonies. A monument was erected to the memory of these courageous men. At West Point is also another monument, the inscription upon which reads:
"To commemorate the Battle of the 28th of December, Between a Detachment of 108 U. S. Troops and the Seminole Indians, of Florida, In which all the Detachment Save Three Fell Without an Attempt to Retreat."
All honor to these brave men who, dying with their face to the foe, nobly upheld the finest traditions of the army of the United States!
All the world admires a brave man, whether he be of red, black, or yellow complexion. All the world respects the leader of a gallant cavalry charge, whether it be successful or not. The British leader of the heroic 600 has been celebrated in both prose and poetry. The gallant Von Bredow of the Franco-Prussian War; the fearless Custer; the impetuous Farnsworth of Gettysburg fame, have all had their stories told by scores of writers; but here is the story of an Indian who led as fierce a gallop as that of the courageous British squadrons at Balaklava, and it is a tale which should live as long as that of any of the other heroes of sabre, spur, and cuirass, whose names adorn the most exciting pages of history. All honor to Roman Nose, the intrepid leader of the Cheyennes, whose mad gallop across the alkali wastes of the Arikaree Valley in the spring of 1868 has had but little recognition by writers of stirring deeds and desperate attacks!
Two years before the conflict between the followers of Roman Nose and the soldiers of the United States Government, a council was held near Fort Ellsworth. Kansas, between General Palmer and the head men of the Cheyenne tribe of Indians. The conquest of the American continent had begun. The steel rails of the Pacific Railway were being laid across the hunting grounds of the red men, and they, considering and believing the ground to be their own, had come to protest against this invasion of their soil.
As the General in command of the post listened to the words of the chiefs, suddenly a noble-looking Indian stood up and advanced in a solemn and majestic manner to the centre of the chamber in which the council was held. It was Roman Nose: one of the finest specimens of the untamed savage. His physique was superb. A large head, with strongly marked features, lighted by a pair of fierce black eyes, a large mouth with thin lips, through which gleamed rows of strong, white teeth; a Roman nose, with delicate nostrils like those of a thoroughbred race-horse, first attracted attention; while a broad chest, with symmetrical limbs, on which the muscles on the bronze of the skin stood out like twisted wire, were some of the marked characteristics of this splendid American savage. Clad in buckskin leggins and moccasins, elaborately embroidered with beads and feathers, with a single eagle feather in his scalp-lock, and a rare robe of white buffalo, beautifully tanned and as soft as cashmere, thrown over his shoulders—he stood forth—the mighty war chief of the Cheyennes—and said in measured tones:
"We will not have the wagons which make a noise (steam engines) in the hunting grounds of the buffalo. If the palefaces come farther into our land, there will be scalps of your brethren in the wigwams of the Cheyennes. I have spoken."
But, in spite of what the noble-looking chieftain had said, the white settlers continued to push into the sacred precincts of the Cheyennes, to take up homes there, and to treat the red men as if they had neither right nor title to the soil. The Indians were soon upon the warpath. Under Roman Nose and Black Kettle, they swept through western Kansas like a whirlwind of vindictive ferocity. They fought the gangs of workmen engaged in the duty of laying the rails for the hated Kansas Pacific Railroad; attacked the isolated homesteads of the adventurous squatters; ruthlessly slaughtered men, women and children, and ran off cattle, sheep, and horses. From June to December, 1868, they murdered one hundred and fifty-four white settlers and freighters; captured between thirty and forty women and children; burned and sacked twenty-four farmhouses; and attacked several stagecoaches and wagon trains. Great excitement existed along the border settlements of Kansas and Colorado. Appeals were made to the authorities of the general government to give protection against the terrible Cheyennes, or else allow the people to take matters into their own hands and revenge themselves against their hereditary enemies. General Sheridan, then in command of that military department, was fully alive to the responsibilities of his position, and, in his usual decisive manner, set about the task of crippling the wild riders of the plains.
In order to punish these bloodthirsty Cheyennes, the celebrated Sheridan had not the necessary number of troops. Congress, however, had authorized the employment of detachments of frontier scouts to be recruited from the daring spirits always to be met with upon the border. So the General was only too ready to listen to the request of one of his young officers, Major George A. Forsyth, who asked him to grant him permission to raise a body of scouts, independent of the regular army. After listening quietly to what Forsyth had to say, Sheridan remarked:
"I have determined to organize a scouting party of fifty men from among the frontiersmen living here on the border. There is no law that will permit me to enlist them, and I can only employ them as scouts through the quartermaster's department. I will offer them a dollar a day, and thirty-five cents a day for the use of their horses, which will, I think, bring good material. Of course, the government will equip them, and they will draw soldier's rations. If you care for the command, you can have it, and I will give you Lieutenant Fred Beecher, of the Third Infantry, for your second in command."
"Thank you, General," was Forsyth's answer. "I accept the command with pleasure."
"I thought you would," said Sheridan, smiling. "And yet I hesitated to offer it. Understand if I had anything better, you should have it."
"I am glad to get this," was the reply of the gallant Major.
There was little difficulty in obtaining capable men for the new command. There were hundreds of Civil War veterans upon the frontier, while many a plainsman was only too ready to have an opportunity of getting even with the wild riders of the West. In fact, men had to be turned away, so eagerly did recruits flock to the standard of the Original Rough Rider. In two days, Forsyth—who had been with Sheridan in his famous ride from Winchester to Cedar Creek—had enrolled thirty men at Fort Harker. Sixty miles westward was Fort Hayes, where twenty more were obtained two days later, so that in five days from the time that Forsyth had been given the command, he was marching into the Indian country at the head of as brave a body of plainsmen as ever swung a rifle across their shoulders. They were looking for trouble, and they found it.
Roman Nose and his Cheyennes were known to be somewhere near the Republican River, northwest of Fort Hayes, and, as the little troop scouted northwards, there were frequent indications of large camps of Indians which had been abandoned only a few days before the arrival of the command. On the morning of September 10th., a small war party of savages attacked a train near Sheridan, a tiny railroad town some eighty miles beyond Fort Wallace, another fort where Forsyth had stopped to rest his men. They had killed two teamsters and had run off a few cattle.
Immediately Forsyth's Rough Riders were upon the trail of these Indians, and followed it until darkness put an end to all pursuit. Next morning the chase was continued, the trail grew continually larger, and finally developed into a broad, well-beaten road, leading up the Arickaree fork of the Republican River. It was evident that a large number of Indians was ahead, but Forsyth had come out to fight, not to run away, so he pressed hard after the retreating band. As darkness fell on the evening of the eighth day from Fort Wallace, the command was halted and went into camp near a little sandy island in the river: a mere sandspit of earth formed by the shallow stream as it divided and then came together again about a hundred yards from the place of parting. The water was only about eight feet wide and two or three inches deep.
During the last three days of the march, game had been very scarce, which convinced the soldiers that the Indians, whose trail they were following, had scoured the country with their hunting parties, and had driven off every kind of wild animal. Provisions were getting low. The day following would see the command nearly out of supplies of all kinds. But Forsyth was called "Sandy," because of his grit and nerve, and he determined to push on after the redskins until he found them, and to fight them even if he could not whip them, in order that they might realize that the Government was in earnest when it said that the marauders of the peaceful settlements were to be punished.
The first flush of dawn was reddening the sky next morning, when Forsyth, who was awake, suddenly caught sight of something moving stealthily by upon the horizon. At the same moment the sentry saw it, and cocking their rifles, the two soldiers gazed intently into the dim distance. Suddenly the soft thud of galloping hoofs came to their ears, and, peering just above the crest of rising ground between themselves and the horizon, they caught sight of the waving feathers upon the scalp-locks of three mounted warriors. In an instant their rifles spoke in unison, and with the cry of "Indians! Turn out! Indians!" they ran back to the camp. In a second it was in confusion. Men jumped to their feet and seized their rifles, as with a loud shouting, beating of Indian drums, and rattling of dried hides, about a dozen redskins galloped down upon the camp in the apparent endeavor to stampede the horses. Crack! crack! sounded the well-aimed rifles of the scouts, and, as the Indians sheered off, carrying with them three of the pack mules, one of their number dropped to the turf.
"Saddle up! Saddle up, quickly, men!" was the next order, and, in a very few moments, the horses were saddled and bridled, while every man stood ready to mount. Daylight had begun to appear by now, so that one could see objects within a few hundred yards; when suddenly an old-time scout, who stood next to Forsyth, put his hand upon his shoulder, and cried: "Oh, heavens, General! Look at the Indians!"
Forsyth's heart sank to his boots as his eye followed the direction of the scout's outstretched hand. For the ground seemed literally to sprout Indians. They apparently jumped from the sod itself, and over the rolling hills, out of the thickets, from the bed of the stream, along the opposite bank, and out of the long grass upon every side, hundreds of redskins—with shrill cries of vindictive hatred—rushed down upon the fifty scouts, standing immobile at their horses' heads. "Fire!" shouted Forsyth, when a few of the red men came quite close, and, as the sharp crack of the rifles spat at the yelping braves, several ponies went down. The Indians fell back, out of range, and a few moments were given to the cool-headed United States officer to perfect plans for a retreat.
After a moment's hesitation he shouted his orders: "Lead your horses to the little island. Form a circle fronting outwards! Throw yourselves upon the ground and intrench yourselves as rapidly as you can!"
No sooner had he ceased speaking than, in almost a solid mass, the scouts retreated to the island, keeping up a vigorous fusillade upon the surrounding Indians. On the left, down the stream, a way to escape lay open through the little gorge up which the command had marched, but Forsyth knew enough of Indian tactics to realize that the savages would line these bluffs with warriors. Once upon the island, and they would have to attack over open ground. Intrenched in this position, the soldiers had an even chance of standing off this overwhelming mass of Indians, who, realizing that they had the white men in their power, rode around the brave little army with yells of derision, and shot at them repeatedly as they broke into a run in order to get to the chosen position. A steady and galling fire poured in upon the scouts from the reeds and long grass. Horses fell to the earth on all sides. One man was killed, several were badly wounded. Enfuriated at their blunder in not seizing the island before the whites had a chance to reach it, the various chiefs rode rapidly around, just out of rifle range, and yelled to their dismounted warriors to close in on all sides. The steady crack of rifles sounded everywhere; the horses reared and plunged at their tethers; men cursed and groaned; the Indians howled savagely, and above the frightful mêlée could be heard the calm commands of Forsyth:
"Steady, men! Steady, now! Aim low. Don't throw away a shot!"
At this thrilling moment, and as the men with tin-cups, pocketknives, and tin dishes, were shovelling up enough of the gravelly soil to form a rude protection, one of the plainsmen shouted:
"Don't let's stay here and be shot down like dogs! Will any man try for the opposite bank with me?"
"I will," cried out a man upon the other side of the circle.
"Stay where you are, men. It's your only chance!" called Forsyth, as he stood in the centre of the command, revolver in hand. "I'll shoot down any man who attempts to leave the island."
"And so will I," shouted McCall, the first sergeant.
"Get down to your work, men! Don't shoot unless you can see something to hit. Don't throw away your ammunition, for your lives may depend on how we husband it!" again cried Forsyth. And, as there was a temporary lull in the fight—many Indians having fallen to the rear of their line, badly wounded—the scouts grew cool and determined, vigorously dug into the sand with their knives and plates, and soon had a good-sized barricade thrown up. Indian women and children now covered the bluffs back of the valley, on the north side of the stream, and their shouts and wailing showed that many a redskin warrior had been sent to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
Meanwhile one stalwart warrior of magnificent physique and noble countenance carefully watched the circle of scouts from a hillock down the winding course of the Arickaree. It was Roman Nose—head chief of the Cheyennes—his face painted in alternate lines of red and black; his body naked, save for a red scarf about his waist; his head crowned with a magnificent war bonnet, from which, just above the temples and curving slightly forward, stood up two short, black buffalo horns. A long tail of eagles' feathers and herons' plumes waved gracefully from the back of his head, while a beautiful chestnut pony, held by a single deer thong, pawed the earth beneath the supple frame of the chieftain.
For days this intelligent war chief had seen and watched Forsyth's scouts as they followed the trail of his warriors. A few miles beyond, he had prepared an ambuscade for them, so, if they had not camped where they were, they would all have been undoubtedly annihilated. There were Northern Cheyennes, Oglala and Brulé Sioux, a few Arapahoes, and a number of dog, or renegade soldiers composing this savage army. In all there were almost one thousand warriors, accompanied by their squaws and children, who were eager to see the annihilation of the white men and the triumph of their brothers, husbands, and fathers. Just think of it! One thousand to fifty, and those fifty without food, without horses, and hemmed in upon a tiny island which could be easily reached, across only a few inches of water! But such a fifty had not been seen since the time of the Greeks who held the pass at Thermopylae. Listen, and hear how they made one of the most desperate stands of history!
Roman Nose was furious with anger, because he had told his men to occupy the island, and they had not done so. But he was confident that he could soon crush the white men, even as members of his tribe had annihilated Fetterman's command, a few years before, near Fort Phil Kearney, in Wyoming. Summoning his leading chiefs to him, he pointed out to them the proper position to place the warriors in, so as to get the best possible line of fire upon the entrenched camp; and, explaining to them that, while a number of them kept the whites at bay, fully five hundred should assemble around the bend in the river and prepare for a cavalry charge, he himself trotted his horse down the bed of the stream, well beyond the view of the defenders of the little island.
The clear atmosphere of a bright September day gave just the proper light for accurate rifle fire. A steady rain of bullets fell against the sides of the little mounds which the Rough Riders of '68 had erected, but the scouts only returned the shots when they saw an opportunity to effectively use their cartridges. Many a badly wounded brave could be seen crawling over the plain to a place of safety, while the wails and shrieks of the women on the bluffs sounded harshly discordant above the rattle of small arms. The horses were groaning in the agonies of death, and, as the last animal fell to the ground, one of the savages cried out in English: "There goes the last horse anyhow!" which proved that some white renegade was in the ranks of the Sioux, Arapahoes, and Cheyennes. Forsyth, who had been walking about among his men giving directions and commands, now lay down behind a gravel mound, and, as he did so, a shot hit him in the fore part of the thigh, and ranging upward, made it impossible for him to stand upon his feet. "Are you alive!" shouted several of the men, knowing that he was dangerously injured. "Yes, I'm all right," called out their commander cheerfully, but, as he spoke, the fire from several Indians who had crawled up upon the lower end of the island made him lie down close to the gravelly soil. Three of the plainsmen saw the flash of one of the rifles from the centre of a little bush, and, taking accurate aim, sent a bullet crashing into the skull of the Indian brave. A wild, half-smothered shriek welled up from the sagebrush, showing that another redskin had gone to the land of the hereafter.
But Forsyth was now struck again, the bullet shattering his leg bone about midway between the knee and the ankle. A few moments later he rashly exposed his head, and one of the Sioux riflemen immediately drew a bead upon it and sent a bullet through the top of his soft felt hat, which fortunately had a high crown, so it glanced off, ripped through the skin of his head and fractured his skull. In spite of these grievous wounds, the brave soldier kept both his nerve and his courage, and, seizing a rifle, took a shot at some Indians who dashed up on horseback within rifle range. The Doctor, who had been closely watching them, took a quick shot at the foremost, and, as he dropped from his pony's back, cried out: "That rascally redskin will not trouble us again." Immediately afterwards a dull thud told Forsyth that someone near by had been hit, and, turning around, he saw the Doctor fall upon the sand, saying: "I'm done for this time." A bullet had entered his forehead just above the eye, and the wound was a mortal one. He never spoke another rational word, and lingered for three days before dying.
At this moment, trotting up the bed of the river, appeared the wild cavalry of Roman Nose, five hundred in all, and in about eight ranks of sixty front, extended order. Before them all, upon a magnificent chestnut horse, rode Roman Nose himself; his Springfield rifle grasped in his right hand, and naked, save for his war-bonnet, silken scarf, moccasins and cartridge belt. A bugle rang out from somewhere in their midst, a bugle which had been either captured or stolen from the whites, and which some renegade, or half-breed, knew how to use; and to the shrilling note of this instrument, the savage horde came on.
From the hair of the Indians fluttered eagle feathers and plumes of the white herons, which are sometimes seen along the rivers of the great West. Their faces were painted black, with red and yellow stripes running horizontally. They were naked, save for moccasins and cartridge belts; while each held a rifle in his hand, and had a tomahawk and knife stuck into his belt, for close, hand-to-hand work. Their ponies were of every color, shade, and description, but were fat and in good condition, for the bunch grass was plentiful in the country watered by the branches of the Republican. Some had lariats of buffalo thongs wound around them, while each was held by a single strand looped around the under lip. Roman Nose was about five paces in front of the centre of the line, while slightly in advance of the left of the oncoming column was the medicine man, an equally brave, but older chieftain. Savage cries of encouragement sounded from the bluffs, where the women and children were standing by thousands, to watch the annihilation of the whites, and, as they echoed across the rolling prairie, Roman Nose waved his hand to them assuringly. Then turning towards the breastworks upon the island, he shook his clinched fist in savage defiance at the enemies of his country, and raising himself to his full height, struck the palm of his hand across his mouth as he uttered a wild, piercing battle cry. Each warrior answered it; even those lying in ambush near the river's edge took up the blood-curdling slogan.
When Wellington saw Ney's cuirassiers debouching from the huts upon the hill of La Belle Alliance, he gave the order to form in hollow squares, and said: "Reserve your fire until you can do damage, and make every shot count. Never give in to the cavalry, lads. What will they think of this in England?" With cool, Anglo-Saxon courage the men of the North met the furious charge of the soldiers of France without wincing. Eight attacks failed to break the devoted squares at Waterloo. It was this that saved the day for England and her allies. Here, thousands of miles away, were men of the same birth and breeding as those who stemmed the onslaught upon the plateau of Mount St. Jean, and, although they were to be charged by enemies that outnumbered them tenfold, they prepared for the fray with the same bulldog determination which actuated the redcoats at Waterloo. "The Indians are going to charge us," called out Lieutenant Beecher. "You are right," was Forsyth's reply. "Let the men get ready. Six shots in each rifle magazine, and one in the barrel. Have the revolvers loaded and ready, and never, under any circumstances, fire at the Indians until I give the word of command! We can break their line. Of that I am certain. Only steady, men, steady, and do not waste a single shot!"
As he ceased speaking, the gallant leader propped himself up in his rifle pit, placed his rifle and revolver before him, and calmly waited for the onrush of the followers of Roman Nose. And with a wild, earsplitting yell they came on. A withering fire poured in from the redskins in ambush, so that, for eight or ten seconds it fairly rained bullets. Then came a sudden lull, as the gallant five hundred thundered up the ravine towards the defenders of the island. They came nearer, nearer. Now they were within a hundred yards, and the expressions on their painted faces could be plainly seen. It was the time for action,—a moment which Forsyth fully realized.
Sitting up in his rifle pit as well as he was able, and leaning backwards upon his elbows, the grim and determined officer shouted, "Now!"
Instantly the scouts scrambled to their knees, with their rifles at their shoulders. Each man looked carefully along the barrel of his piece, and then a ringing volley sounded above the wild yelping of the painted followers of Roman Nose: the courageous.
Crash!
On came the red warriors, screeching like a pack of timber wolves in the season of greatest hunger.
Crash!
In the centre of the line, a dozen ponies went down. Their riders fell headlong upon the turf, but the rest did not falter. The Indians were now but sixty yards from the breastworks.
Crash!
The ponies seemed to be falling over one another. In heaps, both redskins and horses lurched headlong into the clear waters of the Arickaree. Shrieks, groans, and savage yelping were mingled with the shrill wails of the women and children who were witness to this, one of the most glorious charges in history.
Crash!
Great gaps began to show in the ranks, as the Indians came within fifty yards of the island of death. On the extreme left the medicine man reeled on his pony's back and fell headlong into the stream, while his followers galloped madly over his prostrate form. Roman Nose, with a loud yell of defiance, swung his Springfield rifle over his head, as he galloped furiously to the edge of the island. He reached the very end of it, when
Crash!
The courageous Indian leader—the Custer of the Cheyennes—staggered and reeled. He toppled over. He went down amidst the thunder of unshod hoofs, and prostrate upon the sand he lay, while his intrepid warriors leaped their foaming horses across his bleeding form. But on, on, they came, while the cool-headed plainsmen took careful and deliberate aim.
Crash!
The Indians were now galloping upon the firm soil of the island. They were within twenty yards of their enemies. They began to stagger. They hesitated. They faltered.
Crash!
The seventh volley of lead swept through their broken ranks, and, throwing themselves upon the off side of their horses, with horrible cries of disappointed rage, the great wave of painted warriors broke, divided, and scattered in every direction. With a ringing cheer, the scouts jumped to their feet, and, seizing their revolvers, poured volley after volley into the retreating and demoralized ranks of the running foe. The great charge of Roman Nose was over; the impetuous warrior lay dead upon the field of battle; and his wild, naked followers, crazed with anger and disappointment, collected in groups, just out of rifle range, and shook their fists vindictively at Forsyth's devoted band; who, again sinking to their rifle pits, made haste to load for the attack which they knew would shortly come. The charge of the five hundred had been as futile as the wild gallop of the six hundred British hussars at Balaklava.
This was not all of the battle, but it was all of Roman Nose. Twice again the Indians attempted to charge the island, but they were easily driven away. Two scouts, meanwhile, had crawled through their lines from Forsyth's command, had successfully escaped the watchful eyes of the Indians, and carried news of the desperate situation to the United States troops at Fort Wallace, Kansas, some hundred miles away. Colonel Carpenter, with seventy men of the Tenth Cavalry, seventeen scouts, and an ambulance, immediately marched to the rescue of the gallant Rough Riders. On the morning of the ninth day of the siege of the island, one of the weary men on watch suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting:
"There are moving men on the hills." Everyone who was strong enough, and not sufficiently starved out from eating mule and horse meat, jumped up in an instant.
"By Heavens! There's an ambulance!" cried Grover, the oldest scout. The Rough Riders of '68 were rescued at last.
When Carpenter's men were looking for the besieged command of Sandy Forsyth, one of the troopers noticed something white in a small valley through which he was scouting. Calling one of his companions to him, they galloped up to it, and found it to be a beautiful wigwam made of freshly tanned, white buffalo skins. As one of them entered, he saw, upon a brush heap, a human figure, wrapped in buffalo robes. Stripping off the covering, his eyes fell upon the body of a splendid specimen of Indian manhood. Over six feet in height, the savage had a stern and royal look, a majestic brow, a firm and placid mouth, a magnificently modelled torso, and limbs like whipcord. Rich garments had clothed him, and heavily ornamented weapons were carefully placed near by. In his breast was a deep, gaping wound from a bullet which had pierced his heart.
"It is Roman Nose," said one of the scouts. "See the face. It is that of a hero."
On the return from the rescue of Forsyth, the men stopped at the lonely tepee in the valley. The arms and equipment were appropriated, as the legitimate spoils of war, but the famed war chief was allowed to sleep on undisturbed. With a regard for his great bravery, the frontiersmen did not move the body of the courageous warrior from its bed of boughs. Thus, alone, unguarded, and unwatched, the remains of the invincible Cheyenne were left to the vultures and lurking gray wolves: the scavengers of the wide, untouched and illimitable plains.