MACKENZIE'S LAST FIGHT WITH THE CHEYENNES

A Winter Campaign in Wyoming and Montana, Commonly Known as the "Dull Knife Fight", November 25-26, 1876

By the Late Captain John G. Bourke, 3rd Cavalry, U.S.A., in U.S. Army Recruiting News.

(Continued from last issue)

Few sights are more inspiring to a military observer than a compact, well-disciplined column of cavalry, "fined down" to a minimum of impediments, moving rapidly and silently along the train of an enemy. Especially is such the case when the march is made in the depth of winter, in a flurry of snow by day or night, when the fur-clad veterans, gleaming from head to foot in an additional coat of crystal rime and heavy beards matted with the ice of frozen breaths, recall childhood legends of Santa Claus and Jack Frost. Closing well up on the rear of the column followed the pack train, each driver and mule selected after a severe examination, whose rigor was justified by the fact that upon the absolute, undoubted efficiency of every man and mule depends the celerity and promptness with which the ammunition, rations and blankets of the command are to reach camp each night.

No officer of the Army ever gave as much earnest, intelligent attention to the subject of pack-mule transportation as General Crook, who may well be called the outstanding apostle of the military pack train. He recognized the importance of this branch of study, mastered it from beginning to end, introduced promptness and discipline into the formerly prevailing system, and had the satisfaction of seeing his efforts rewarded by the success attending his campaigns on the plains and in the mountains. Every pack train in the United States today traces its first organization back to Crook in Arizona in 1871, although years before that he had run others on the same principles in California and Oregon.

I will introduce one observation to show with what care a first-class "train" must be organized. If avoidable, no mule will be accepted by an experienced trainmaster when the mouth shows signs of "bridle-wear" - evidence of the animal having been so long used in harness that the constant tugging and pulling on the bridle have worn the lips at the point of juncture. Such an animal cannot slack its thirst as readily as one whose mouth has not been injured, because much of the water taken into its mouth while crossing a stream will escape at the sides.

Nowhere is time more important than on military forced marches, which the old packmaster knows as well as the oldest general; and therefore, whenever he can, rejects mules of that class. Muleteers must be strong, lithe, active, not afraid of hard work and willing to cheerfully take the hardest knocks. Pack trains were imported in the early days of California mining from the Andean slopes of Chile and Peru; with very few exceptions the packers met in my first few years of service were natives of those countries or of the western Mexican states. They were a good-natured, merry-hearted set of fellows, ever anxious to render service and delighted beyond expression when they happened to run across an officer desirous of jotting down the tender words of their dainty Spanish songs of love disdained and unrequited.

First-class packers were almost invariably first-class cooks, to whose fore-thought and courtesy I have been indebted on many a cold chilly night for an invigorating cup of chocolate, or nourishing plate of frijoles, dishes beyond the grasp of our boasted civilization. Americans are unequaled by any people in the world for abilities in many directions, but not when it comes to catering to the inner man. Were I at this minute called upon to choose between a cup of chocolate and a plate of beans prepared by my old friend Chileno John or Lauriano Gomez and the same viands concocted by the most famous chef in the land, there would be no doubt as to my decision.

Being indirectly of Spanish origin, it is natural that many of the terms used with pack trains should betray their derivation; this has only begun to change within very recent years. Acemila for pack mule, macho used almost in the same sense, sencero for bell-mare, atajo for jack train itself, cargo the load each animal carries, and cargador for the official whose duty it was to arrange and distribute these burdens were as well understood by Army officers serving in Arizona and New Mexico from 1865 to 1876 as their English equivalents.

In my notebooks appear the names of my warm friends, Tome Moore, Jim O'Neill, Hank'n Yank, Young Delaney, Harry Hawes, Frank Monach, Daly, "Long Jim" cook, "Short Jim" Cook, Charlie Hopkins, Lauriano Gomez, Chileno John, Jose de Leon, Valquez Castro and dozens of other packers, Frank Grouard, Ben Clark, Al Seiber, "Big Bat" (Baptiste Pourier) and "Little Bat" (Baptiste Changran), Bill Rowland, Frank North, Tom Cosgrove, Jack Crawford and scores of white scouts and guides, Buffalo Bill Cody and his devoted friend Charley White ("Buffalo Chips"), who fell not far from my side in the fight at Slim Buttes, Dakota, Sept. 9, 1876, appear time and again in my notes for earlier in the Centennial year, but not on this campaign.

"Uncle Dick" Kloster, one of the pack train veterans now passed away, presents himself to my recollection clad from head to heel in fur and blanket lined canvas, a muskrat cap on his head, while from eyes to breast extends a snow white beard matted like a board with frozen tobacco juice; that was during the severe privations we underwent together in Montana during the early months of 1876, marching on half rations with the mercury in the thermometer frozen solid. Every afternoon, the moment the column made camp, out came my notebook to record the events of the day - in ink until the intense cold broke the bottle and afterwards in pencil as well as numbed fingers would permit. After first looking to his mules, Dick would hurry to my side, doing everything in his power to add to my comfort; sometimes he would pile up aparejos (a form of pack saddle) to keep the fierce north wind from carrying me bodily away, or build a fire at my feet to prevent my toes freezing - always something.

At last he un-bosomed himself. He believed I was going to write a book, "as big as that thar Webster's Dictionary I seed down to Luke Murrin's saloon in Shy-an". No man could be taking all these notes for nothing, and Uncle Dick, like many of better education, mixed up the two ideas of quantity and quality. He had been on the Pacific Coast, in the Rocky Mountains, British America and Mexico since 1849, having his full share of ups and downs; but had never seen his name in print. Could I - would I - put his name in the book?

When I told the dear old soul that not only his name but full references to his valuable kindness as well, would appear on a prominent page, the smile that over-spread his face almost cracked the frost on his beard. "Look, Uncle Dick, here's your name - see for yourself!" This recognition roused his generous good nature to a paroxysm of enthusiasm; he multiplied his efforts and ventured now and then to offer bits of information, some of consequence and others not, but all most gratefully received.

I once overheard him confiding to an open-mouthed packer that "Me'n the Capt'n air getting up a book 'bout the Injuns an' mos' everything", and my last parting word from the old man was, "Cap, don't forgit that thar book outfit."

No, Uncle Dick, I have not forgotten; and I do hope that from the packers' paradise to which I am sure you have gone, and where your honest soul would be grieved if you did not find abundance of grass and water for your mules, no flies to bother them, the very best rations for your men - beans and bacon, "yeast powder" bread, dried apples, coffee, chocolate and an occasional "snootful" of something to drive away malaria - you may be able to read these lines.

Mackenzie and the cavalry made a rapid march of 12 miles or more up the Crazy Woman, passing over as fine a pastoral region as can be found in the world and then on the advice of Indian scouts, bivouacked in a spot well hidden among the foothills of the Big Horn range, to which we had been drawing closer all the afternoon. The night became colder and colder and the stars glinted pitilessly from the inner depths of the blue ether hidden from eastern eyes; but a feeling that we were sure to have some kind of a fight within possibly 24 hours kept the blood in circulation. When an electric pulsation of steely gray flashed upward from the eastern horizon to herald the near approach of daybreak, not a man or horse showed the slightest bad effect of the polar temperature, as recorded with much satisfaction in my notes of that time.

As soon as we could distinguish the train of the advance detachment, leading in toward the Big Horn Mountains - a trifle west of south as it had on the previous day, and through much the same kind of fine grazing country - we resumed the march. For about three hours we moved as rapidly as the frozen ground permitted; the slippery, frost-mantled grass offered no serious obstacle, but we found all we could do crossing the innumerable "cut-bank" dry beds of the streams, every one of which had to be broken down into suitable slopes for the animals to ascend and descent. The ground, hard as flint, took a great deal of valuable time before it would yield to ax or pick, which were frequently broken.

Many of these surface crevices were not more than fifteen or twenty feet wide, the great labor involved in their passage having all the appearance of an unnecessary aggravation of our discomforts. While we were grumbling and growling at these troubles, the advance scouts rejoined at a run; and from head of column to rear guard spread the magnetic whisper that the enemy village had been discovered, almost under our noses. From information brought in by the Indian scouts, General Mackenzie concluded to halt where we were until the moon rose, and then move slowly and cautiously forward to attack at daybreak.

Our Indians had carefully noted every foot of the way, going and returning, and knew exactly where to take us. Besides this, two of them - Red Shirt and Jackass - had remained behind, hidden among the rocks on top of a high hill, from which point of vantage everything transpiring in the village below was distinctly visible. I specially mention this act of daring and good judgment, for the reason that many inexperienced or unthinking persons, military and civil, have allowed themselves to be drawn into the error of disparaging or depreciating the services of Indian auxiliaries. On this and every other occasion of my twenty years' close observation, they were of the greatest possible help to our soldiers, acting with whites or singly. As already mentioned, they represented on that campaign several different tribes, some of them Cheyenne's, closely related to the people we were soon to fight.

There was not shouting, cheering or loud talking to show excitement, but any old soldier would have known that the news passing along so quietly and yet so rapidly from mouth to mouth was enough to stir a civilians blood; it was evident from the way men were looking at the fastenings of their saddle girths and bridles, examining for the last time the action of the breechlock and trigger, or making sure that no cartridge should be missing when wanted. We didn't have long to wait that short, hazy, bleak November day for the setting of the sun and the coming of our good friend, the moon.