everything we could do, although Murphy was taken back to the guard-house, and was carefully watched, and kept digging day after day, he kept half drunk all of the time. How that man managed to get whisky was one of the greatest of puzzles. It seemed that he could absorb it from the air, or suck it up from the sandy and arid plain. Murphy, from being one of the most active and capable young men, became just the opposite. He went to pieces, and finally died in the hospital a total wreck, about eight months after the last date named.
And so it was in the army. The army was a most wonderful school. Many of the men improved from the moment they got into the company; they kept improving, educating one another, and building up right along in physique and in mind. Others who were good men seemed to go wrong, and from bad to worse, until they were of no account whatever. I never could understand it. The army is a great school and builds men up, and gives them benefits which they could nowhere else obtain; but to obtain these benefits they have to take unknown chances, and assume the risk of becoming utterly worthless.
About the middle of May, 1864, there came into our camp a strange person. I made no memorandum of it at the time. He was a fellow with hardly any clothes, and was sunburned, tanned, covered with mud and scratches, and made a bad appearance at the Post. Several soldiers gathered around him, and he said his name was John Smith. As everybody who was a fugitive from justice called himself 'John Smith,' we paid but little attention to him. He did not tell his story, but he looked like a man who had been a tramp, and had slept in all kinds of gutters, had been kicked around, and had just awakened from a prolonged spree. My suggestion to him was that he should get out of camp, and move on. He disappeared, but soon thereafter returned and cut much of a figure; further on he will be heard of.
There also came into camp a man who said his true name was Gray, and that he had made hunting an occupation; they called him 'the hunter,' which had been abbreviated finally to the name, 'Hunter.' In a short time he appeared in company with John Smith, who had got washed up, dressed up, and shaved; he was now quite a presentable looking fellow. We told him and Hunter that if they would bring in buffalo, deer-meat or wild turkeys, we would pay for it by the pound, just the same as for beef. They went off hunting, I don't know where, and came in with several horseback-loads of meat, amounting to about $30.
About the time of the full moon in May, 1864, (20th,) it was suggested that we ought to go over to the other side of the island and find the best ford across the North arm of the river. Sam Fitchie, one of the trappers around the Post, and 'Hunter' proffered to guide us, but thought we had better not go until evening, because, as the trapper said, 'We will probably go up towards the head of the island, and there s a lot of beaver and otter up there, and if you never saw them playing it would be a sight which you would enjoy.' We started late in the afternoon, about sundown, and found the river running pretty high. Going up towards the head of the island, there was an old arm of the river which had been obstructed, and we found a great number of places where the beaver had cut down cottonwood trees and made a marsh.
As the hour grew later and the moon was up brightly, the guide took us into a clump of short cottonwoods and willow brush, further up toward the head of the island, where a little thread of the river was running rapidly between banks that were about ten feet high. He cautioned us to be quiet and to get off our horses, tie them, and walk a short distance until we would come to where he said we would find the wild animals playing; and sure enough, there they were. On the bank, down into the river, had been cut sliding-places, and the beaver and otter were crawling up out of the water onto the bank in one place, and, all wet with the water, were sliding down a gap in the bank in another place. The otter were sort of snarling all the time, and the beaver were sputtering away at each other. There were three of the slides running down to the water, and when these animals were coming up out of the water and sliding down as fast as they could make it, they were like a lot of little boys sliding down a hill. They came up at one place through an accessible gap in the bank, and then slid down through the other. The otter would slide down and go under the water and not come up again for twenty or fifty feet, then they would head again for the bank and take another slide. The beavers, as they slid down the bank, kept patting it with their broad, trowel-like tails and as they came down into the water they would sniff, but not go under. Other little animals were soon around, but they were not on the slide. The guide said that they were mink and muskrat. One time a little flock of them all went down in a company in the stream, sporting and playing about. It was a most interesting sight, and we watched it for an hour. We had no desire to interfere with their play, nor did we dare to fire a gun, not knowing but what Indians might be secreted in the neighborhood. The moon shone very brightly, and lit up the stream so that everything could be plainly seen. The sliding was all done on the north bank of the stream across from us. We kept back in the shade of the willow brush, and were not seen. However, all at once, through some cause or other, every animal quickly disappeared, and not a thing of life was visible, although we waited for nearly half an hour. They had evidently gotten acquainted with our presence and had communicated it to one another. 'Hunter' declared that he could see the outline of a big bull elk in the willow brush across the stream opposite us, and tried to point it out to me, but I could not see it. 'Hunter' had many of the Indian superstitions; among others was one that wild animals understood the language and signs of all of the other wild animals, and that if one wild animal or bird gave a note of fear, surprise or warning, all of the others understood it, took notice and acted upon it. 'Hunter' said the bull elk gave us away; at any rate, every living thing suddenly disappeared.
The only result of our ride was that we found that just at that time the north bank of the river at that point was difficult to cross. It seemed that the coming warm spring had melted the snow on the mountains on the North Platte, and the river was running high and full and cold, on the north side of the island.
Chapter XIV.
May 21, 1864 – Joe Jewett and Sharp – Rumors from Turkey Creek – Indian Alarms – Confederate Officers among the Indians – Picketing Cottonwood Canyon – Myself and Ryan – Desertion of Ryan – Jackson and McFarland – Indians Appear – Wagon Captured – Indian Signals – May 25, 1864 – Mitchell Appears – Second Council – The Discussion – The Postponement – O-way-see'-cha Preserves Order
ON MAY 21st two old hunters and stage-drivers, one, a half-breed, called 'Joe Jewett,' and the other, 'Sharp,' came and told us that the combined Cheyennes and Brulйs, down on Turkey Creek, about forty miles southwest of Fort Kearney and about seventy miles southeast of us, were having a fight; that they had surrounded a body of Colorado soldiers, and an Indian runner had said that ten of the soldiers had already been killed; that they were the soldiers who worked the artillery belonging to the detachment; that the artillery was consequently worthless, and that the Indians had surrounded the soldiers to prevent reinforcement, and were trying to starve them out. This information we forwarded to Fort Kearney by wire, but we never got any reply, nor received any orders in regard to our own action; it is probable that the rumor was an exaggerated one, although we prepared affidavits for Joe Jewett and Sharp to sign concerning the whole business, and they swore to the affidavits on information and belief, and we forwarded them. All of the women on the road were immediately sent down to Fort Kearney, which was a safe place, and perhaps none remained upon the road along its line from Kearney to near Denver except Mrs. MacDonald at our Post, and our laundress, 'Linty,' hereinbefore referred to.
The Indian runner was the Indian telegraph of that day. The Indian was given a message. He conned it over and learned it. He delivered it word for word; that was his business and his only aim. If he told a he it was not his lie. It was the lie of the man who sent him. He remembered the message, word for word.
Our understanding was that the Cheyennes and Comanches had been thoroughly aroused by Confederate officers, and there were reports that some bands of Indians, not desiring to join the uprising, had killed some of the Confederate ambassadors. I afterwards remember seeing a report that the Osages had killed eight Confederate officers under like circumstances, in one bunch. At any rate, the Confederate officers had arrayed the Indians against us as far as Kansas and southern Nebraska were concerned, but the Brulйs were principally north of the Platte River. It was about this time that through Mr. Gilman we were informed that an Indian runner had said a Cheyenne chief had been up through the bands of the Brulй Sioux north of the river, showing a sergeant's cavalry jacket, his watch and paraphernalia as trophies, and was instituting war dances. We were told that this would, of course, eventually precipitate the Brulй Sioux upon us. We kept careful guard around our Post to prevent an ambush or surprise. We could be surprised only from one quarter, and that was towards the south. One man could keep view of the country east, west and north of us, but there was nothing to prevent the Indians from biding in the ramifications of Cottonwood Canyon, and making a dash at the Post.
