Eugene Ware - The Indian War of 1864

Very strangely, on the evening of the 28th, General Mitchell was informed by wire that the Indians had been seen around Julesburg; that they had appeared at Gillette's ranch, nine miles west of Julesburg, in great numbers, and besieged it, but had been driven off; that they had also appeared east of Julesburg at Alkali station, and driven off some cattle in broad daylight; and that they had appeared at several other places. General Mitchell directed me to go up to Julesburg, and see what the condition of things there was, and report to him by wire. So, on the afternoon of the 29th Captain O'Brien and I, with the escort of the ten men of our own company who had remained behind to escort Captain O'Brien back, started up the Platte river with the howitzer; and as I went west, the officers, in bidding me farewell said, several of them, "Good-by! You will never see Omaha."

This new trip of mine – starting back to Julesburg – connected with General Mitchell's announced intention of resigning, or going South, led me to immediately see that it was quite possible that the premonition which I had received might be correct. Nevertheless, I was beginning to feel a little bit skittish, but I argued to myself that I would be in Julesburg only a little while; that I was still aide-de-camp for the General; that he would go South, which he in fact, soon after did; that I would rejoin him, which I soon after did; and that through natural causes and in the proper order of things I would "never see Omaha."

Captain O'Brien and I started out with our escort, and that night we stopped at Jack Morrow's, which, as stated, was ten miles up the river. The place was fortified and garrisoned by a lot of cowboys, trappers, ranchmen, and squaw-men; enough to hold the place.

Captain O'Brien and I had a gay and festive time at "Jack's tepee," as it was called, on the night of January 29th. That night we ate antelope-hearts and beaver-tails, and listened to the old pioneers tell Indian stories, Jack Morrow insisted on opening a quart bottle of champagne each for Captain O'Brien and me, but the Captain and I had business on hand, and touched it very lightly; and Jack Morrow, who always loved champagne, drank all the balance of it, and became very full and talkative. Among other things he told about how much money he was making and how the Indian scare had diminished it, and how he was going to put in a claim against the Government for not keeping the Indians where they would not restrict trade. Jack's legal ideas upon this subject were quite hazy, but he easily found out how, through the negligence of the Government he had "lost a million dollars."

In the morning we pushed on to Alkali, and there overtook a stage which had been driven in, and kept there. Alkali was a mere sod stage station with a sod corral, and with some sod works to fight the Indians from. Captain Murphy of Company "X" was there with his company, together with Tom Potter, my old friend. I had formerly belonged to Company "A," and I was glad to meet the boys at this time. The First Lieutenant of Company "A" was named Smith, and he had learned the Sioux war-song from a Sioux, and he got so that he could sing it as well as an Indian. That evening he lay in his bunk with his clothes on, for we never undressed in the Indian country, and he sang that war-song pretty near all night. In fact, I heard it so much that I was able to sing it myself, after a fashion, but none of us could come up to Lieutenant Smith in the tones, quavers and curlicues of the song. In the station was one of the agents of the stage company, going through to Denver, by the name of Andrew Hughes, a royal fellow, brave as could be, and pushing his way through to Denver, from post to post, seeking to reлstablish his stage line and then attend to the duties of his position. And with him was a man named Clift. They had a stage of their own.

We were furnished by Captain Murphy with an additional escort to go through on. Captain O'Brien and I had our piece of artillery and gun squad with us from Cottonwood Springs, making in all ten men. One of the men was taken ill, and we were furnished with ten more, and started on to Beauvais's ranch, which was twenty-five miles east of Julesburg. This was on the last day of January – the 31st. The coach kept up with the procession, and in it were the two citizens referred to, and their camping outfit. They had two drivers on the box. Everybody was armed to the teeth. The provisions and bedding and baggage of the stage outfit were tied up on the rear of the stage on the trunk-rack. The stage had four horses. Our piece of artillery had only two, but they were large, strong horses.

We had hardly left Alkali in the morning before we saw smoke signals in the valley, and in a little while we saw Indians on the other side of the river in squads of two, seldom more or less. They seemed to be searching the other side of the river for cattle and horses which had been turned out to graze. We saw two Indians driving about fifteen head of horses. We went along the road as rapidly as possible, keeping our eye upon the Indians across the river, but passing them rapidly, and they were soon out of sight in the rear. But we noticed that when the Indians had a bunch of cattle they struck north through the bills, as if going to the North Platte. We had no guide with us, but we knew the route perfectly, and were enough familiar with the Indian manners and customs to be able to know that we were in danger. From time to time some Indian would rise up out of a swale or out of the grass on the other side of the river, and defiantly fire a gun or a pistol at us; but the distance was such that no good aim could be taken nor much danger experienced, except as showing the threatening conditions of the march. We camped at Beauvais's ranch, where there was a detachment of one of the companies, and where there was a telegraph operator. We sat up late at night, and told our superiors, by wire, how the Indians were acting along the river. Colonel Livingston, commanding the eastern sub-district, in the meantime had come to Cottonwood Springs, with some of the First Nebraska Veteran Volunteer Cavalry, owing to the rumors that were coming down the river in regard to the appearances of Indians along the line of route. Livingston ordered us to proceed immediately to Julesburg, and await his arrival; that he feared the Cheyenne Indians were to make another effort to cross the river, and go north and join their brother tribe, the Northern Cheyennes, which, at that time, was up in southern Dakota somewhere near the Deadwood country. The garrison at Beauvais was so small that we felt that we ought to leave some men there to help protect it. We were in entire ignorance of what was ahead of us, as we shall see; so we left six men there.

In the morning of February 2, 1865, we started out from Beauvais's ranch, and saw Indians from the very start. When we got to Dick Cleve's ranch, we saw some Indians rounding up his cattle on the other side of the river. There was quite a number of ranchmen gathered there, a sort of conglomeration left over from a train which, together with the garrison of a few soldiers, made a place which the Indians could not very well capture. But the Indians around Cleve's ranch were so numerous that we left them four men of our cavalry. They expected an attack, but we did not feel alarmed, because we had the piece of artillery, and our horses were the best.

From Dick Cleve's we started on, and Captain O'Brien and I with the coach, the piece of artillery and nine men, being the gun squad and four others; with the four civilians we were fifteen men. We had not gone far past Cleve's when we saw ten or fifteen Indians on the other side of the river. Having a very fine Smith amp; Wesson target rifle, I thought I would go down towards the river, and give them a trial shot. They were some little distance on the other side of the river, and after I had made my shot, an Indian arose out of the willows on the bank on the other side of the river, and, pulling a revolver, fired six shots, and then he pulled another and fired six shots more, and then he fired a gun at me. It was evidence that the Indian was better armed than I was, and as I stopped to reconnoiter, he began to fire a lot of good American words at me, and they were shot in such good English that I became satisfied that the Indian was not a Cheyenne or a Sioux, and I concluded he was one of the Confederate emissaries sent from the Indian territory. I was afterwards confirmed in this supposition.