Randall Parrish - Molly McDonald
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Randall Parrish >> Molly McDonald
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"Step forward, Sergeant," he said quietly. "Ah, yes; I had forgotten
your name, but remember your face," he smiled about on the group. "We
have been so scattered since our organization, gentlemen, that we are
all comparative strangers." He stood up, lifting in one hand a tin cup
of coffee. "Gentlemen, all we of the Seventh rejoice in the honor of
the service, whether it be upheld by officer or enlisted man. I bid
you drink a toast with me to Sergeant Hamlin."
"But, General, I have done nothing to deserve--"
"Observe the modesty of a real hero. Yet wait until I am through.
With due regard for his achievements as a soldier, I propose this toast
in commemoration of a greater deed of gallantry than those of arms--the
capture of Miss Molly McDonald!"
There was a quick uplifting of cups, a burst of laughter, and a volley
of questions, the Sergeant staring about motionless, his face flushed.
"What is it, General?"
"Tell us the story!"
"Give us the joke!"
"But I assure you it is no joke. I have it direct from the fair lips
of the lady. Brace yourselves, gentlemen, for the shock. You young
West Pointers lose, and yet the honor remains with the regiment. Miss
Molly McDonald, the toast of old Fort Dodge, whose bright eyes have won
all your hearts, has given hers to Sergeant Hamlin of the Seventh. And
now again, boys, to the honor of the regiment!"
Out of the buzz of conversation and the hearty words of congratulation,
Hamlin emerged bewildered, finding himself again facing Custer, whose
manner had as swiftly changed into the brusque note of command.
"I have met you before, Sergeant," he said slowly, "before your
assignment to the Seventh, I think. I am not sure where; were you in
the Shenandoah?"
"I was, sir."
"At Winchester?"
"I saw you first at Cedar Creek, General Custer; I brought a flag."
"That's it; I have the incident clearly before me now. You were a
lieutenant-colonel?"
"Of the Fourth Texas, sir."
"Exactly; I think I heard later--but never mind that now. Sheridan
remembers you; he even mentioned your name to me a few weeks ago. No
doubt that was what caused me to recognize your face again after all
these years. How long have you been in our service?"
"Ever since the war closed."
For a moment the two men looked into each others' faces, the commander
smiling, the enlisted man at respectful attention.
"I will talk with you at some future time, Sergeant," Custer said at
last, resuming his seat on a log. "Now we shall have to consider the
to-morrow's march. Were you within sight of Black Kettle's camp?"
"No, sir; only of his pony herd out in the valley of the Canadian."
"Where would you suppose the camp situated?"
"Above, behind the bluffs, about the mouth of Buffalo Creek."
Custer drew the map toward him, scrutinizing it carefully.
"You may be right, of course," he commented, his glance on the faces of
the officers, "but this does not agree with the understanding at Camp
Supply, nor the report of our Indian scouts. We supposed Black Kettle
to be farther south on the Washita. How large was the pony herd?"
"We were not near enough to count the animals, sir, but there must have
been two hundred head."
"A large party then, at least. What do you say, Corbin?"
The scout addressed, conspicuous in his buffalo skin coat, leaned
against the tent-pole, his black whiskers moving industriously as he
chewed.
"Wal, Gineral," he said slowly, "I know this yere 'Brick' Hamlin, an'
he 's a right smart plainsman, sojer 'er no sojer. If he says he saw
thet pony herd, then he sure did. Thet means a considerable bunch o'
Injuns thar, er tharabouts. Now I know Black Kettle's outfit is down
on the Washita, so the only conclusion is that this yere band thet the
Sergeant stirred up is some new tribe er other, a-driftin' down frum
the north. I reckon if we ride up ther valley we 'll hit their trail,
an' it 'll lead straight down to them Cheyennes."
Custer took time to consider this explanation, spreading the field map
out on his knees, and measuring the distance between the streams. No
one in the little group spoke, although several leaned forward eagerly.
The chief was not a man to ask advice; he preferred to decide for
himself. Suddenly he straightened up and threw back his head to look
about.
"In my judgment Corbin is right, gentlemen," he said impetuously. "I
had intended crossing here, but instead we will go further up stream.
There is doubtless a ford near Buffalo Creek, and if we can strike an
Indian trail leading to the Washita, we can follow easily by night, or
day, and it is bound to terminate at Black Kettle's camp. Return to
your troops, and be ready to march at daybreak. Major Elliott, you
will take the advance again, at least three hours ahead of the main
column. Move with caution, your flankers well out; both Hamlin and
Corbin will go with you. Are there any questions?"
"Full field equipment?" asked a voice.
"Certainly, although in case of going into action the overcoats will be
discarded. Look over your ammunition carefully to-night."
They filed out of the tent one by one, some of the older officers
pausing a moment to speak with Hamlin, his own captain extending his
hand cordially, with a warm word of commendation. The Sergeant and
Major Elliott alone remained.
"If I strike a fresh trail, General," asked the latter, "am I to press
forward or wait for the main body?"
"Send back a courier at once, but advance cautiously, careful not to
expose yourselves. There is to be no attack except in surprise, and
with full force. This is important, Major, as we are doubtless
outnumbered, ten to one. Was there something else, Sergeant?"
"I was going to ask about Miss McDonald, sir."
"Oh, yes; she is safely on her way to Camp Supply, under ample guard.
The convoy was to stop on the Cimarron, and pick up the frozen soldier
you left there, and if possible, find the bodies of the two dead men."
Long before daylight Elliott's advance camp was under arms, the chilled
and sleepy troopers moving forward through the drifted snow of the
north bank; the wintry wind, sweeping down the valley, stung their
faces and benumbed their bodies. The night had been cold and blustery,
productive of little comfort to either man or beast, but hope of early
action animated the troopers and made them oblivious to hardship.
There was little grumbling in the ranks, and by daybreak the head of
the long column came opposite the opening into the valley wherein
Hamlin had overtaken the fugitives. With Corbin beside him, the
Sergeant spurred his pony aside, but there was little to see; the
bodies of the dead lay as they had fallen, black blotches on the snow,
but there were no fresh trails to show that either Dupont, or any
Indian ally, had returned to the spot.
"That's evidence enough, 'Brick,'" commented the scout, staring about
warily, "that thar wus no permanent camp over thar," waving his hand
toward the crest of the ridge. "Them redskins was on the march, an'
that geezer had ter follow 'em, er else starve ter death. He 'd a bin
back afore this, an' on yer trail with a bunch o' young bucks."
From the top of the ridge they could look down on the toiling column of
cavalrymen below in the bluff shadow, and gaze off over the wide
expanse of valley, through which ran the half-frozen Canadian.
Everywhere stretched the white, wintry desolation.
"Whar wus thet pony herd?"
Hamlin pointed up the valley to the place where the swerve came in the
stream.
"Just below that point; do you see where the wind has swept the ground
bare?"
"Sure they were n't buffalo?"
"They were ponies all right, and herded."
The two men spurred back across the hills, and made report to Elliott.
There was no hesitancy in that officer. The leading squadron was
instantly swung into formation as skirmishers, and sent forward. From
river-bank to crest of bluff they ploughed through the drifts,
overcoats strapped behind and carbines flung forward in readiness for
action, but as they climbed to that topmost ridge, eager, expectant, it
was only to gaze down upon a deserted camp, trampled snow, and
blackened embers of numerous fires. Hamlin was the first to scramble
down the steep bluff, dismount, and drag his trembling horse sliding
after. Behind plunged Corbin and Elliott, anxious to read the signs,
to open the pages of this wilderness book. A glance here and there, a
testing of the blackened embers, a few steps along the broad trail, and
these plainsmen knew the story. The Major straightened up, his hand on
his horse's neck, his eyes sweeping those barren plains to the
southward, and then turned to where his troopers were swarming down the
bluff.
"Corbin," he said sharply, "ride back to General Custer at top speed.
Tell him we have discovered a Cheyenne camp here at the mouth of
Buffalo Creek of not less than a hundred and fifty warriors, deserted,
and not to exceed twenty-four horses. Their trail leads south toward
the Washita. Report that we shall cross the river in pursuit at once,
and keep on cautiously until dark. Take a man with you; no, not
Sergeant Hamlin, I shall need him here."
The scout was off like a shot, riding straight down the valley, a
trooper pounding along behind him. Major Elliott ran his eyes over the
little bunch of cavalrymen.
"Captain Sparling, send two of your men to test the depth or water
there where those Indians crossed. As soon as ascertained we will ford
the river."
CHAPTER XXXVI
READY TO ATTACK
There was a ford but it was rocky and dangerous, and so narrow that
horse after horse slipped aside into the swift current, bearing his
rider with him into the icy water. Comrades hauled the unfortunate
ones forth, and fires were hastily built under shelter of the south
bank. Those who reached the landing dry shared their extra clothing
with those water-soaked, and hot coffee was hastily served to all
alike. Eager as the men were to push forward, more than an hour was
lost in passage, for the stream was bank full, the current rapid and
littered with quantities of floating ice. Some of these ice cakes
startled the struggling horses and inflicted painful wounds, and it was
only by a free use of ropes and lariats that the entire command finally
succeeded in attaining the southern shore. Shivering with the cold,
the troopers again found their saddles and pressed grimly forward on
the trail. Hamlin, with five others, led the way along a beaten track
which had been trampled by the passing herd of Indian ponies and
plainly marked by the trailing poles of numerous wicky-ups.
This led straight away into the south across the valley of the
Canadian, on to the plains beyond. The snow here was a foot deep on a
level, and in places the going was heavy. As they advanced, the
weather moderated somewhat, and the upper crust became soft. Before
them stretched the dreary level of the plains, broken by occasional
ravines and little isolated patches of trees. No sign of Indians was
seen other than the-deserted trail, and confident that the band had had
fully twenty-four hours' start their pursuers advanced as rapidly as
the ground would permit. The very clearness of the trail was evidence
that the Indians had no conception that they were being followed.
Confident of safety in their winter retreat, they were making no effort
to protect their rear, never dreaming there were soldiers within
hundreds of miles. Whatever report Dupont had made, it had awakened no
alarm. Why should it? So far as he knew there were but two men
pursuing him into the wilderness, and both of these he believed lying
dead in the snow.
Steadily, mile after mile, they rode, and it was after dark when the
little column was finally halted beside a stream, where they could
safely hide themselves in a patch of timber. Tiny fires were built
under protection of the steep banks of the creek, and the men made
coffee, and fed their hungry horses. The silence was profound. It was
a dark night, although the surrounding snow plains yielded a spectral
light. Major Elliott, drinking coffee and munching hard-tack with the
troop captain, sent for Sergeant Hamlin.
The latter advanced within the glow of the fire, and saluted.
"We have been gaining on those fellows, Sergeant," the Major began,
"and must be drawing close to the Washita."
"We are travelling faster than they did, sir," was the reply, "because
they had to break trail, and there were some women and children with
them. I have no knowledge of this region, but the creek empties into
the Washita without doubt."
"That would be my judgment. Sparling and I were just talking it over.
I shall wait here until Custer comes up; my force is too small to
attack openly, and my orders are not to bring on an engagement. Custer
has some Osage scouts with him who will know this country."
"But, Major," ventured Hamlin, "if the General follows our trail it
will be hours yet before he can reach here, and then his men will be
completely exhausted."
"He will not follow our trail. He has Corbin and 'California Joe' with
him. They are plainsmen who know their business. He 'll cross the
Canadian, and strike out across the plains to intercept us. In that
way he will have no farther to travel than we have had. In my judgment
we shall not wait here long alone. Have you eaten?"
"No, sir; I have been stationing the guard."
"Then sit down here and share what little we have. We can waive
formality to-night."
It was after nine o'clock when the sentries challenged the advance of
Custer's column, as it stole silently out of the gloom. Ten minutes
later the men were hovering about the fires, absorbing such small
comforts as were possible, while the General and Major Elliott
discussed the situation and planned to push forward. An hour later the
fires were extinguished, the horses quietly saddled, and noiselessly
the tired cavalrymen moved out once more and took up the trail. The
moon had risen, lighting up the desert, and the Osage guides, together
with the two scouts, led the way. At Custer's request Hamlin rode
beside him in lead of the troopers. Not a word was spoken above a
whisper, and strict orders were passed down the line prohibiting the
lighting of a match or the smoking of a pipe. Canteens were muffled
and swords thrust securely under saddle flaps. Like a body of spectres
they moved silently across the snow in the moonlight, cavalry capes
drawn over their heads, the only sound the crunching of horses' hoofs
breaking through the crust.
The trail was as distinct as a road, and the guides pushed ahead as
rapidly as by daylight, yet with ever increasing caution. Suddenly one
of the Osages signalled for a halt, averring that he smelled fire. The
scouts dismounted and crept forward, discovering a small campfire,
deserted but still smouldering, in a strip of timber. Careful
examination made it certain that this fire must have been kindled by
Indian boys, herding ponies during the day, and probably meant that the
village was very close at hand. The Osage guides and the two white
scouts again picked up the trail, the cavalry advancing slowly some
distance behind. Custer, accompanied by Hamlin, rode a yard to the
rear and joined the scouts, who were cautiously feeling their way up a
slight declivity.
The Osage in advance crept through the snow to the crest of the ridge
and looked carefully down into the valley below. Instantly his hand
went up in a gesture of caution and he hurriedly made his cautious way
back to where Custer sat his horse waiting.
"What is it? What did you see?"
"Heap Injuns down there!"
The General swung down from his saddle, motioned the Sergeant to
follow, and the two men crept to the crest and looked over. The dim
moonlight was confusing, while the shadow of timber rendered everything
indistinct. Yet they were able to make out a herd of ponies,
distinguished the distant bark of a dog and the tinkle of a bell.
Without question this was the Indians' winter camp, and they had
reached it undiscovered. Custer glanced at his watch--the hour was
past midnight. He pressed Hamlin's sleeve, his lips close to the
Sergeant's ear.
"Creep back, and bring my officers up here," he whispered. "Have them
take off their sabres."
As they crept, one after the other, to where he lay in the snow, the
General, whose eyes had become accustomed to the moon-gleam, pointed
out the location of the village and such natural surroundings as could
be vaguely distinguished. The situation thus outlined in their minds,
they drew silently back from the crest, leaving there a single Osage
guide on guard, and returned to the waiting regiment, standing to horse
less than a mile distant. Custer's orders for immediate attack came
swiftly, and Hamlin, acting as his orderly, bore them to the several
commands. The entire force was slightly in excess of eight hundred
men, and there was every probability that the Indians outnumbered them
five to one. Scouts had reported to Sheridan that this camp of Black
Kettle's was the winter rendezvous not only of Cheyennes, but also of
bands of fighting Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches, and even some Apaches,
the most daring and desperate warriors of the plains. Yet this was no
time to hesitate, to debate; it was a moment for decisive action. The
blow must be struck at once, before daylight, with all the power of
surprise.
The little body of cavalrymen was divided into four detachments. Two
of these were at once marched to the left, circling the village
silently in the darkness, and taking up a position at the farther
extremity. A third detachment moved to the right, and found their way
down into the valley, where they lay concealed in a strip of timber.
Custer, with the fourth detachment under his own command, remained in
position on the trail. The sleeping village was thus completely
surrounded, and the orders were for those in command of the different
forces to approach as closely as possible without running risk of
discovery, and then to remain absolutely quiet until daybreak. Not a
match was to be lighted nor a shot fired until the charge was sounded
by the trumpeter who remained with Custer. Then all were to spur
forward as one man.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS
Corbin had gone with the detachment circling to the left, and
"California Joe" was with the other in the valley, but Hamlin remained
with the chief. About them was profound silence, the men standing
beside their horses. There was nothing to do but wait, every nerve at
high tension. The wintry air grew colder, but the troopers were not
allowed to make the slightest noise, not even to swing their arms or
stamp their feet. After the last detachment swept silently out into
the night, there still remained four hours until daylight. No one knew
what had occurred; the various troops had melted away into the dark and
disappeared. No word, no sound had come back. They could only wait in
faith on their comrades. The men were dismounted, each one holding his
own horse in instant readiness for action. Not a few, wearied with the
day's work, while still clinging to their bridles, wrapped the capes of
their overcoats over their heads and threw themselves down in the snow,
and fell asleep.
At the first sight of dawn Hamlin was sent down the line to arouse
them. Overcoats were taken off, and strapped to the saddles, carbines
loaded and slung, pistols examined and loosened in their holsters,
saddles recinched, and curb chains carefully looked after. This was
the work of but a few moments, the half-frozen soldiers moving with an
eagerness that sent the hot blood coursing fiercely through numbed
limbs. To the whispered command to mount, running from lip to lip
along the line, the men sprang joyously into their saddles, their
quickened ears and eager eyes ready for the signal.
Slowly, at a walk, Custer led them forward toward the crest of the
hill, where the Osage guide watched through the spectral light of dawn
the doomed village beneath. To the uplift of a hand the column halted,
and Custer and his bugler went forward. A step behind crouched the
Sergeant, grasping the reins of three horses, while a little to the
right, beyond the sweep of the coming charge, waited the regimental
band.
Peering over the crest, the leader saw through the dim haze, scarcely
five hundred yards distant, dotting the north bank of the Washita for
more than a quarter of a mile, the Indian village. There was about it
scarcely a sign of human life. From the top of two or three of the
tepees light wreaths of smoke floated languidly out on the wintry air,
and beyond the pony herd was restlessly moving. Even as he gazed, half
convinced that the Indians had been warned, the village deserted, the
sharp report of a rifle rang out in the distance.
Hamlin saw the General spring upright, his lips uttering the sharp
command, "_Sound the charge!_" Even while the piercing blare of the
bugle cut the frosty air, there was a jingle of steel as the troopers
behind spurred forward. Almost at the instant the three dismounted men
were in saddle. Custer waved his hand at the band, shouted "Play!" and
to the rollicking air of "Garry Owen," the eager column of horsemen
broke into a mad gallop, and with ringing cheers and mighty rush, swept
over the ridge straight down into the startled village. To Hamlin, at
Custer's side, reins in his teeth, a revolver in either hand, what
followed was scarcely a memory. It remained afterward as a blurred,
indistinct picture of action, changing so rapidly as to leave no
definite outlines. He heard the answering call of three bugles; the
deafening thud of horses' hoofs; the converging cheers of excited
troopers; the mingling ring of revolver shots; a sharp order cleaving
the turmoil; the wild neigh of a stricken horse; the guttural yells of
Indians leaping from their tepees into the open. Then he was in the
heart of the village, firing with both hands; before him, about him,
half-naked savages fighting desperately, striking at him with knives,
firing from the shelter of tepees, springing at him with naked hands in
a fierce effort to drag him from the saddle. It was all confusion,
chaos, a babble of noise, his eyes blinded by glint of steel and glare
of fire. The impetus of their rush carried them irresistibly forward;
over and through tents they rode, across the bodies of living and dead;
men reeled and fell from saddle; riderless horses swept on unguided;
revolvers emptied were flung aside, and hands closed hard on sabre
hilts. Foot by foot, yard by yard, they drove the wedge of their
charge, until they swept through the fringe of tepees, out into the
stampeded pony herd.
The bugle rang again, and they turned, facing back, and charged once
more, no longer in close formation, but every trooper fighting as he
could. Complete as the surprise had been, the men of the Seventh
realized now the odds against them, the desperate nature of the fight.
Out from the sheltering tepees poured a flood of warriors; rifles in
hand they fought savagely. The screams of women and children, the
howling and baying of Indian dogs, the crack of rifles, the wild war
cries, all mingled into an indescribable din. Black Kettle was almost
the first to fall, but other chiefs rallied their warriors, and fought
like fiends, yielding ground only by inches, until they found shelter
amid the trees, and under the river bank.
In the cessation of hand to hand fighting the detachments came
together, reforming their ranks, and reloading their arms. Squads of
troopers fired the tepees, and gathering their prisoners under guard,
hastened back to the ranks again at the call of the bugle. By now
Custer comprehended his desperate position, and the full strength of
his Indian foes. Fresh hordes were before him, already threatening
attack. Hamlin, bleeding from two flesh wounds, rode in from the left
flank where he had been borne by the impetus of the last charge, with
full knowledge of the truth. Their attack had been centred on Black
Kettle's village, but below, a mile or two apart, were other villages,
representing all the hostile tribes of the southern plains. Already
these were hurrying up to join those rallying warriors under shelter of
the river bank. Even from where Custer stood at the outskirts of the
devastated village he could distinguish the warbonnets of Cheyennes,
Arapahoes, Kiowas and Comanches mingled together in display of savagery.
His decision was instant, that of the impetuous cavalry leader, knowing
well the inherent strength and weakness of his branch of the service.
He could not hope to hold his position before such a mass of the enemy,
with the little force at his disposal. His only chance of escape, to
come off victor, was to strike them so swiftly and with such force as
to paralyze pursuit. Already the reinforcing warriors were sweeping
forward to attack, two thousand strong, led fiercely by Little Raven,
an Arapahoe; Santanta, a Kiowa, and Little Rock, a Cheyenne.
Dismounting his men he prepared for a desperate resistance, although
the troopers' ammunition was running low. Suddenly, crashing through
the very Indian lines, came a four-mule wagon. The quartermaster was
on the box, driving recklessly. Only Hamlin and a dozen other men were
still in saddle. Without orders they dashed forward, spurring maddened
horses into the ranks of the Indians, hurling them left and right,
firing into infuriated red faces, and slashing about with dripping
sabres. Into the lane thus formed sprang the tortured mules, sweeping
on with their precious load of ammunition. Behind closed in the squad
of rescuers, struggling for their lives amid a horde of savages. Then,
with one wild shout, the dismounted troopers leaped to the rescue,
hurling back the disorganized Indian mass, and dragging their comrades
from the rout. It was hand to hand, clubbed carbine against knife and
spear, a fierce, breathless struggle. Behind eager hands ripped open
the ammunition cases; cartridges were jammed into empty guns, and a
second line of fighting men leaped forward, their front tipped with
fire.
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