They were having a time of it that evening after supper around their fire, these old comrades in arms. Royall had long served in the Fifth before coming to a field command in the Third, so tonight he and Seamus made welcome their old friends from that cold, empty-handed campaign of the winter of sixty-eight, those battle-tested veterans of the Cheyenne summer of eighteen and sixty-nine. In addition, many of these reunited officers of both the Third and the Fifth had served under Crook during the Apache campaign in Arizona.
Here and there in that circle of laughter, warmth, and camaraderie sat the newsmen hungry for any kernel of a story, along with John Bourke and those officers new to the West eager to hear a retelling of the war stories by Cody and the officers. Eager to hear Buffalo Bill’s own gut-grabbing rendition of his hilarious robbery of a beer wagon, aided and abetted by fellow scouts Wild Bill Hickok and Seamus Donegan in the panhandle country of west Texas that terrible winter campaign when they had served as beaters to drive the hostile Cheyenne toward Custer’s Seventh Cavalry, which ended up catching Black Kettle’s village on the Washita.
What a joyful, heart-brimming reunion this was, Seamus thought as he gazed round at those faces illuminated with the flicker of the fire’s merry light while the stars came out over that Big Horn country. This was one of the few rewards a fighting man could claim after years of service to his country, after one campaign and battle and fight after another—to gather with old friends and swap stories and yarns, tell windies and lies and poke fun at one another here in these last few hours before they once more picked up the yoke and stepped back into harness, getting on with the deadly business of this frontier army and what every last one of them prayed would be the final war with the Sioux.
Before supper that evening Merritt and Carr had joined Crook in the tent the general had turned into a war room. No one else had been allowed into their discussions, not even aides and adjutants. Just the three old warhorses, intent on deciding just what to do and where to go now. Surely they talked about Terry’s two columns sitting things out up there at the Rosebud Landing on the Yellowstone.
Upon finding Carr still leading the Fifth, Seamus once again allowed himself to feel eager instead of anxious. If anyone knew how to chase and fight these wandering nomadic warrior bands, it was the “war eagle,” Eugene A. Carr. Time and again the old soldier had proved that he understood how to take the starch right out of such guerrilla forces. So at that meeting, Donegan felt assured, Carr must certainly have convinced his superiors that the only way to catch up to, much less capture and defeat, the fleeing Sioux and Cheyenne, was to break the cavalry off into smaller, highly mobile battalions, ration those strike forces for many days, and send them off to take up the trail of the slower-moving villages. Surely Carr had argued that in keeping together these two thousand men of the Big Horn and Yellowstone Expedition, even if Crook abandoned his wagons and relied on his mule train, they could never hope to find anything more in their hunt than track soup.
So the very next morning Seamus was just as shocked as most of the line officers to hear Crook explain their plans.
“With General Merritt’s wise counsel, I have decided to organize the expedition as a united column,” the bearded general told that great assembly of subalterns gathered beneath the rattling leaves of the cottonwoods beside upper Goose Creek.* “From Chief Washakie’s scouts, as well as from Grouard’s forays and Reshaw’s trip into the mountains, all the best intelligence I have tells me the enemy village is but two days’ march north of here—still massed in strength.”
Donegan leaned to the side and whispered to Cody, “Shit. The Lakota have skedaddled, heading north by east. They’ve burned the grass on their backtrail.”
As Crook droned on, Bill wagged his head, telling the Irishman, “The way we turned those Cheyenne back at Warbonnet, and the way things looked here when we come in—why, I was feeling damned good about this campaign. But this morning I’m not so sure about things anymore.”
“Something in the pit of my belly tells me this army ain’t ready to catch the Sioux, not just yet, it ain’t,” Donegan replied. “Crook and Terry and all the rest may talk a good game, but it seems to me they’re not ready to do what it takes to beat the Sioux at their own game, Bill.”
“If they want to find the Indians,” Cody said under his breath, “let them send a battalion, which I’m willing to guide myself. I’ll wager any man we’ll have our fill of fighting before we strike the Little Missouri. Crook ain’t going to find any hostiles by hauling this big army about the countryside. No, Irishman, unless they break these units up,” Cody advised, “all Crook will succeed in doing is wearing out his men and breaking down his horses.”
That fourth day of August, Seamus had no way of knowing just how the events of the next five weeks were to prove Bill Cody right.
Crook went on to explain that he was organizing the cavalry as a brigade, under Merritt’s command. Under that umbrella Carr would maintain command of the two battalions of the Fifth itself, with Royall at the head of the three battalions of the Third, as well as the one battalion of the Second.
Seamus looked over to watch the expression on Carr’s face, then whispered to Cody, “There, you see how the old eagle can’t hide his disappointment at that?”
“Sure,” Bill replied. “What do you expect? It wasn’t that long ago that Carr was Royall’s superior. And now Crook’s gone and put Royall over four battalions to Carr’s two.”
Detachments from the three infantry regiments were consolidated into a battalion under the command of Major Alexander Chambers. Medical director for the campaign was to be Dr. Bennett A. Chambers, newly arrived with the Fifth Cavalry. Crook extended Major John V. Furey’s assignment as expedition quartermaster.
“And now for a small change in regard to my scouts,” Crook said, instantly snagging Donegan’s attention. “General Carr’s battalion of the Fifth will maintain the trackers and guides it brought up—with one exception. I am reas signing William F. Cody to headquarters, designating him as chief of scouts for the BH and Y.”
Seamus watched Cody nod to Crook, but over Bill’s shoulder the Irishman saw the uncomfortable disappointment on Eugene Carr’s face turn to an unmasked glower.
“The rest of Frank Grouard’s scouts will remain in their present assignments with the Second and Third, along with the rest of the irregulars, all under the nominal command of Major Stanton. Serving him will be Chief Washakie and Captain Cosgrove in direct command of our Indian auxiliaries, with Captain Randall acting as my liaison with our allies.”
Crook took two more steps forward, so that he stood at the center of that ring of officers. “Gentlemen, it is my intent to capture the Sioux between us and the forces of the Montana and Dakota columns now on the Yellowstone, some one hundred twenty-five miles north of where we are standing. We’ll march north, as I understand Terry is marching south, and together we can crack Sitting Bull’s confederation like a walnut in the jaws of a nutcracker.”
Turning slightly, Crook motioned for his adjutant to step forward. “I’ll have Lieutenant Schuyler read the orders of the march.”
Walter Schuyler, on detached service to Crook from the Fifth Cavalry, held out his sheaf of pages and began to speak. “The command will march at seven A.M., five August, eighteen and seventy-six, ‘prepared for action.’ Each man, officer, and enlisted, packer and civilian volunteer included, is to take along what is on his back and no more. He is allowed one overcoat and one blanket, along with an India-rubber poncho or one half of his shelter tent. No tents will be allowed but one, that provided for the surgeons in their care for what wounded the columns might suffer. Travois poles have been cut and will be brought along for use as litters in transporting our casualties. Four extra horses, not to be packed, will be led by each company. Currycombs and brushes will be left with the wagons.”
Schuyler stopped for a brief moment, his eyes flicking to the general, who only nodded slightly before the young lieutenant continued. “The command will be rationed from this point for fifteen days: half rations of bacon, sugar, coffee, and salt. Full days’ rations of hard bread. There will be no rations of vinegar, soap, pepper, etcetera. Four days’ rations will be carried on each mount, the remaining supplies to be distributed among the packmules. Only pint cups are to be carried by each man. Each mess is to provide one frying pan, one carving knife and fork, one large coffeepot, one large tin platter, one large and two small tin ladles, one sheet-iron mess pan, and all the necessary bags for transporting the sugar, coffee, bacon, and hard bread.”
The lieutenant raised his eyes and cleared his throat. During that pause Crook overheard the murmuring. Holding a hand in the air, the general quieted the grumbling assembly and Schuyler resumed his reading.
“Two hundred fifty rounds of ammunition is to be assigned to every man. One hundred of that will be carried on his person, and the rest distributed among the pack-mules. Lieutenant John W. Bubb will act as chief of commissariat, to work in conjunction with Mr. Moore, who is in command of our train of three hundred ninety-nine mules, which the packers will break down into five divisions, each led by a bell mare. Cavalry commanders are to
