U PON the very same day, General Belcher’s Act indemnifying Achilles Smith for the loss of his scalp by removing the Pottawatomie Indians from their reservation, was squeezed through the House by a majority of two votes. The bill provided for the immediate withdrawal of the Indians from their reservation in the Indian Territory, and the location of the tribe upon another reservation in Colorado, in a part of the country which is absolutely a desert, without water or shrubbery, and wholly unfit for the residence of any animal of a higher grade than a rattlesnake.
By some means the information of the action of the House was conveyed to the Pottawatomie chiefs, and they expressed to their agent their disgust in very strong language. The agent was scared, and he sent to Fort Gibson for a company of cavalry to protect him. The commander could spare but ten men. When the Indians discovered the approach of the soldiers they imagined that a force was coming to drive them from their homes, and accordingly296 they attacked the squad, killed all but one man, and then the entire tribe went upon the warpath.
The Government took instant action. The Indians numbered about one thousand warriors. The force sent to crush them included not more than two hundred cavalrymen. The Indians were mounted upon fleet and hardy ponies, which could endure an incredible amount of fatigue and live upon grass. The cavalrymen bestrode horses which had performed service in New York omnibuses and upon St. Louis horse-cars, and which could hardly be driven faster than six miles an hour under stress. The Indians were armed with telescope rifles, breech-loading, and warranted to kill at three-quarters of a mile. These had been furnished gratuitously in time of peace by a beneficent Government. The soldiers were armed with short-range carbines, and with sabres which were about as useful in fighting savages who never came within gun-shot as a fishing-rod would have been. The Indians carried upon their ponies what food they wanted. The military force was encumbered by ambulances and several wagons carrying camp equipage. In a fight at close quarters the soldiers could have beaten their adversaries easily. In a race, which permitted no other fighting than occasional skirmishing, all the chances were on the side of the Indians; and a race was what the combatants were in for.
297 Just before the expedition was ready to start, General Belcher, by bringing some influence indirectly to bear, succeeded in having Major Dunwoody detailed to accompany it in command of the Commissary Department. The Major was wild with vexation and disgust.
“Pandora, darling,” he said, “you know that I was to get my leg to-morrow, and that we were to be married within the month?”
“Well! Won’t we? Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong! Why, my dear, I have just received from the War Department orders to accompany the expedition against the Pottawatomies. I start to-morrow for Fort Gibson.”
“How can you ride, with only one leg?”
“I am to command the Commissary Department. I shall have to ride in an ambulance. This is the fault of that accursed Smith. Why didn’t he and Belcher let the Indians alone?”
“And we can’t be married, then, until you return?”
“I don’t see how. Isn’t it outrageous? I have the worst luck of any man in the army.”
Pandora looked as if she were going to cry.
“And your leg? Won’t you get that until you come back?”
“Yes, dear, I will take it out of the Museum this evening, and you can amuse yourself throwing it upon the canvas while I am gone.”
298 “Oh, that will be so nice!”
“So nice that I am gone?”
“Oh, Henry! How could you think I meant that?”
“I didn’t; I was only jesting. And you will think of me sometimes?”
“Yes, oh yes; every moment of the day.”
“And you love me very much?”
“Indeed, indeed, I do!”
“My darling!”
“My dearest!”
Probably the curtain might as well drop again at this point.
The expedition started from Fort Gibson. It marched straight across the Indian territory to the Pottawatomie Reservation. The savages had moved off, about a day’s march ahead of the soldiers, toward the northwest. The military pressed forward; the Indians kept always just a little in advance. The two forces crossed into Kansas. The troops pressed their omnibus horses a little harder, and came within sight of the Indian rear-guard. Then the savages spurred up and increased the interval between them and the pursuers.
The Pottawatomies headed for Colorado, and crossed the line in a few days, with the soldiers the usual distance behind. Just after passing the Colorado border, the Colonel commanding resolved to steal a march upon the foe. One night, instead of299 going into camp, he pressed on until twelve o’clock, and then halted upon the bank of the Arkansas River.
Four omnibus horses succumbed under the strain, and ere morning dawned some Pottawatomies crept into the camp and stole six mules.
The most degraded Indian was never known to steal a New York omnibus horse, even in the dark.
The next day the four dismounted troopers were placed in an ambulance, and the pursuit began again. The Indians fled up through Colorado into Wyoming Territory, and the Colonel commanding pushed after them, going faster and faster every day. By the time he reached Fort Russel, just over the edge of the Wyoming line, the route of his march was marked with a succession of omnibus and car horses in various stages of decay. At the Fort he obtained fresh horses, and sacrificing the baggage wagons, keeping only the ambulances, he pressed on.
On the 27th of August his scouts discovered the Indians in camp in a valley a few miles ahead. The Colonel resolved upon a surprise. When everything was arranged the troops charged down upon the village with a wild hurrah. Not an Indian could be seen. The soldiers, however, burned the lodges and withdrew. Upon their return they found that in their absence the Indians had stampeded their mules and all their ambulances but300 one, which Major Dunwoody had saved by hard driving.
The chase was resumed with greater heat than ever. So far there had not been a chance for anything like a fight. In fact, not a dozen savages had been seen.
Within a week or two Wyoming was traversed and Montana Territory reached. There, just beyond the Crow Indian Reservation, the first Pottawatomie of the campaign was slain. He sneaked into the camp one night, and while cutting loose one of Major Dunwoody’s mules, the mule kicked him upon the head and killed him.
On the 6th of October the soldiers had marched for thirty-six hours without rest, and it was believed that they would at last strike a telling blow upon the savages. Everything was ready for a fight, and the troops were full of eagerness for the fray. While they were halting for water upon a small creek, a friendly Gros Ventre Indian came in with the information that the fugitive Pottawatomies had crossed the British line and were now safe from pursuit within the dominions of Her Majesty.
The Colonel and his officers and men fairly tore the English language into shreds in their efforts to express with the necessary emphasis their appreciation of the facts of the situation.
The “war” cost the Government a little less than a million and a half dollars, omnibus horses301 included; and it was estimated by well-informed persons that the flying Indians, while upon the route, destroyed private property to the amount of half a million more, besides killing and scalping a party of eighteen emigrants which was passing through Wyoming.
It seemed like rather a large price to pay for Mr. Achilles Smith’s scalp.
Some time during the month of September, while the chase was in progress, Achilles called at the house of Mrs. M’Duffy in Washington and asked for Pandora. He said,—
“Miss M’Duffy, I come upon a somewhat painful errand, but I have a duty devolving upon me, and I must perform it.”
“No bad news from Major Dunwoody, I hope, Mr. Smith?”
“I am sorry to say there is.”
Pandora’s eyes filled with tears. Her face became pale.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I have here a dispatch to the Secretary of War, saying that in a fight with the Indians, on last Wednesday week, Major Dunwoody—”
“Not killed! Oh, please don’t say he was slain! I can’t bear it.”
“No, not killed. Major Dunwoody has lost his other leg and his right arm.”
“How terrible!” screamed Pandora; then she wept bitterly.
302 “Terrible, indeed!” replied Smith in a sympathetic tone. “But you know this is the fortune of war. This it is to be a soldier.”
“Poor Henry! How he must have suffered! Do you know how he is? What are the chances of recovery?”
“The dispatch says he is doing very well. But of course he will be a mere wreck.”
“It is dreadful, too dreadful!”
“Perfectly helpless, too. A mere burden upon those who will have to take care of him.”
“Not if they love him!”
“But surely you—you do not intend to cling to such a—a—such a disintegrated ruin as he?”
“I shall be true to him unto death.”
“I had hoped,” said Achilles sadly, “that now that Dunwoody is reduced to about one half his original dimensions, I might hope to have you consider my claims.”
“Never! It can never be!”
“Because I am about moving out o............