Chapter II: An Attack by Comanches

Although Garrard had seen plenty of Indians, and had been present at more than one skirmish, he had not yet taken part in a real Indian fight, though he had long wished to do so. On the way back this desire was gratified, and the boy, with his eighteenth birthday only just behind him, paints in one of the last chapters of his book a spirited picture of the alarms, surprises, narrow escapes, and swift changes of an Indian raid on the moving wagon-trains near the Pawnee Fork of the Arkansas. His trip on the plains ended in an exciting fighting climax, and we can fancy that it gave the boy material for talk and for delightful recollections during the rest of his life.

“We were started early. The wagons traveled in double file, so that in case of an attack from the leagued Camanches and Arapahoes, whose propinquity was as well-known as dreaded, they would not be strung along too great a space. The caballada was driven and kept between these two lines of the train.

“Late in the afternoon, when the sun was fast sinking to its golden-hued, silver-flecked bed, and the drooping ears of the flagging mules betokened weariness, objects were seen directly before us in the trace. Keen-eyed Barton, in calling our attention to them, uttered his opinion in the single significant word, ‘_Injuns!_’

“‘Indians, say you, Barton?’ inquired the colonel, looking in the direction pointed, ‘Indians? Upon my word I believe so. Come on, we’ll reconnoiter, and say nothing to the train until the fact is ascertained--indeed, I hope not’--and, striking spurs into his large brown California mule, he loped forward, followed by some eight or ten of us. We soon ascertained, beyond a doubt, enough danger to lessen our party to five--the colonel, Barton, Brown, McCarty, and myself, who kept on until within less than a quarter of a mile of the large party of mounted warriors. That portion of our men who had put back with all possible speed, set the train in a ferment by their prodigious narrations.

“In front, on the opposite rise of ground, was a sight to make the stoutest heart among us quail; for the Indian force, displayed within long rifleshot, numbered, according to our unanimous estimate, four hundred strong, glittering with gay pennons, bright lanceheads, and savage ornaments. Young braves rode their plunging barbs restlessly to and fro. The shrill and startling notes of preparation reached us but too plainly; and we hurried back to await for the expected charge. The train was in almost inextricable confusion, but the colonel soon restored order. The wagons, mules, and men advanced to the brow of the hill and made a corâl: that is, the two front wagons came together, and the inside forewheels of those following, were made to touch the outside hindwheel of the one immediately in front. In this manner, a secure but irregular oval pen was formed, into which were driven the oxen, the caballada, and the riding animals, thus leaving the men free to devote their whole attention to the enemy. There was little noise, but much alacrity, and considerable trepidation among the poor teamsters, thirty of whom were without firearms. We had scarcely finished our preparations for defense, when the Indians, with poised lances, furiously charged upon us. For some time they circled around our corâl with guns unslung, and white shields continually shifted to protect their bodies. At last they drew rein; and, on each side of our party, commenced a lively demonstration, sending their balls singing through the air; some overhead, some perforating the wagons and wagon-sheets, and some knocking the fur from our hide-bound oxen.

“We were drawn up in line outside, fronting the main body, two hundred and fifty yards distant. We gave them several rounds, one-half of us reserving fire until the discharged arms were reloaded. The Indians scattered after our rather ineffectual volleys, and their position became more menacing, their war-whoops more dissonant and savage than before. We posted ourselves about the wagons, each man to his liking. Lieutenant Brown, with five men, took a position on a knoll fifty yards from us, and kept up an incessant firing, which was warmly reciprocated by the foe. It became exciting; the warriors galloping furiously, bent down, now on this side, now on that, until nothing of their person could be seen but the heel and part of the leg thrown across the cantle of the saddle. From under the horse’s neck would issue a smoke-cloud, as we heard the sighing of the ball as it cut its way overhead, or knocked the dust from the dry plain. Sharply-sighted rifles gave ready answer; cheers rang out from our exhilarated party, and unfortunate oxen, stung by furrowing bullets from lumbering escopetas, plunged and horned each other from side to side of the crowded corâl.

“A California Indian, belonging to Colonel Russell, ran, with gun in hand, far out toward the foiled enemy, making the Indian sign of insult and derision; and, in Spanish, abusing them most scandalously. He came back before long, in no small hurry, with three of the outraged foe at his heels, who were in return repelled at fullest speed by us. A ball overhead, causes even the coolest man to dodge involuntarily, however surely he may know that the whistling bullet has already missed him. This is especially the case in a desultory scattered fire. Many a hearty laugh was had at the ludicrous positions into which we found ourselves thrown by these badly-aimed missiles.

“The Indians detained us an hour, and then, relinquishing their _coup_ attempts, moved off toward the west, to our extreme gratification. Had the charge been made before the corâl was formed, they would have scalped the whole party, for our force was small, and composed for the most part of green teamsters. Yoking up, we reached camp, by the river’s side, hot, thirsty, and irritated at our meager ‘satisfaction.’

“June 19th. The train proceeded with much caution. Indian spies watched us in the distance, hanging like wolves on our rear; the gleam of their lances was often seen among the sandbuttes beyond the river. They were evidently intending to make another descent, on the first fair opportunity. Our flankguards were on the alert, and the day ended without a conflict. The country was sparsely wooded with cottonwood and boxelder, and _bois de vaches_ supersedes substantial fuel for several days travel through the region of the ‘Coon Creeks.’

“Our animals were saddled, hitched, and the train in motion, after an early cup of coffee. The air brisk and cool, and the sky clear, gave promise of a fair day’s travel; and even uneasy fears of Camanche attack were not sufficient to check our joyous feelings. It was the duty of the horsemen to push forward at mealtime, select a camp, and wait for the arrival of the train. Near noon, we entered a large ‘bottom,’ horseshoe-shaped, around which the river made a circuit of three miles or more. The wagons kept the trace across the neck, and a party, composed of Colonel Russell, Mr. Coolidge, and myself, on mules, and three others, on horses, followed the course of the stream to gather fuel. This I laid across the pommel of the colonel’s saddle, as I collected it, and he was already loaded with sufficient to boil our cup of coffee and fry the slice of pork for which we were well prepared by several hours’ fasting, when, all at once, the three horsemen strung out in a straight shoot for the wagons, without a word to us. ‘Hallo!’ shouted we, ‘what’s your hurry?’ The fast receding men said nothing, but pointed to the southwest, in which direction there approached, at full speed, a war-party of about forty, endeavoring to cut us off from the wagons which were then corâlling in great confusion. Dusky figures, and light puffs of smoke, showed faintly in the distance, the attack on the straggling train. No time was to be lost in rejoining our company, and back we spurred, to the tune of Camanche take the hindmost. The lines of the Indian attack and our return were convergent, and it was a mere question of speed whether we lost our top-knots or gained the corâl. The pursuers already had the advantage. The colonel threw down his wood, and I replaced the old cap on my rifle with a fresh one, determined that one should ‘go under’ before my ‘hair was lifted.’ I led the retreat, mounted on a small iron-gray mule--a native of the California savannas--who bounded most gallantly--for a mule--over the prairie. Colonel Russell followed in my wake, but Coolidge was still behind. Our pace seemed snail-like, and we jammed our rifle butts into the flanks of the poor beasts most unmercifully.

“‘Come on, Coolidge,’ shouted the Colonel to the frightened trader, ‘come on, we’ll soon be safe.’

“‘Yes, yes! but this fool animal isn’t worth a cuss for running,’ and with that, he gave the poor mule another ‘_chug_’ with his sharp riflestock. No exertion was spared, no incentive was neglected, to urge our dull beasts along; and though there was but small chance for escaping a lance thrust, we answered loudly their yells. When within three hundred yards of the wagon, I looked back, and saw Coolidge far behind, with several Indians close upon him, the foremost brandishing his lance. I shouted to the colonel that Coolidge was gone, and immediately we jerked our animals around. The colonel aimed hastily, fired, and galloped back to the corâl. I spurred on to cover Coolidge’s retreat, who came lumbering with the _owgh-owgh-he-a_ of his pursuers close to his ear. When I drew rein, and placed it between my teeth, my mule, contrary to all precedent and custom, stood stock still, while I took steady aim, at the nearest savage, who, flying along with eager look and harsh yell, was striving to make a sure blow. His band followed on his track, at distances various as their horses’ speed. Coolidge, with eyes staring with fright, bent close down to his mule’s neck. When I first drew bead on the Camanche’s painted hide, he was approaching in a quartering direction to my right; as the gentleman was rather fleshy about the umbilical region, and tender withal, to make a sure shot, I kept the silver bead at my rifle point, at that particular spot, until he had passed to the left. With the report the yellow devil’s legs twitched in pain (I was so close to him that I could see even his features with disagreeable distinctness), and throwing up his horse’s head, he galloped off to the river. Those who watched, say that he did not come back.

“Reloading at full speed, Coolidge and I hurried into the corâl, which was just being closed. We dismounted, merely giving each other a look of congratulation; for the rattling of the guns, and the warwhoops and yells of the men, drowned our voices, and left us nothing to do but fight. For that work, with a good will, and quite systematically, we prepared ourselves. The Colonel’s party were firing with much earnestness. A short distance of the place where we were gathering wood, a large force was descending the sand buttes, glittering with bright gun-barrels, swords, and lances--a well-armed band. They crossed the river in a trot, which was quickened into a charge as they reached the bank, and, at one hundred and fifty yards distance, they opened their fire. For a few minutes, rifles, warwhoops, escopetas, hurrahs, contended in discordant strife--a tumult of wild sounds. But they could not stand our well-directed fire, and fell back. They left no dead on the field. This is never done, and the only token of the effect of our balls was, by the wounded precipitately leaving the immediate scene of action. To give straightout evidence of injury, by show of pain, or otherwise, is a breach of their code of honor--an infringement severely rebuked by the taunts of the tribe--a weakness not soon forgotten or forgiven by the old chiefs, whose duty and care it is, to sustain, by precept and example, the national bravery and hardihood. They consider not the death, merely, of an enemy, a victory--a _coup_ must be counted. On a horse-stealing expedition, this is a horse; in battle, a scalp; and the trophies must be shown at home, before the warrior is allowed to decorate his robe with the black hand. When an Indian falls too far gone to rescue himself, his friends rush up and bear him off between their fleet steeds.

“They rallied and again circled around us, with their white shields protecting their bodies, tossing their spears, and showing off their beautiful horses, and their own graceful persons, to the best advantage. Their intention was to make a charge on the first vulnerable point, but we, being too well guarded, they, after many feints, fell back. I sat flat on the ground, my rifle resting on the spoke of a wagon-wheel--firing as often as an Indian came within range--and, when the painted, warwhooping target _vamosed_ for safer quarters, at the crack of the gun, certainly no other than a smile of satisfaction lit up my face. If none fell outright, it was not that any qualms of conscience prevented my taking cool and sure aim, at those who, after chasing a mile, and nearly scaring the life out of us, were then keeping us penned in the hot sun without water.

“One Indian, who, from his distinguished, though scanty, dress, was a ‘brave’ of the first order, came close into our lines, throwing himself behind the body of his horse, so as to show nothing but a hand and foot; but, as he raised himself, one of the colonel’s men cut, with his rifleball, a neatly-dressed skin, that hung at his neck, which we picked up after the fight, as our only trophy. They now tossed their balls into us from a long distance, by elevating their pieces, being convinced that our corâl could not be broken without great loss of life. Two teamsters, about this time getting scared at the whistling missiles, crept, for security, into an empty wagon. They had scarcely made themselves comfortable, when a ball, crashing through both sides of their defense, buried itself in the side of a poor steer. The terrified Neds tumbled out, greeted by the roars of the men around.

“‘That’s what you get for your cussed cowardice,’ drawled out one of the fellows.

“‘Well, I’ll be darned, if that wasn’t a grazer,’ ejaculated Charley McCarty. ‘Feel if you haven’t got a hole in your dogskin--I’d hate to be as bad scared as you, by thunder!’

“We were detained upward of two hours. Our fatigued and heated oxen were nearly dropping with thirst. The savages filed slowly up the sand buttes on the other side of the river, and we proceeded to camp, each man talking of his own shots.

“June 22. We expected to reach the Pawnee Fork during the morning’s march, and as there were bluffs near the camp, and several streams intervening, thick-set with timber, favorable for ambuscade, the advance guard preceded the train a quarter of a mile. We were on the alert, our eyes searching every object, our guns ready to fire, as with bridle-rein firmly grasped, we galloped along in the bright summer morning. Our exposed position, and the continual expectation of the Camanche yell, kept us excited wildly enough, although no foe delayed our march. By noontide, the saddles were off--the wagons corâlled, and the tent pitched once more. Among the remains of the old camps, I found the skull and skeleton of an Indian. The sinews, well gnawed by the wolves, were not yet dry, and the skin and hair still graced the head, which, passed from hand to hand by the curious, was, at last, tossed into the turbulent waters of the flooded Pawnee Fork. The Camanche, whose head this was, had been killed a few days previous, in an encounter with traders. One or two others ‘went under’ at the same time, but their bodies had been rescued.

“On the opposite side of the creek, a train from the States was stopped like ourselves by the risen waters. I accompanied some of our men over to it. We swam across, holding our shirts and buckskins in one hand. At the camp we found a government train, some traders’ wagons, any quantity of gaping men, and a _whitewoman_--a real whitewoman! and we gazed upon her with great satisfaction and curiosity. After gleaning the ‘news,’ we returned in a full run to the creek, and, crossing as before, retailed our scanty information.

“The next day was beautiful, and we waited impatiently for the slow-receding stream to become fordable. The men scattered on both banks, the grazing cattle and caballadas, with the white wagon-tops of the three camps, made a serene and lovely scene. About ten o’clock, an immense drove of buffalo was seen running in the prairie to the southwest. Some of our party set off in pursuit on their horses, while twenty or thirty of us ran down to intercept them as they crossed the creek. A faint cry of Indians! Indians! Indians! from the camp reached those nearest the muleguard, and by them it was repeated and wafted on to us, who, hardly knowing whether to _cache_ in the undergrowth, or to run for camp, stood for a moment undecided, and then ‘streaked it’ for the wagons. Turning our eyes to the furthest train on the hill, we perceived it in great commotion. Fifty Indians were charging among them with their lances, recoiling from the light volumes of smoke at times, and again swallowing up the little force with their numbers and shutting them in from our sight. Others were stampeding the oxen. After a conflict of several minutes, they retreated, bearing with them a dead warrior, behind the bluff hill which jutted boldly from the opposite shore.

“Our teamsters, during the fight, looked on with mouth and eyes open, in wonderment, regardless of their own cattle, still feeding in a deeply-fringed savanna. Tall cottonwood timber, overgrown with the luxuriant vine and thick-set underbrush, impervious to the eye, confined our stock to this secluded spot. The creek, half encircling it with a grand sweep, added its protection. A lightguard of three men watched the grazing herd. We were still congratulating ourselves on our escape, when from the guard, we heard the cry that the Indians were swimming the creek and driving off the oxen. More than half the camp started in full run to protect them. As we rounded the angle of the stream, yells were heard, then the dusky forms of a few Indians were seen; and, by the time we were within long gunshot, some sixty were among the luckless herd, goading them into a lumbering gallop. The colonel’s party led the van, and would have saved the cattle, had the teamsters supported them. But, they hanging back, we told them that their oxen might go to ----. Hurrying back to camp, Colonel Russell mounted his force and went in pursuit; but, in vain, we tried to repair the loss that negligence and cowardice had effected. Our ride rescued only thirty oxen, and gave us a view of the retreating savages, thrusting their lances into the remainder. In that unfortunate half hour, the train lost one hundred and sixty steers; which, at the purchase price--one half less than they were worth on the prairie--was a damage of four thousand dollars, together with a total loss of from five to seven thousand more, in the necessary abandonment of the wagons--the natural result of sending on the plains a set of green men, commanded by as raw a director, poorly and scantily armed with government blunderbusses, and meagerly furnished with from eight to fifteen rounds of cartridges each, which were often wasted on game or targets long before reaching the Indian country. And this was not the only instance of miserable economy, as the official reports show.

“Our train was in a sad condition; half a yoke to each wagon. Mr. Coolidge was really to be pitied--nearly four hundred miles from the States, with but two oxen to haul four large wagons, heavily loaded with robes and peltries. The colonel carried a few packs (as many as he was able); he bargained with one of the outward-bound trains to take some back to Mann’s Fort, and the rest he câched. The government people crowded their ‘kits’ and provision in three wagons; and, toward evening of the next day, we crossed the creek which had now subsided, leaving twenty-six wagons and any amount of extras, to the Indians and the wolves. Toward sundown, as we were hitching up to travel in the night, a party of dragoons, filing down the hill, made camp near. Lieutenant J. Love, commanding, was informed of the outrage, and promised satisfaction. We stopped a moment at the train, with which the first fight had occurred. One poor fellow, named Smith, from Van Buren County, Missouri, had been lanced seven times through the neck and breast. He killed the Indian that fell, while on his back and already wounded.”

Garrard’s trip on the plains ended in true storybook fashion, and, we can fancy, gave the boy material for reminiscence and story-telling for many a long year.

This book, and many another of the period, mention constantly, and in most familiar fashion, names that to old-timers in the West are familiar as household words--men whom, in their old age, we ourselves perhaps knew; men with whose sons and daughters we have lived as contemporaries. But the generation that knew these old-timers, Carson, Bridger, Jack Robinson, Jim and John Baker, Bent, St. Vrain, Sublette, Hugh Monroe, Ike Edwards, Bill Gary, Symonds, Beaubien, La Jeunesse, Rowland, and a hundred others whose names could be given, has for the most part passed away.

These names belong to the history of the early West. Soon they will be historic only, for those who have known them will also have crossed the Great Divide, and there will be none who can recall their personality.

THE SOLITARY HUNTER