Miles considered that only a short time before saying, “It won’t work. We have limited supplies at our Tongue River Cantonment and this village would tax us beyond our resources. No. Instead I think I may have a plan that will accomplish all I want to accomplish with these chiefs, and still allow me to go after the biggest fish of them all.”
So it was that Miles ended up proposing that the Indians give their vow to turn themselves in to their agents at Cheyenne River. In addition, five of the chiefs would volunteer to stay behind with Miles, those men to be delivered to an army prison in St. Paul, Minnesota, as a means of guaranteeing the surrender of their people.
“I will provide rations for your people to make the trek to your reservation. And I will allow you thirty-five days to make the trip. In addition, I agree to give you five additional days to stay where you are now presently camped to hunt buffalo.”
For a long time the chiefs talked among themselves, then finally Red Skirt stood to present himself before Miles.
“I will go with the Bear Coat, to show the goodwill of my people.”
One by one the others rose in turn. The older White Bull, a Miniconjou and father of Small Bear. Foolish Thunder, Black Eagle, and Rising Sun, all three Sans Arc. At the same time, Bull Eagle and Small Bear agreed to be responsible for getting their people to the reservation on time. In this, more of the headmen vowed they would not faiclass="underline" Tall Bull, Yellow Eagle, Two Elk, Foolish Bear, Spotted Elk, and Poor Bear. Better than two thousand Miniconjou, Sans Arc, and Hunkpapa, accounting for some three hundred lodges, had surrendered without the Fifth Infantry firing another shot.
That night of the twenty-fifth Miles had much in which to rejoice as he finished a letter to Mary, apologizing for not having written her sooner, blaming the delay on the rigors of the campaign, declaring that one mistake on his part might cause a massacre the sort of which had overwhelmed his friend Custer. Sleep had been coming fitfully, he reminded her, but boasted that the rigors of the chase had caused him to lose a few pounds.
Next, the colonel wrote a letter to Mary’s uncle, William Tecumseh Sherman, complaining about what he saw as conspiracy within the army against his interests. Because he had seen firsthand that the Sioux were running short on ammunition and staples, Miles wrote, “I believe we can wear them down.” Then he wheedled for more cavalry, blaming his own lack of it on the wastefulness of Crook’s past and present campaigning, saying his lack of horse soldiers was all that stood in the way between him and his victory over Sitting Bull—“It is not easy for infantry to catch them, although I believe we can whip them every time.”
Last on his list of correspondence was a dispatch to General Alfred H. Terry:
I consider this the beginning of the end. [The Indians] are very suspicious, and of course [are] afraid that some terrible punishment will be inflicted upon them While we have fought and routed these people, and driven them away from their ancient homes, I cannot but feel regret that they are compelled to submit to starvation, for I fear they will be reduced to that condition as were the southern tribes in 1874.
“What of Sitting Bull, General?” asked Captain Wyllys Lyman.
After a moment of reflection that dark night as icy points of snow lanced down from a lowering sky, Nelson A. Miles sighed. “Yes. Sitting Bull. He’s still out there waiting for me, isn’t he?”
Captain Edmond Butler inquired, “Will we go after him now?”
“We’ll march the command back to Tongue River, recoup, then set out again—yes. By all means,” Miles replied. “Although my nemesis is still out there, roaming free … I have accomplished one thing I set out to do. I have succeeded in dividing the enemy against itself, whittling away at my enemy’s forces where I can find and engage them.”
“That’s more than the other columns have been able to accomplish in this country,” declared Andrew S. Bennett.
“We won’t name names here, Captain Bennett,” Miles replied, flatly waving off that comment pointed at both Terry and Crook. “From the reports of their disgraceful failures of late, I judge that the nation sooner or later will understand the difference between doing something and doing nothing.”
Luther Kelly refilled his coffee tin, then asked, “Will we fight on into the winter, General?”
Miles turned to regard his chief of scouts. “You’ll have a job for as long as Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse are free, Mr. Kelly. I will endeavor to keep the tribes divided and take them in detail. Never more will the hostiles band together. Make no mistake about it—I consider what we have, done to be the beginning of the end for their people.”
* Ree, or Arikara, scouts.
Chapter 15
Late October–4 November 1876
Ann Eliza to Get Her Alimony
at Last.
UTAH
Ann Eliza Gets Her Money.
SALT LAKE, October 25.—This morning, the ten days having expired which had been allowed Brigham Young in which to pay alimony to Anna Eliza, his nineteenth wife, and it not having been paid, Brigham appeared in court before Judge Shaffer, who ordered that A. K. Smith be appointed as special commissioner without bonds and ordered to seize property, sell the same and pay the sum required with costs, and special authority to be issued to the commissioner under the seal of the court; and it was further ordered that the defendant be discharged. The amount due as alimony up to the present time is about $4,000.
“Not long after we got back to Camp Robinson, Crook had himself an audience with the chiefs and other headmen,” Seamus said, speaking in a soft voice so that he would not wake the child who lay asleep in the crook of his father’s shoulder.
Samantha watched her husband step slowly across the tiny room, using what floor there was to pace back and forth as his son slept, nestled within his father’s arms while she sat propped up in the rope-and-tick bed, watching them both, her knees drawn up where she rested her chin.
From the moment Crook’s command had returned to Fort Laramie, Seamus had been with them both constantly, forgoing most of his nocturnal visits to the sutler’s saloon, choosing not to join the other scouts and soldiers in their noisy camaraderie in these last few days before embarking on Crook’s Powder River Expedition. Instead, to Sam it seemed that her husband hungered only for the companionship of his family across what hours and days were left him before Mackenzie’s Fourth would plunge north into the winter wilderness, the spear point of George Crook’s desperate last-chance campaign to find and capture Crazy Horse.
“Soon enough I’ll have only male voices around my ears,” he had tried to explain when she asked him why he hovered close, why he didn’t wander over to Collins’s saloon.
Again he had tried to explain the life of an army on the march: only the bray of mules and the snort of horses, the squeak of frozen saddle and the jingle of frosted bit—to touch, instead of loved ones, only the memories of these two most important people in his world, alone and trying desperately to keep himself warm with those memories as a second winter campaign swallowed him whole.*
“If Crook captured the Sioux chiefs,” Samantha began now as she watched him pace with the child, “why would he even bother to talk with them at all?”
Shifting the infant from his shoulder, Donegan laid his little son across his left arm and adjusted the tiny blanket around the boy’s head and face as he said, “What he had to say to that gathering of chiefs was most important, Sam. You see, Crook had the power—then and there, plain as paint before all the headmen and once-mighty warriors—to remove Red Cloud from his throne.”