Sheridan wrote:
The [congressional] bill for increasing the company strength of [regiments of] cavalry in the field passed Congress …
I will give orders to General Terry today to establish a cantonment for the winter at Tongue River and will send supplies there for 1500 men, cavalry and infantry. I think also of establishing a cantonment for the winter at Goose Creek, or some other point on your line, for a force of 1000 men. I will send you 100 of the best Pawnee scouts under Major [Frank] North, regularly enlisted, as Congress has increased the number to one thousand.
We must hold the country you and Terry have been operating in this winter, or else every Indian at the agencies will go out as soon as we commence dismounting and disarming them …
“At first light Terry’s Rees come back from scouting those trails scattering to the east of the Rosebud and found the grass burned off,” Donegan told Bill that Friday afternoon. “Only thing that means is the hostiles moved through this country at least a week ago.”
Nodding, Cody replied, “Right. Shows the Sioux crossed over that ground before these heavy rains started.”
“So tell me what Crook and Terry hope to learn by sending you down the Yellowstone on that riverboat.”
“Crook doesn’t want any part of this,” Cody stated, blowing on his tin of coffee. “He only wants that boat to go up to the Rosebud and get his supplies.”
“But Terry has the rank,” Seamus said. “And even more important: it’s Terry’s boat, and Terry’s supplies—so Crook’s got to go along with everything Terry wants.”
“Including Terry’s idea to send me and Louie Reshaw down to the mouth of Glendive Creek to see if we can figure out what the hostiles are planning to do.”
“Mr. Cody!”
They both turned to find one of Terry’s staff hailing them, hurrying their way. Bill flung the lukewarm dregs of his coffee at the fire. “Looks like they’re ready to give me a ride on that goddamned boat.”
“Watch out, Bill. See for yourself all the bullet scars in that iron they riveted up around the pilothouse.”
Cody held out his hand and shook the Irishman’s. “I didn’t come back out here to scout for the army just to be killed while taking a lark of a ride on some goddamned riverboat. I intend to make it back home to Lulu and the children.”
“Sounds like you’ve made up your mind to cash in your chips and go back east.”
Pulling on his fringed gloves, Cody said, “Just as soon as this ride on the river is damned well over.”
Sioux Attacking Steamboats—Terry Falling Back
ST. PAUL, August 7—A Bismarck special to-day to the Pioneer Press and Tribune, says the steamer Carroll arrived this morning from General Terry’s camp, having on board General Forsythe and twenty sick and wounded soldiers. The Carroll on her way up, when near the mouth of the Powder river, found the Indians on both sides of the river, and for two and a half hours they kept up a running fire upon the boat, only wounding one soldier slightly. The steamer Far West, after leaving Fort Buford for Terry’s camp found her load too heavy and discharged part of her cargo, principally grain. At this same point the Indians attacked the Far West … The Indians stood on both banks of the river and with oaths dared Col. Moore with his troops to leave the boat and land. A few shells were fired from a twelve-pounder which scattered the Indians and they disappeared from the south bank.
Dave Campbell, pilot of the Far West with two Ree scouts, then landed and went out to reconnoiter, but finding the Indians were endeavoring to cut them off, they turned and started as fast as was possible for the boat. Seven Sioux had circled as to intercept them, and it became a race for life. The horse of one of the scouts began to fall behind and was soon shot, when the rider started on foot, but it was no use. The same Sioux who had killed the horse soon reached him and put a bullet through his lungs. Dave Campbell heard the shot. Looking behind and seeing the wounded scout laying on the ground, he said to the other scout, “We must go back and get that man.”
Although it was as much as their lives were worth, they turned, and as they did so they saw the Sioux dismounted from his pony, fired, and the Indian fell with his scalping knife in his hand. Dave and the Ree then scalped the Sioux and started with the wounded man for the steamer. During this time Col. Moore, although with three companies, sent no one to the relief of these three men. Finally Grant Marsh, captain of the Far West called for one hundred volunteers, and fifteen soldiers immediately offered their services, but Col. Moore ordered them not to leave the boat. However, eight of them, contrary to orders, went with Capt. Marsh and brought in Campbell and the two scouts. Colonel Moore threatened to courtmartial these eight men then and there, and the steamboat men don’t hesitate to pronounce Col. Moore’s conduct cowardly in the extreme.
Terry has fallen back eighty miles from his camp on the Big Horn, and is now camped near the mouth of Rosebud. A scout from Gen. Crook reached Gen. Terry July 22, barefooted and almost destitute of clothing. Crook was but seventy-five miles from General Terry’s command and trying to reach him. The Indians, however, kept picking off his men, driving in his scouts, and stealing his stock, so that his advance was very much retarded, only being about six miles a day. The men in both commands are reported very much disheartened.
On the afternoon of the eighteenth Seamus sat on the south bank of the Yellowstone and watched as a Bozeman City trader floated downriver in his Mackinaw boat, hailing the soldiers.
“Homemade ale and dry goods!” the peddler bellowed as he rose to his knees in his rickety craft. “Come and get what’s left of my homemade ale!”
As he came in sight of the army’s encampment, the civilian proclaimed that he had sold half his wares to the soldiers left to garrison the depot at the mouth of the Rosebud and wished to sell the rest of his heady beer and dry goods before pushing back upriver for home.
Like a flock of goslings swarming around a farmwife’s ankles as she scatters corn, officers and enlisted alike nearly swamped the poor man’s little boat as they rushed into the water to be the first to have call on his ale, as well as his other goods.
“Yeah, I’ve got a frying pan,” he answered one officer’s request.
“How about a coffeepot?”
“Yes, one of them too.”
“You have any canned fruit?”
“A little. Got more of tinned vegetables.”
“Shirts? You got any?”
“A few hickory shirts left. And some canvas britches too.”
“Give me one of each!”
“Save a pair of them pants for me!”
The bearded, sunburned men huddled round that trader’s boat, exchanging what little money they had for what the Bozeman merchant sold at exorbitant prices, men forced to buy with their own funds clothing that the army hadn’t seen fit to provide its ragged, nearly naked soldiers.
While they waited for Cody and the Far West to return from his scout downriver to the mouth of Glendive Creek, Crook and Terry held a curious correspondence, discussing just how ready Crook really was to resume his chase, since he steadfastly repeated that he still required a full fifteen days of rations and forage. The latter was proving to be the most crucial—plainly there wasn’t enough grain to recruit Crook’s broken-down horses.
Early on the evening of the eighteenth, Terry wrote to Crook, saying:
Since I saw you, I have found that our supplies of subsistence are larger than I supposed … your commissary still needs 200 boxes of hard bread. Of these, I can furnish 100 boxes … The difference between this amount and the 15 days’ rations, of which you spoke, is so slight that I think it ought not to detain us. But perhaps your animals are in such a state that a further supply of forage and a longer rest would be desireable for them. If such be your wish, I am certainly willing to wait until the forage can be obtained.