in my headquarters, not knowing whether they would attempt anything further or not, but determined to stay wide awake until morning.
After about an hour, say about three o'clock, one of the sergeants came in to me and said, 'Those men who came back agreed among themselves, that they would come back, that then they would start out again, so you are liable to have a repetition before morning.' I went out to the barracks, and I found them all awake. Everybody was sitting up, and the performances of the evening were being discussed. And I went in with my two revolvers buckled on, and told them that if anybody now started out to commit any depredation that they would know that I ordered them to stay in the barracks, and if anything was done I would have the offender court-martialed, and shot; that I thought I would have sufficient influence with the General commanding to have a man who would willfully disobey an order of that kind, shot, providing I couldn't do it myself, and that I would stay around until morning to see that no depredations were committed. I further said that I expected the support of all the honest and loyal soldiers in the company; that whisky was at the bottom of it all, and I thought perhaps by this time the effects of it had been worn off, and that I wanted all the members of the company to return to their duties and obligations; that we were soon going to have an Indian campaign, and I wanted my company to distinguish itself, and I did not want them to have a reputation in advance which would not commend it to the good wishes of the commanding officers of the district.
Matters finally sort of died down, but I went out to talk with the sentinels myself every thirty minutes, and when morning came the thing was a memory. But the occasion and circumstance of my being out on that wild prairie that black night has always been a weird recollection. Before thirty days were over many of the men were in their graves. The two ranchmen disappeared. I tried to get them, but failed by reason of their timely flight.
A word here in extenuation of the conduct of my men. The two ranchmen ought to have been killed. I tried to get them next morning so as to put them under guard, and do something with them, but they had fled. My men under the influence of such vile whisky felt like doing anything. The men only got into those conditions spasmodically and at long intervals. They always meant well and never dodged work, exposure, or danger. As a whole they were a likeable lot, and their transgressions were as few as their service was hard, lonesome and bitter. I pretended never to know who were in this trouble and I never had any with the company afterwards. It grieved me at the time, but I soon got over it, and forgot it.
Having told about my pony on the evening alluded to, it occurs to me that I ought to say something about that pony. Sometime during November the young man, a citizen, whom I had been employing to take care of my horses, and whose position was that of an 'orderly,' as it was called, desired to go back to the 'States.' While waiting for a train and a proper occasion, he communicated his intention to me, and a young fellow about nineteen came and applied for his job. He did not have much to say. I asked him if he was acquainted with the care of horses, and he said that he was. Then I asked him if he could stand the climate, and the disagreeable conditions of military service, and he said he thought he could; and I employed him. The Government issued rations to an orderly and the two horses that a lieutenant had. I paid an orderly $20 a month, and he got his rations from the Government, and all he had to do was to provide his own clothes and do the work.
I always rode my black horse 'Old Bill,' and I turned over to my new orderly the other one, which had got into bad condition, and told him to bring the horse up to a better efficiency. My orderly went to work, and was a very satisfactory boy, quite taciturn, saying nothing, but keeping busy all the time, and I formed a good opinion of him, and so did those around me. He never said anything, however, to me, and was very silent, and lonesome. One day when there was quite a congregation of pilgrims going down the road he came to me and told me that he could trade my sorrel horse for a mighty good Indian pony, provided I could pay a little to boot, and I concluded to see what the trade might be. I told him to bring the man in, and he came. He was a strange-looking, impudent fellow, with a mustache like a cat's. He had about six bristles on each side that stuck out straight. He said that he wanted to go back to the 'States,' and he wanted a horse to ride, and he wanted $25 to pay his expenses. He said that he had been trading with the Arapahoe Indians, and that the pony which he offered to trade to me was the best war pony in the Arapahoe nation. He had got the pony, trained it, and it could run well and trot well, and could endure any amount of trial and tribulation that might be required of it. I took a look at the pony. It was jet black all over, with a roached mane. As it compared exactly in color with 'Old Bill,' I concluded to swap horses, and pay the man $25, and he went off on down the road.
At the same time that my orderly was employed, a young man named Pierce joined the company. I will speak of him further on. He and my orderly seemed to have been sort of chums at the time.
Concerning the black pony, I may say that it turned out to be one of the finest animals I ever saw. It was as fleet as the wind. It could run all day, and was the most useful little animal imaginable. It had always been a pet, and had a disposition like a Newfoundland dog. I became very much attached to it, and it would follow me around, come at call, was very bridle-wise, and never got ugly. I may anticipate my story a little bit by saying that I kept him until after I got to Fort Leavenworth, and an officer of the regular army got attached to him, and persuaded me to let him have the pony for $400.
Returning to my new 'orderly,' who afterwards turned out pretty bad, as we will see, and whose name I will withhold, I found him one day talking Sioux to Elston, the guide. I asked Elston if the boy was talking Indian, and Elston said, 'Yes, and he talks it just like an Injun.' I thereupon called the boy up, and asked him if he spoke Indian, and he said, yes; and I asked him how that came. And he said that when he was a boy between eight and nine, his parents, who were from Blandinsville, Illinois, were crossing the plains with a party and were murdered. And that he was carried off by the Indians and was raised among them, and had been with them about ten years. I then asked him how it came that he turned up in our camp. And he said that he had got acquainted with the two white women, Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Larimer, who were captured by the Sioux shortly before we went up to Fort Laramie, and that one of them had advised him to run away and get back to the white people. And that, being out with a party of Indians, he had run away from them, and had come into the camp at Laramie, and had come down with some people to Julesburg, and was going on, when he heard about a place as orderly, with the soldiers, and he thought he would be safe, have a better time, and that was how he came with me. His story was probably true. Upon inquiry be told us all about the two ladies above referred to, and about his own wanderings among the Sioux, and he answered questions frankly, and to the best of his ability. But the reason that he was so taciturn was that he had about forgotten his own language, and could only express himself with difficulty, but he picked it up again very rapidly, so that by the time he had been with us a few months he had got a good deal of it back. The real reason why he had been so taciturn was that he couldn't talk. He afterwards had a great deal to say about the Indians, and their habits. He had been adopted into the tribe, and had an inclination to stay, but one of the ladies referred to had told him that he was likely at any time to be killed, and after some reluctance he had made up his mind to leave the tribe. He was very tanned and sunburned, and in a blanket would have about passed for an Indian in color.
During December I got a pair of cavalry boots which I ordered from Omaha. It shows something in regard to the deterioration of money, and the price of things, when I say that those boots cost me $18. In normal times, on gold basis, they would have cost $5.
I also bought from one of the traveling outfits going west a twenty-pound keg of butter for $20 and a twenty- pound can of lard for $10, the prices being $1 and $0.50, respectively, per pound.
Concerning the relative location of Julesburg, there was some little difficulty as to the question whether Julesburg was in Nebraska or Colorado. For a while we called it Nebraska, but afterwards we were addressed as Julesburg, Colorado, and the post was deemed definitely located in Colorado, which was the correct place. But Fort Laramie was Idaho Territory. It is now in the eastern part of Wyoming, but that part of the country was then called Idaho Territory.
Chapter XXX.
Ben Holladay – Cold Gambling – Summary of Conditions – December 31, 1864 – Colonel Chivington – His Battle with Cheyennes – P. Edward Connor – Territorial Divisions – Troops Employed – Location of Posts – The Escort Lines
DURING December, as stated, Ben Holladay went through going west in a stage-coach, with a man named
