pilgrim trains was mad, and most of them quarreling. Having no organized head, they did not intend to go across the river until they knew that General Mitchell had crossed the river with his soldiers, and had started up. They wanted to feel safe. Major Woods of the Seventh Iowa Cavalry was with us; he was a most active, daring and capable man. I have spoken of him herein before.
The crossing of Platte River in those days with a train was a matter of very serious moment; but we had got used to the theory, and knew how to do it. It was to find a route that was the most firm, and then puddling it by marching one horse back of another until the quicksand became settled; then the road became firmer. The horses sometimes floundered greatly, but that served to settle the road. They were ridden across about ten feet apart.
So the first thing to be done on this occasion was to pick out a road for the crossing of the present train. The action of the water in the river was such that a good crossing today might be a poor one next week if untraveled, and so each crossing was a matter of its own. There was at this time plenty of water in the river at Julesburg.
On this occasion Major Woods started out with his horse to pick out a road across the river. He laid it out in a general way, so that he knew where he had been, and could see his own tracks. Then he came back, and the line of soldiers went over again right after him, and back, and made the road. In the mean time the wagons were ready, and the Major at the head of the wagon train, each wagon about one hundred feet behind the other, started across, with men of the train along the line standing in the water on both sides with whips to keep the horses stepping fast. If a horse should stop he would in course of time sink down in the quicksand, and the object was to have each wagon, one right behind the other, go as fast as the horses could pull it. The wagons started, and it was a roar of yelling from the time the first one went in, during all the afternoon, and well up into the night. The travelers had lanterns, and at night men with lanterns stood in the water on both sides of the track; and the Major kept bossing the job, hour after hour, riding backwards and forwards between the wagons, and once in a while changing his horse.
Along about midnight one of the mule teams got balky, and the mules turned out of the road, and in the effort to get them back the wagon was halted until the mules could be backed again into line, and the result was that the wagon began sinking. The mules were taken out, and succeeding wagons went around the wreck, which was soon down to the bed in the mud. There was no way to stop a wagon alongside of the wreck, and take off its cargo, and Major Woods with some assistance struggled in vain to keep the wagon from sinking faster on one side than the other. In the work, and heroic tugging, which Major Woods did, he strained himself so that he himself had to be taken out of the river and carried over to his tent. The wagon slowly sank until it disappeared from sight in the fathomless sand below. Some of the natives around managed to save and confiscate some few things of the load, such as the bows and cover, meat, the driver's bedding, etc., but the wagon and almost its entire cargo disappeared – went down where it was never recovered or could be found afterwards. In the morning the train was almost all across, with a reported loss of the wagon and two mules which were being led or driven, and which got where they could not be relieved, and sank out of sight. The lost wagon was reported to have been loaded with nails.
Major Woods was put into an ambulance, and I saw no more of him until after we got to Laramie some days afterwards.
When the train was all across, General Mitchell called the drivers together, and the different separate wagon- bosses, and told them that they had got to keep together, stay together, help each other, and fight for each other; that otherwise they were liable to be disbanded, murdered and plundered. He picked out what he thought were the best three wagon-bosses in the lot, and told these people that they must select one of them to be the boss during the trip, and that he would see that the one selected did the right thing, and if not he would put him in the guard- house at Fort Laramie when they passed. This arrangement proved very satisfactory, as the train went on through, presumably in good order, for it never reported any trouble after that. At the mouth of Lodgepole was a great area of flat, grassy land. It was a beautiful place for camp.
Chapter XIX.
A Study of the Pawnees – Their Peculiarities on the March – Their Physique – Their Habitat – The Smoky Hill Route – July 23, 1864 – March up Lodgepole – Camp on Lodgepole – July 24th – Jules Stretch – Well on Summit – Mud Springs – Pawnees Sent Back – Court House Rock
COMING up from Cottonwood Springs I had a very good chance to study the Pawnees. Up as far as Jack Morrow's they kept huddled together, but after we passed that place they began to spread around over the prairies. The Pawnees were one of the capable tribes, and this battalion was the pick of the whole. Major North was a brave, industrious officer, and did his best to keep his Indians in some sort of order and style, but it was almost like trying to command a flock of blackbirds. At Fort Kearney there had been issued to each of these Indians a hat, blouse, and pair of trousers. All the balance they furnished themselves. They rode their own horses, with Indian saddles and bridles. These saddles were shaped like sawbucks, and on the forks were hung their lariats and belongings. They did not care much for hats, and by the time we reached Julesburg there were not many hats left, and most of those were on the tops of their ponies' heads, with holes cut in the top for the ponies' ears to stick out through, and fastened to the bridle. In scouring over the prairie they would race their horses, and if a hat blew off the Indian paid no more attention to it than a bird would in flight, shedding a feather. They were not used to hats, and only those having some rank or authority seemed to desire to hold onto them. In addition to this, most of them from time to time took off their blouses and tied them to their saddles, and above their trousers they had on nothing but their naked, sunburned skin. The slang expression for an Indian out there in those days was 'abbrigoin.' General Mitchell would watch them skirmishing around and would say, 'What in [blankety-blank] do you think those abbri-goins are good for anyhow?' Before we got to Julesburg every Indian had cut the seat out of his cavalry pants, and they were in two sections, held up by an outside belt to the waist. Ever and anon squads of them would take off their two separate trouser-legs and tie them to the saddle, and then the Indian would ride along with nothing on but a breech-clout and moccasins, and he as a soldier was a sight to behold.
When we camped it was generally near the river, and Mr. Abbri-goin went in, not for the purpose of washing, or getting clean, but for the purpose of fun and cooling off. He generally came out as dirty as he went in. The Indian was kept as clean as he was accustomed to get, by abrasion. He wore off the surface dirt. It was attrition, not water, that kept him as clean as he got. The wild Indian if locked up in a room would soon kill himself with his own stench, were he not used to it. Horses could smell him half a mile to the windward, and civilized horses shied at him, sniffed and snorted at him, and tried to run away from him the same as from a buffalo or wild animal. The pioneers did not like the Indian, owing to the latter's unprintable manners and unspeakable habits. Our boys also would go into the river at the end of the days trip, and although the Pawnees were as good in physique as any of the Indians and were picked men, they were not up to our men, who were not picked men. Our men were only the average Iowa farm boys, but in physical appearance they exceeded the Indian. They had heavier shoulders and thighs, and as they were around in the water with the Indians the superiority of the white soldier was manifest. Only one of the Indians was the superior of our company, and he was a very large young Indian about six and a half feet high; he was in fact the only really handsomely shaped Indian in the whole battalion. He resembled the 'Big Mandan' of whom I have spoken, but he was an exception.
Besides all this, our men were the better horsemen, and as a class were better every way. The Indian as an individual was inferior, and as a race was inferior, to the Iowa farm boy, in whatever light it was desirable to consider it. There has been so much of fancy written about the Indian that the truth ought at times be told. The white man has done everything that an Indian can do, and I have seen things done during the Civil War that an Indian could not do, and dare not attempt to do. In physical strength, discipline and heroism the Indian does not compare and is not in the same class with the white man with whom the Indian came in contact. The Indian is not a soldier, and he cannot be made one. He has been tried and found wanting. He is spurty. He lacks the right kind of endurance, pertinacity, mind, and courage. We all got very much disgusted with Mr. Indian before we got through.
The Pawnee Indians are the favorite Indians of many writers of romance, and perhaps they deserve the celebrity. They had better tribal and village organization than most Indians. They held a wide extent of country, and
