The men rose to their knees, brought their guns to their shoulders, and poured a volley right into the face of the furious advance. An instant later, with another cartridge in the barrel they delivered a second volley. Horses and men went down in every direction; but, like the magnificent warriors they were, the Indians closed up and came sweeping down. The third volley was poured into them. Still they came. The war songs had ceased by this time, but in undaunted spirit, still pealing his war cry above the crashing of the bullets, at the head of his band, with his magnificent determination unshaken, Roman Nose led such a ride as no Indian ever attempted before or since. And still those quiet, cool men continued to pump bullets into the horde. At the fourth volley the medicine man on the left of the line and the second in command went down. The Indians hesitated at this reverse, but swinging his rifle high in the air in battle frenzy, the great war chief rallied them, and they once more advanced. The fifth volley staggered them still more. Great gaps were opened in their ranks. Horses and men fell dead, but the impetus was so great, and the courage and example of their leader so splendid, that the survivors came on unchecked. The sixth volley did the work. Just as he was about to leap on the island, Roman Nose and his horse were both shot to pieces. The force of the charge, however, was so great that the line was not yet entirely broken. The horsemen were within a few feet of the scouts, when the seventh volley was poured into their very faces. As a gigantic wave meets a sharply jutting rock and is parted, falling harmlessly on either side of it, so was that charge divided, the Indians swinging themselves to the sides of their horses as they swept down the length of the island.

The scouts sprang to their feet at this juncture, and almost at contact range jammed their revolver shots at the disorganized masses. The Indians fled precipitately to the banks on either side, and the yelling of the war chants of the squaws and children changed into wails of anguish and despair, as they marked the death of Roman Nose and the horrible slaughter of his followers.

It was a most magnificent charge, and one which for splendid daring and reckless heroism would have done credit to the best troops of any nation in the world. And magnificently had it been met. Powell’s defense of the corral on Piney Island was a remarkable achievement, but it was not to be compared to the fighting of these scouts on the little open, unprotected heap of sand and gravel in the Arickaree.

As soon as the Indian horsemen withdrew, baffled and furious, a rifle fire opened once more from the banks. Lieutenant Beecher, who had heroically performed his part in the defense, crawled over to Forsyth and said:

“I have my death wound, General. I am shot in the side and dying.”

He said the words quietly and simply, as if his communication was utterly commonplace, then stretched himself out by his wounded commander, lying, like Steerforth, with his face upon his arm.

“No, Beecher, no,” said Forsyth, out of his own anguish; “it can not be as bad as that.”

“Yes,” said the young officer, “good-night.”

There was nothing to be done for him. Forsyth heard him whisper a word or two of his mother, and then delirium supervened. By evening he was dead. In memory of the brave young officer, they called the place where he had died Beecher’s Island.

At two o’clock in the afternoon a second charge of horse was assayed in much the same way as the first had been delivered; but there was no longer a great war chief in command, and this time the Indians broke at one hundred yards from the island. At six o’clock at night they made a final attempt. The whole party, horse and foot, in a solid mass rushed from all sides upon the island. They came forward, yelling and firing, but they were met with so severe a fire from the rifle-pits that, although some of them actually reached the foot of the island, they could not maintain their position, and were driven back with frightful loss. The men on the island deliberately picked off Indian after Indian as they came, so that the dry river bed ran with blood. The place was a very hell to the Indians. They withdrew at last, baffled, crushed, beaten.

With nightfall the men on the island could take account of the situation. Two officers and four men were dead or dying, one officer and eight men were so severely wounded that their condition was critical. Eight men were less severely wounded, making twenty-three casualties out of fifty-one officers and men.^[34] There were no rations, but thank God there was an abundance of water. They could get it easily by digging in the sandy surface of the island. They could subsist, if necessary, on strips of meat cut from the bodies of the horses. The most serious lack was of medical attention. The doctor lying unconscious, the wounded were forced to get along with the unskilled care of their comrades, and with water, and rags torn from clothing for dressings. Little could be done for them. The day had been frightfully hot, but, fortunately, a heavy rain fell in the night, which somewhat refreshed them. The rifle-pits were deepened and made continuous by piling saddles and equipments, and by further digging in the interspaces.

One of the curious Indian superstitions, which has often served the white man against whom he has fought to good purpose, is that when a man is killed in the dark he must pass all eternity in darkness. Consequently, he rarely ever attacks at night. Forsyth’s party felt reasonably secure from any further attack, therefore, notwithstanding which they kept watch.

IV. The Siege of the Island

As soon as darkness settled down volunteers were called for to carry the news of their predicament to Fort Wallace, one hundred miles away. Every man able to travel offered himself for the perilous journey. Forsyth selected Trudeau and Stillwell. Trudeau was a veteran hunter, Stillwell a youngster only nineteen years of age, although he already gave promise of the fame as a scout which he afterwards acquired. To them he gave the only map he possessed. They were to ask the commander of Fort Wallace to come to his assistance. As soon as the two brave scouts had left, every one realized that a long wait would be entailed upon the little band, if, indeed, it was not overwhelmed meanwhile, before any relieving force could reach the island. And there were grave doubts as to whether, in any event, Trudeau and Stillwell could get through the Indians. It was not a pleasant night they spent, therefore, although they were busy strengthening the defenses, and nobody got any sleep.

Early the next morning the Indians again made their appearance. They had hoped that Forsyth and his men would have endeavored to retreat during the night, in which event they would have followed the trail and speedily annihilated the whole command. But Forsyth was too good a soldier to leave the position he had chosen. During the fighting of the day before he had asked Grover his opinion as to whether the Indians could deliver any more formidable attack than the one which had resulted in the death of Roman Nose, and Grover, who had had large experience, assured him that they had done the best they could, and indeed better than he or any other scout had ever seen or heard of in any Indian warfare. Forsyth was satisfied, therefore, that they could maintain the position, at least until they starved.

The Indians were quickly apprised, by a volley which killed at least one man, that the defenders of the island were still there. The place was closely invested, and although the Indians made several attempts to approach it under a white flag, they were forced back by the accurate fire of the scouts, and compelled to keep their distance. It was very hot. The sufferings of the wounded were something frightful. The Indians were having troubles of their own, too. All night and all day the defenders could hear the beating of the tom-toms or drums and the mournful death songs and wails of the women over the bodies of the slain, all but three of whom had been removed during the night.^[35] These three were lying so near the rifle-pits that the Indians did not dare to approach near enough to get them. The three dead men had actually gained the shore of the island before they had been killed.

The command on the island had plenty to eat, such as it was. There was horse and mule meat in abundance. They ate it raw, when they got hungry enough. Water was plentiful. All they had to do was to dig the rifle-pits a little deeper, and it came forth in great quantities. It was weary waiting, but there was nothing else to do. They dared not relax their vigilance a moment. The next night, the second, Forsyth despatched two more scouts, fearing the first two might not have got through, thus seeking to “make assurance double sure.” This pair was not so successful as the first. They came back about three o’clock in the morning, having been unable to pass the Indians, for every outlet was heavily guarded.

The third day the Indian women and children were observed withdrawing from the vicinity. This cheered the men greatly, as it was a sign that the Indians intended to abandon the siege. The warriors still remained, however, and any incautious exposure was a signal for a volley. That night two more men were despatched with an urgent appeal, and these two succeeded in getting through. They bore this message:

I sent you two messengers on the night of the 17th inst., informing you of my critical condition. I tried to send two more last night, but they did not succeed in passing the Indian pickets, and returned. If the others have not arrived, then hasten at once to my assistance. I have eight badly wounded and ten slightly wounded men to take in.... Lieutenant Beecher is dead, and Acting Assistant Surgeon Mooers probably cannot live the night out. He was hit in the head Thursday, and has spoken but one rational word since. I am wounded in two places—in the right thigh, and my left leg is broken below the knee....

I am on a little island, and have still plenty of ammunition left. We are living on mule and horse meat, and are entirely out of rations. If it was not for so many wounded, I would come in, and take the chances of whipping them if attacked. They are evidently sick of their bargain.... I can hold out for six days longer if absolutely necessary, but please lose no time.

P.S.—My surgeon having been mortally wounded, none of my wounded have had their wounds dressed yet, so please bring out a surgeon with you.”

The fourth day passed like the preceding, the squaws all gone, the Indians still watchful. The wound in Forsyth’s leg had become excruciatingly painful, and he begged some of the men to cut out the bullet. But they discovered that it had lodged near the femoral artery, and fearful lest they should cut the artery and the young commander should bleed to death, they positively refused. In desperation, Forsyth cut it out himself. He had his razor in his saddle bags and, while two men pressed the flesh back, he performed the operation successfully, to his immediate relief.

The fifth day the mule and horse meat became putrid and therefore unfit to eat. An unlucky coyote wandered over to the island, however, and one of the men was fortunate enough to shoot him. Small though he was, he was a welcome addition to their larder, for he was fresh. There was but little skirmishing on the fifth day, and the place appeared to be deserted. Forsyth had half a dozen of his men raise him on a blanket above the level of the rifle beds so that he might survey the scene himself. Not all the Indians were gone, for a sudden fusillade burst out from the bank. One of the men let go the corner of the blanket which he held while the others were easing Forsyth down, and he fell upon his wounded leg with so much force that the bone protruded through the flesh. He records that he used some severe language to that scout.

On the sixth day Forsyth assembled his men about him, and told them that those who were well enough to leave the island would better do so and make for Fort Wallace; that it was more than possible that none of the messengers had succeeded in getting through; that the men had stood by him heroically, and that they would all starve to death where they were unless relief should come; and that they were entitled to a chance for their lives. He believed the Indians, who had at last disappeared, had received such a severe lesson that they would not attack again, and that if the men were circumspect they could get through to Fort Wallace in safety. The wounded, including himself, must be left to take care of themselves and take the chances of escape from the island.

The proposition was received in surprised silence for a few moments, and then there was a simultaneous shout of refusal from every man: “Never! We’ll stand by you.” McCall, the first sergeant and Forsyth’s right-hand man since Beecher had been killed, shouted out emphatically: “We’ve fought together, and, by Heaven, if need be, we’ll die together.”

They could not carry the wounded; they would not abandon them. Remember these men were not regular soldiers. They were simply a company of scouts, more or less loosely bound together, but, as McCall had pointed out, they were tied to one another by something stronger than discipline. Not a man left the island, although it would have been easy for the unwounded to do so, and possibly they might have escaped in safety.

For two more days they stood it out. There was no fighting during this time, but the presence of an Indian vedette indicated that they were under observation. They gathered some wild plums and made some jelly for the wounded; but no game came their way, and there was little for them to do but draw in their belts a little tighter and go hungry, or, better, go hungrier. On the morning of the ninth day, one of the men on watch suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting:

“There are moving men on the hills.” Everybody who could stand was up in an instant, and Grover, the keen-eyed scout, shouted triumphantly:

“By the God above us, there’s an ambulance!” They were rescued at last.

Note.—The serial publication of this article called forth another version of this affair, differing from it in some non-essential features, which was written by Mr. Herbert Myrick, and published serially. Mr. Myrick accounts for the “mysterious voice” which the scouts heard saying in English, “There goes the last of their horses anyway,” by disclosing the interesting fact that there were two renegade white men among the Indians. One of them was called “Nibsi” or “Black Jack,” a notorious desperado, who was afterwards hung for murder. The other was Jack Clybor, once a trooper of the Seventh Cavalry. Having been shot and left for dead in an engagement, the Indians captured him, nursed him back to life, adopted him, and named him “Comanche.” He was a singular compound of good and evil, and became as notorious for his good deeds as for his bad acts. Mr. Myrick has been collecting a mass of unknown and unpublished Western material for many years, which when published will undoubtedly clear up many mysteries, throw light upon many disputed questions, and prove of the deepest interest as well.

I. The Adventures of the Scouts

Trudeau and Stillwell, the first pair of scouts despatched by Forsyth with the story of his desperate situation on Beecher’s Island, left their commander about midnight on the evening of the first day of the attack. The Indians had withdrawn from the immediate vicinity of the river and were resting quietly in the camps on either side, although there were a number of warriors watching the island. The men bade a hasty good-by to their comrades, received their captain’s final instructions, and with beating hearts stole away on their desperate errand.

They neglected no precaution that experience could dictate. They even took off their boots, tied them together by the straps, slung them around their necks, and walked backward down the bed of the river in their stocking feet, so that, if the Indians by any chance stumbled upon their trail the next morning, it would appear to have been made by moccasined feet and perhaps escape attention, especially as the tracks would point toward the island instead of away from it. Further to disguise themselves, they wrapped themselves in blankets, which they endeavored to wear as the Indians did.

They proceeded with the most fearsome caution. Such was the circumspection with which they moved and the care necessary because of the watchfulness of the foe, who might be heard from time to time moving about on the banks, that by daylight they had progressed but two miles. During most of the time after leaving the river bed they had crawled on their hands and knees. Before sunrise they were forced to seek such concealment as they could find in a washout, a dry ravine, within sight and sound of the Indian camps. Providence certainly protected them, for if any of the Indians had happened to wander in their direction there was nothing to prevent their discovery; and if the savages had stumbled upon their hiding-place it would have been all up with them. Death by torture would have been inevitable if they were taken alive, and the only way to prevent that would be suicide. They had determined upon that. They had pledged each other to fight until the last cartridge, and to save that for themselves. They had nothing to eat and nothing to drink. The sun beat down upon them fiercely all the long day. After their experience of the one before, it was a day calculated to break down the strongest of men. They bore up under the strain, however, as best they could, and when darkness came they started out once more.

This night there was no necessity for so much caution and they made better progress, although they saw and successfully avoided several parties of Indians. When the day broke they were forced to conceal themselves again. The country was covered with wandering war parties, and it was not yet safe to travel by daylight. This day they hid themselves under the high banks of a river. Again they were fortunate in remaining unobserved, although several times bands of warriors passed near them. They traveled all the third night, making great progress. Morning found them on an open plain with no place to hide in but a buffalo wallow—a dry alkali mud-hole which had been much frequented in the wet season by buffalo—which afforded scanty cover at best.

During this day a large party of scouting Indians halted within one hundred feet of the wallow. Simultaneously with their arrival a wandering rattlesnake made his appearance in front of the two scouts, who were hugging the earth and expecting every minute to be discovered. The rattlesnake in his way was as deadly as the Indians. The scouts could have killed him easily had it not been for the proximity of the Cheyennes. To make the slightest movement would call attention to their hiding-place. Indeed, the sinister rattle of the venomous snake before he struck would probably attract the notice of the alert Indians. Between the savage reptile and the savage men the scouts were in a frightful predicament, which young Stillwell, a lad of amazing resourcefulness, instantly and effectually solved. He was chewing tobacco at the time, and as the snake drew near him and made ready to strike, he completely routed him by spitting tobacco juice in his mouth and eyes and all over his head. The rattlesnake fled; he could not stand such a dose. The Indians presently moved on, having noticed nothing, and so ended perhaps the most terrible half hour the two men had ever experienced.

They started early on the evening of the fourth night, and this time made remarkable progress. Toward morning, however, Trudeau all but broke down. The brunt of the whole adventure thereupon fell on Stillwell. He encouraged his older companion, helped him along as best he could, and finally, late at night, they reached Fort Wallace and told their tale. Instantly all was excitement in the post. Captain and Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel Louis H. Carpenter, with seventy men of Troop H, of the Tenth Cavalry (a negro regiment), with Lieutenants Banzhaf and Orleman, Doctor Fitzgerald and seventeen scouts, with thirteen wagons and an ambulance, had been sent out from the post the day before with orders to make a camp on the Denver road, about sixty miles from the fort. From there he was to scout in every direction, keep off the Indians, and protect trains.

At eleven o’clock at night a courier was despatched to Carpenter with the following order:

The Commanding Officer directs you to proceed at once to a point on the “Dry Fork of the Republican,” about seventy-five or eighty miles north, northwest from this point, thirty or forty miles west by a little south from the forks of the Republic, with all possible despatch.

Two scouts from Colonel Forsyth’s command arrived here this evening and bring word that he (Forsyth) was attacked on the morning of Thursday last by an overwhelming force of Indians (700), who killed all the animals, broke Colonel Forsyth’s left leg with a rifle ball, severely wounding him in the groin, wounded Doctor Mooers in the head, and wounded Lieutenant Beecher in several places. His back is supposed to be broken. Two men of the command were killed and eighteen or twenty wounded.

The men bringing the word crawled on hands and knees two miles, and then traveled only by night on account of the Indians, whom they saw daily.

Forsyth’s men were intrenched in the dry bed of the creek with a well in the trench, but had only horse-flesh to eat and only sixty rounds of ammunition.

General Sheridan orders that the greatest despatch be used and every means employed to succor Forsyth at once. Colonel Bradley with six companies is now supposed by General Sheridan to be at the forks of the Republic.

Colonel Bankhead will leave here in one hour with one hundred men and two mountain howitzers.

Bring all your scouts with you.

Order Doctor Fitzgerald at once to this post, to replace Doctor Turner, who accompanies Colonel Bankhead for the purpose of dressing the wounded of Forsyth’s party.

I am, Colonel, very respectfully your obedient servant,

One hour afterward Bankhead himself, with one hundred men and two howitzers and the surgeon, started for the relief of Forsyth. With Bankhead went the undaunted Stillwell as guide. Trudeau had suffered so much during the perilous journey that he was unable to accompany the relief party, and he soon afterward died from the hardships and excitement of the horrible days he had passed through.

II. The Rescue of Forsyth

Carpenter had bivouacked on the evening of the 22d of September at Cheyenne Wells, about thirty-five miles from Fort Wallace. He had broken camp early in the morning and had marched some ten miles, when, from a high point on a divide he had reached, which permitted a full view of the Rocky Mountains from Pike’s to Long’s Peaks, he observed a horseman galloping frantically toward them. He was the courier despatched by Colonel Bankhead. Carpenter was a splendid soldier. He had received no less than four brevets for gallantry during the Civil War. He had been on Sheridan’s staff with Forsyth, and the two were bosom friends. No task could have been more congenial to him than this attempt at rescue.

He communicated the situation of their white comrades to his black troopers, and their officers crowded close about him. The orders were received with exultant cheers. The regiment had been raised since the war, and had not yet had a chance to prove its mettle. There were no veterans among them, and Carpenter and the other officers had been obliged to build the regiment from the ground up. Now was an opportunity to show what they could do. Carpenter had been trained to obey orders to the letter. In this instance he determined to disobey the command regarding Doctor Fitzgerald. It appeared to him that Bankhead had little hope that he (Carpenter) would find Forsyth, for he had sent him no guide; but Carpenter perceived that if he did find Forsyth—and he intended to find him—the conditions would be such that the services of a physician would be vitally necessary. He therefore retained the doctor. He also retained the wagon train, having no other way of carrying necessary supplies. For one reason, if he had detached a guard for the train, it would have weakened his force so greatly as to have made it inadequate to the enterprise. The mules were strong and fresh, and he decided to keep the wagons with him. The pace was to be a fast one, and he instructed the wagon masters that, if any of the mule teams gave out, they should be shot and, if necessary, the wagon should be abandoned.

There was no one in his command, he found, who had ever been in that territory. Indeed, it is probable that, save Forsyth’s men, no white men had ever penetrated that section of the country before. The map that Carpenter had was very defective. He studied over the matter a few moments, and then led his command toward the place where he supposed Forsyth to be. They advanced at a fast trot, with intervals of walking, and when they camped at night near some water holes they had covered nearly forty-five miles. The mules, under the indefatigable and profane stimulus of their drivers, had kept up with the rest. As soon as it was dawn the next day they started once more, and, after a twenty-mile ride, arrived at the dry bed of a river.

Whether this was the fork of the Republican, on which Forsyth was besieged, no one could tell. It happens that the Republican has three forks—a north fork, the Arickaree, and the south or dry fork. Carpenter was afraid to leave the fork he had found without satisfying himself that Forsyth was not there, so he concluded to scout up the river for some fifteen or eighteen miles. Finding nothing, he then turned northward again until he came to a stream flowing through a wide, grass-covered valley surrounded by high hills. As they entered the valley they came across a very large, fresh Indian trail. The scouts estimated that at least two thousand ponies had passed along the trail within a few hours. Various other signs showed a large village had moved down the trail.

They had traveled over forty miles this second day, and were apprehensive that the Indians, being so close to them, might attack them. It was nearly evening. A spot well adapted for defense was chosen near the water, the wagons were corralled, and preparations made for a stout resistance in case of an attack. While the men were making camp, Carpenter with a small escort rode to the top of one of the high hills bordering the valley. He could see for miles, but discovered no Indians nor any other living object in any direction. In front of them, however, on the top of another hill, were a number of scaffolds, each one bearing a human body. The Cheyenne method of burial was instantly recognized. A nearer look developed that the scaffolds had been recently erected. Five of them were examined, and in each case the body contained was that of a Cheyenne warrior, who had been killed by a gunshot wound. This was proof positive that they were some of the Indians who had been fighting against Forsyth.

While this was going on, one of the troopers noticed something white in a ravine on the opposite side of the valley. They galloped over to it, and found it to be an elaborate and beautiful tepee or wigwam, made out of freshly tanned white buffalo skins. The colonel dismounted, opened the tepee, and entered. There, upon a brush heap, lay a human figure wrapped in buffalo robes. When the robes were taken away the body of a splendid specimen of Indian manhood was disclosed. “He lay like a warrior taking his rest, with his martial cloak around him.” His stern and royal look, the iron majesty of his features, even though composed in death, revealed at once a native chieftain. In his breast was a great, gaping wound, which had pierced his heart. He lay in his war-gear, with his weapons and other personal property close at hand.

After the examination they recovered him and left him undisturbed. Then they went back to the camp. The corral was watchfully guarded during the night, but no one appeared to molest them. It was decided to follow the Indian trail at daylight, as it would probably lead to the site of Forsyth’s fight. Early the next morning, while they were packing up, they saw some horsemen coming over the hills to the south of them. They were white men, led by a scout named Donovan. Two more men had been despatched by Forsyth from the island on the third night of the siege, and being unobserved by the Indians, they had made their way to Fort Wallace. When they arrived there they found that Colonel Bankhead had already gone; whereupon Donovan had assembled five bold spirits and had immediately started out on the return journey. Fortunately for Carpenter, Donovan had struck the latter’s trail, and had followed it to the camp.

Carpenter thereupon took thirty of his best mounted troopers and the ambulance loaded with hardtack, coffee, and bacon, and set out on a gallop in the direction in which they supposed the island lay. Banzhaf was left in command of the rest, with orders to come on as fast as he could.

Carpenter went forward at a rapid gallop, and after traveling eighteen miles, while it was yet early in the morning, came to a spur of land from which he had a view of the surrounding country for miles. As he checked his horse on the brink, he saw to the right of him a valley through which meandered a narrow silver stream.

In the center of the valley there was an island. From it rose a solitary cottonwood. Men could be seen moving about the place. Donovan recognized it instantly. The horses of the detachment were put to a run, and the whole party galloped down the valley toward the island. The scouts swarmed across the river with cries of joy, and welcomed the soldiers. The faithful mules dragged the ambulance close behind. There was food for everybody. Carpenter was struck with the wolfish look on the faces of the hungry men as they crowded around the ambulance. Later one of them brought him a piece of mule or horse meat which was to have been served for dinner that day, if the rescuers had not appeared. Carpenter could not endure even the odor of it.

Galloping across the river bed, the first to enter the rifle-pits on the island was Carpenter. There, on the ground before him, lay Forsyth. And what do you suppose he was doing? He was reading a novel! Some one had found, in an empty saddle-bag, an old copy of Oliver Twist. Forsyth was afraid to trust himself. He was fearful that he would break down. He did not dare look at Carpenter or express his feelings. Therefore he made a pretense of being absorbed in his book.

The black cavalry had arrived in the very nick of time. Forsyth was in a burning fever. Blood-poisoning had set in, and his wounds were in a frightful condition. Another day and it would have been too late. Everything was gone from him but his indomitable resolution. Many others were in like circumstances. It was well that Carpenter had brought his surgeon with him, for his services were sadly needed. The men were taken off the island, moved half a mile away from the terrible stench arising from the dead animals; the wagon train came up, camps were made, the dead were buried on the island they had immortalized with their valor, and everything possible done for the comfort of the living by their negro comrades.

The doctor wanted to amputate Forsyth’s leg, but he protested, so that the amputation was not performed, and the leg was finally saved to its owner. One of the scouts, named Farley, however, was so desperately wounded that amputation had to be resorted to. The doctor performed the operation, assisted by Carpenter. A military commander in the field has to do a great many things.

The next day Bankhead made his appearance with his detachment. He had marched to the forks of the river and followed the Arickaree fork to the place. He was accompanied by two troops of the Second Cavalry, picked up on the way. He did not find fault with Carpenter for his disobedience in retaining Doctor Fitzgerald. On the contrary, such was his delight at the rescue that he fairly hugged his gallant subordinate.

As soon as it was possible, the survivors were taken back to Fort Wallace. Forsyth and the more severely wounded were carried in the ambulance. It took four days to reach the fort. Their progress was one long torture, in spite of every care that could be bestowed upon them. There was no road, and while the drivers chose the best spots on the prairie, there was, nevertheless, an awful amount of jolting and bumping.

Forsyth was brevetted a brigadier-general in the Regular Army for his conduct in this action. This was some compensation for two years of subsequent suffering until his wounds finally healed.

III. The End of Roman Nose

On the way back the men stopped at the white tepee in the lonely valley. Grover and McCall rode over to the spot with the officers and examined the body of the chieftain. They instantly identified him as Roman Nose. With a touch of sentiment unusual in frontiersmen they respected his grave, and for the sake of his valor allowed him to sleep on undisturbed. His arms and equipments, however, were considered legitimate spoils of war, and were taken from him. It was a sad end, indeed, to all his splendid courage and glorious defiance of his white foemen.

The loss of the Indians in the several attacks was never definitely ascertained. They admitted to seventy-five killed outright and over two hundred seriously wounded, but it is certain that their total losses were much greater. The fighting was of the closest and fiercest description, and the Indians were under the fire of one of the most expert bodies of marksmen on the plains at half pistol-shot distance in the unique and celebrated battle. The whole action is almost unparalleled in the history of our Indian wars, both for the thrilling and gallant cavalry charge of the Indians and the desperate valor of Forsyth and his scouts.

IV. A Few Words About Forsyth’s Men

The heroism and pluck of the men in the fight had been quite up to the mark set by their captain. A man named Farley had fought through the action with a severe bullet wound in the shoulder, which he never mentioned until nightfall; his father was mortally wounded, but he lay on his side and fought through the whole of the long first day until he died. Another man named Harrington was struck in the forehead by an arrow. He pulled out the shaft, but the head remained imbedded in the bone. An Indian bullet struck him a glancing blow in the forehead and neatly extricated the arrow—rough surgery, to be sure, but it served. Harrington tied a rag around his head, and kept his place during the whole three days of fighting.

When they first reached the island one of the men cried out, “Don’t let’s stay here and be shot down like dogs! Will any man try for the opposite bank with me?” Forsyth, revolver in hand, stopped that effort by threatening to shoot any man who attempted to leave the island. In all the party there was but one coward. In looks and demeanor he was the most promising of the company—a splendid specimen of manhood apparently. To everybody’s surprise, after one shot he hugged the earth in his rifle-pit and positively refused to do anything, in spite of orders, pleadings, jeers, and curses. He left the troop immediately on its arrival at Fort Wallace.

Per contra, one of the bravest, where all but one were heroes, was a little, eighteen-year old Jewish boy, who had begged to be enlisted and allowed to go along. He had been the butt of the command, yet he proved himself a very paladin of courage and efficiency when the fighting began.^[36]

One of the last acts of the recent Congress was the setting apart of one hundred and twenty acres of land in Yuma County, Colorado, as a national park. This reservation forever preserves Forsyth’s battlefield and the vicinity from settlement. On the edge of the river bank, on what was once Beecher’s Island, which the shifting river has now joined to the bank, is a wooden monument to Beecher and the other scouts who were buried somewhere in those shifting sands.^[37]

The few survivors of the battle have formed themselves into an association which holds an annual reunion on the battlefield. Soon there will be none of them left. Would it not be a graceful act for some one who honors courage, manliness, and devotion to duty to erect a more enduring monument to the memory of Beecher and his comrades than the perishable wooden shaft which now inadequately serves to call attention to their sacrifice and their valor?

Note.—The following interesting communication slightly modifies one of the statements in the above article. It certainly shows prompt decision upon the part of Lieutenant Johnson, who was left in command of the post after Bankhead’s departure.