Dee Brown on the Civil War
For lack of stimulus, Thornton gradually lost all enthusiasm for his assignment, and but for the cheerful efficiency of Surgeon S. P. Yeomans—who had served at Fort Rice during the previous summer—conditions at Randall probably would have degenerated more rapidly than they did.
As it was, by the time General Sacket reached Randall on his 1866 inspection tour, regular drill had been suspended and the men were allowed to report for duty in shaggy hair and beards and dirty uniforms. “Unsoldierly in the extreme,” Sacket noted, and then related an account of a visit to Lieutenant-Colonel Thornton’s quarters. “Two bugs dropped from the ceiling upon me. The bedbug is, without doubt, indigenous to the cottonwood tree.” The general surely must have voiced the collective opinion of the garrison when he declared emphatically that “Fort Randall should be abandoned.”
And the entire regiment no doubt would have endorsed Sacket’s summary recommendation: “This Territory of Dakota, north of the Vermilion River, never will be settled by the white man, and it will make a very good and cheap donation on the part of the government to the Indians.” The Galvanized Yankees would have put it more forcefully, more succinctly: “Give it back to the Indians!”
In early June 1866, orders went up to Forts Berthold, Sully, and Randall, relieving the 4th U.S. Volunteers from further duties. The six companies were mustered out at Fort Leavenworth as they arrived, between the dates of June 18 and July 2.10
They had come to Dakota 10 years too soon. By 1876 the land was booming with settlers. Railroads were spanning its distances, and towns were springing to life across vast rich wheatlands. In splendid new forts along the Missouri, soldiers still served. From Fort Abraham Lincoln, Custer marched to glory. And the Indians were given back only a small corner of the territory “which never will be settled by the white man.”
VI
From the Cimarron to the Powder
THE SPRING MONTHS OF the “bloody year on the Plains” were a difficult time for General Grenville Dodge, commanding the Department of the Missouri. Almost every day brought more reports of Indian troubles, and with these reports came a growing rumble of discontent from the state volunteer troops he was depending upon to bring peace to the Plains. As soon as the Civil War ended, discipline slackened, the men became discontented, desertions increased, regiments threatened mutiny. During the entire summer of 1865 there was a continual mustering out, distribution, and redistribution at the various Western posts.
Dodge informed General Grant that he needed 5,000 men. Grant sent him 10,000, but Dodge complained that “very few of them got into the campaigns from the fact that the troops would no sooner reach Fort Leavenworth than they would protest, claiming that the Civil War was ended and saying they had not enlisted to fight Indians. The Governors of their states, Congressmen and other influential men would bring such pressure to bear that the War Department would order them mustered out. … Three regiments of infantry, seven regiments of cavalry and three batteries of artillery that reported to me under order of General Grant were mustered out on the march between Fort Leavenworth and Julesburg.”1
To restore his thinning ranks, Dodge turned hopefully to the source of his dependable 2nd and 3rd U.S. Volunteers—the military prison camps. Throughout the month of April he dispatched a constant flow of urgent messages to prison commandants at Alton, Chicago, and Columbus. “As soon as companies of 5th U.S. Volunteers are clothed and equipped send them to Fort Leavenworth. … How long before they can start? If you have no arms they can draw them here or at Fort Leavenworth. … Send those companies of the 5th U.S. Volunteers that are mustered in without delay to Fort Leavenworth. … Colonel Maynadier is organizing companies for the regiment at Columbus, Ohio. …” One point that Dodge emphasized was that the new regiments of Galvanized Yankees must be enlisted for at least three years.
On May 3, he issued a special order: “Colonel H. E. Maynadier, 5th U.S. Volunteers, with the officers and enlisted men of the regiment now at Alton, Illinois, will proceed by steamer without delay to Fort Leavenworth.”2 As the result of Dodge’s energetic prodding, the 5th arrived in Kansas some months before the one-year-men of the 2nd Regiment were mustered out. When companies of the 2nd concentrated around Fort Larned in the summer, companies of the 5th moved out from Leavenworth as replacements along the Santa Fe Trail. On June 1, Colonel Henry E. Maynadier arrived at Fort Riley and established regimental headquarters.
Maynadier undoubtedly was the most experienced and best qualified of the commanders of the six regiments of Galvanized Yankees. After graduating from West Point in 1847, he served with the artillery, infantry, and quartermaster. In 1860 he accompanied General W. F. Raynolds’ expedition up the Yellowstone, and held the rank of captain when the Civil War began. A native Virginian who remained loyal to the Union, Maynadier preferred and was given military assignments in the West. As commander of a mortar flotilla during the siege of Island Number Ten in the Mississippi River, he made balloon ascensions to study the effect of bombardments, using the information to correct gun elevations. For this he won a citation for gallantry and meritorious service. Before the end of his duty on the frontier with the 5th Regiment, he would earn another citation for “distinguished service while operating against hostile Indians and accomplishing much toward bringing about peace with hostile tribes.”3
In recognition of Maynadier’s abilities, Dodge placed him in command of the Fort Riley subdistrict which included Salina and Ellsworth. As he was thus responsible for safety of travel over that section of trail, Maynadier’s first action was to organize an efficient escort and courier service which kept the men of Companies E, F, and G out in the field much of the time. He assigned Companies H and I to wagon trains bound for New Mexico. After the Indian troubles along the Little Blue, he ordered Lieutenant Robert Jones to march Company A up the Republican River and establish a camp at Lake Sibley. “Keep constantly on the alert,” Maynadier directed, “frequently sending out scouting parties to ascertain if there are any Indians in that section of the country, reporting constantly to these headquarters any movement.”
Back in Fort Leavenworth, meanwhile, were two companies of the 5th which Maynadier would not see for more than a year. These were Companies C and D, and for them was reserved a very special mission—one of the most exacting and dangerous expeditions assigned to any Galvanized Yankees. On April 20, General Dodge had ordered the commandant at Fort Leavenworth to “select two companies from 5th U.S. Volunteers, under a major, if present; if not, under best captain, and send them to mouth of Niobrara river, Nebraska Territory, to act as escort to the party that are opening the wagon road from that point west. Fit them out with supplies for three months and transportation to haul them. When necessary they can get additional supplies at any post. I think there are boats serving here that will take them on. They should, if possible, be at post designated by 10th of May.”4
As there was no major available, Captain George W. Williford was selected as the “best captain.” His own Company D and Lieutenant James W. Marshall’s Company C would comprise the escort. In the late war, Williford had commanded a company of the 9th Illinois Infantry, and saw almost constant battle action from Shiloh to late 1864, when he was mustered out to recover from wounds and physical exhaustion. By the spring of 1865, Williford was ready for more military service. Dodge liked what he saw in the captain’s record, and commissioned him immediately to the 5th U.S. Volunteers.
Companies C and D were recruited at Alton, which was no ordinary prison camp. In addition to the usual Rebel prisoners, Alton’s penitentiary walls held suspected spies, political prisoners, and a number of Galvanized Confederates—these latter being former Union soldiers who had been captured by the Confederates, then had taken the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy and joined the Confederate Army only to be recaptured by the Union Army.
Colonel Benjamin Grierson, famed Union cavalry leader, had captured most of these Galvanized Confederates in a single fight at Egypt, Mississippi, December 28, 186
4. When Grierson sent them up to Alton prison, he informed the authorities there that the captives had been “recruited from Southern prisons into the rebel service, and most of whom, I believe, were induced to join their ranks from a desire to escape a loathsome confinement. I commend them to the leniency of the Government.”5
Fortunately for these prisoners, the horrors of Andersonville were fresh in everyone’s mind, the nation’s press devoting much space to sufferings of Union soldiers in that prison pen. Also, some of the Galvanized Confederates had crept over to the Union lines the night before the fighting and informed the Union officers that their comrades would lay down their arms and surrender at the first attack. The government, therefore, was lenient, as Grierson had recommended it be, and instead of executing these men as traitors, chose to enlist them along with regular Confederate prisoners in Companies C and D of the 5th U.S. Volunteers.
The composition of the two companies was as heterogeneous as a Foreign Legion. By the time they left Leavenworth, the combined units had shaken down to 159 noncommissioned officers and enlisted men—90 being former U.S. soldiers, 69 former Confederate soldiers. Nineteen Irishmen, five Englishmen, four Canadians, three Germans, a Scotchman, Russian, Prussian, Norwegian, Dutchman, and Italian composed the foreign-born group. The Americans came from almost every state—23 Missourians, 15 Tennesseans, 13 New Yorkers, 11 Indianians, 11 Pennsylvanians, 11 Ohioans, eight Kentuckians, five Mississippians, five Virginians, three Georgians, three Marylanders, two each from Illinois, Louisiana, Massachusetts, North Carolina, one each from Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Michigan, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island.
For that era—when most men on earth seldom traveled far from their places of birth—it was a remarkably cosmopolitan group. It also was a perfect model for the irony of civil wars, with their complexities of personal loyalties. Neighbors from Tennessee, Kentucky, Missouri, even Indiana, had been on opposite sides. And there were the foreign-born who had been fighting fellow countrymen on alien soil.
What were these men before the tragic absurdity of war had taken them out of their normal pursuits? In a time when half the population earned their bread by tilling the soil, it was not surprising that 85 of them were farmers. Ten had been laborers, seven carpenters. There were also seven sailors, two seamen, and a boatman—who were somewhat out of their element on the dry Plains, plodding westward into the wilds of Dakota Territory. The others included five blacksmiths, four bakers, three printers, three teamsters, two clerks, two masons, two miners, a machinist, fisherman, engineer, mechanic, miller, plasterer, goldsmith, butcher, chairmaker, shoemaker, trimmer, merchant, cigarmaker, patternmaker, sign painter, student.
Their average age was about 24. Privates John McKinney of Kentucky and David Malone of Tennessee were 43, the oldest. John Bunton of Missouri and S. W. Smith of Illinois were 17, the youngest. Compared to their descendants of a century later, they were small men. Only four were as tall as six feet; several measured only five feet, three inches. But they were durable men, determined to survive at all costs, some of them cynical after their war and prison experiences, loyal only to themselves, easy to discipline in time of danger, difficult to handle under the monotony of barracks routine.6
On April 30, Captain Williford marched them aboard the steamboat Jesse H. Lacy, and they started up the Missouri on the first leg of their long summer journey. Three days later while the boat was docked at Nebraska City, Sergeant Jack Hale, 20 years old, formerly of the 143rd Pennsylvania Infantry, slipped ashore with six enlisted men; none of them returned. During the next week as the Jesse Lacy was chugging its way up to the mouth of the Niobrara, Corporal Martin Buzzard, formerly of the 2nd Pennsylvania Cavalry, and three enlisted men chose to go over the side and were seen no more.
In the second week of May, Williford was camped at the mouth of the Niobrara, awaiting the leader of the wagon-road expedition, James A. Sawyers. He was also wondering where he could obtain wagons and additional supplies for his men, none of whom had an extra pair of shoes or a spare uniform. Thirty civilian teamsters for the Sawyers expedition arrived a few days later, and then at last the leader himself appeared.
Sawyers was an ambitious citizen of Sioux City, eager to open a national road from his hometown to the Montana gold fields. For this purpose he had secured funds from the Interior Department, and was determined that the venture should succeed. Dismayed to find that his escort consisted only of infantrymen, he held up departure until he secured the promise of additional cavalrymen from nearby Yankton.
Early in June, Williford secured 25 wagons and 150 mules from a Sioux City freighter, but was unable to obtain clothing for his men. The mules were young and undersized, too small for drawing heavy wagons, but they were the only ones available. Meanwhile the expedition itself was assembling—engineers, guides, scouts, and five emigrant families who had decided to go West under the protection of the train. Surgeon Henry T. Smith also reported for duty; he would serve as physician for both military and civilian personnel.
During the three weeks delay, two corporals and five enlisted men joined the growing list of deserters from C and D Companies. And then at noon of June 13, Sawyers finally gave the order to move out.
They traveled westward along the south bank of the Niobrara, civilian guides and scouts in advance. Next in order of march was a platoon of Williford’s infantrymen with a mounted howitzer; behind them rolled the military wagons, followed by another platoon of Galvanized Yankees. The second section of the train consisted of the expedition’s wagons, followed by a third infantry platoon. In the last section were the emigrant families and their wagons, with a rear guard of infantrymen armed with another howitzer. The entire expedition included 53 men in Sawyers’ group; about 20 men, women, and children in the emigrant group; and Williford’s two companies of soldiers.
Delays were frequent, Sawyers halting the column at stream crossings to improve fords, sometimes to build a bridge. On the first afternoon’s march they covered only four miles.
Next day they crossed Verdigris Creek, and sometime during that night, Privates Miles Shay and S. A. Myers decided they had seen enough of the West and deserted. On June 16 the promised cavalry escort joined the train—Lieutenant John R. Wood and 24 men of Company B, 1st Dakota. They reported to Williford, the senior officer, and he assigned them to riding the flanks. That night a thunderstorm stampeded the corraled herd, and the cavalrymen were busy until 7:00 A.M. rounding up strays.
On June 18, the train camped near the Ponca Agency. It was Sunday, but one of the Galvanized Yankees noted in his diary, “the religious element in the whole outfit appears to be dormant, as no chaplain accompanies the expedition.”7
While most of the other soldiers were dozing the summer afternoon away, Private James Wilson, a 19-year-old New Yorker, and Private Richard Sneath, a 23-year-old Pennsylvanian, slipped out of camp, homesick for the East. These would be the last to desert on the march; the remaining 137 of the original 159 were ready for Montana and the gold fields. Only three of the deserters had been genuine Galvanized Yankees; the other 19 were former Union men who apparently had no use for any army—Union, Confederate, or frontier.
For the next 10 days the march was uneventful; then on June 29, as they neared Snake Creek, Williford’s young mules began to give out. To lighten his loads, the captain cached a quantity of pickled pork and fish, and abandoned one wagon.
On July 1, the train spent the morning crossing Snake Creek. By noon the temperature reached 90°. “Next day we broke camp,” teamster Albert Holman recorded, “and proceeded due west, hoping to be able to camp on the Running Water [Niobrara] that night, but every mile took us deeper into the sand hills and the sun of a July day pouring its hot rays upon the burning sand, glistened so that we were nearly blinded. By afternoon it was impossible to go but a few rods at a time, it being necessary to stop often and let the cattle breathe and rest, for the poor creatures were suffering so from want of water that their tongues protruded from their mouth
s, and several of them died. The men, too, were nearly prostrated from the heat, and in fact, some of them were so nearly overcome that they had to be placed in the wagons.” The expedition’s official thermometer reached 103° at noon, 106° at 2:00 P.M. Two of Williford’s men collapsed from sunstroke.
Late on July 3 they were out of the worst of the sand hills, and found a campsite with plenty of grass, wood, and water—a good place to spend the Fourth of July. “We celebrated it, not only as the great national holiday,” said Albert Holman, “but as a day of deliverance from the sand hills.”8
Because of the continuing blasting heat, ceremonies were kept to a minimum. At noon Williford ordered his men bugled out for a short drill and inspection, one of the howitzers fired off a salute, and that was Independence Day on the Niobrara.
When they resumed march on July 5, the weather had moderated, and through most of the following week showers fell during the nights and the mornings were cool. On July 9, scouts sighted the first Indians, presumably hostile. Three days later, the forward guides skirmished with a small war party and captured two ponies from them.
The train was now moving along the fringes of the Black Hills, stronghold of Sioux and Cheyennes. Williford’s men had walked the soles off their shoes, their uniforms were becoming threadbare, and they were not yet halfway to the Montana gold fields. Williford recalled Dodge’s original order: “When necessary get supplies at any post.” The nearest post—and the last post—was Fort Laramie, about 90 miles south. Each mile the train rolled now would take the escort farther from their last source of supplies.
On July 20 while in camp on Hat Creek, Williford informed Sawyers that he had no choice other than to send a detachment to Laramie for supplies; his men could not walk barefooted to Montana. Reluctantly Sawyers agreed. He offered the captain a wagon lighter than the standard army transports, and on the morning of July 21, Lieutenant Daniel Dana and 15 mounted men set out for Laramie. At Sawyers’ request, Williford told Dana to make the journey there and back in 10 days. After that time, the train would break camp and resume march. If Dana was delayed, he would have to follow the trail until he overtook the column again.