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These were the fragments
of news which dribbled through the wires, all too slowly for the impatient
comrades of the small beleaguered force in the wilds of
Colorado.
You will proceed with all available troops in your command to the rescue
of Payne and his sorely pressed command said the dispatch from the
commanding general of the department to the officer in command at Fort
Russell. Officers were assembled and the orders for preparation given. No
need to insist on haste; the dead, wounded, and beleaguered were kith and
kin to those going to the rescue, endeared by hundreds of associations
which make men stick closer than brothers. Each officer went about his
work with the coolness and precision of the usual preparation for a
routine service, though there were decision and promptitude which told of
the serious work ahead.
In four hours from the time the news first
reached Fort Russell all the troops of cavalry, with their horses and
equipments, for which there was transportation by rail, were on the cars,
and running as fast as steam could carry them toward Rawlins, a point two
hundred miles distant on the Union Pacific Railroad, from which the march
was to commence cross the country to the scene of disaster.
By daylight on the
following morning (October 2nd) a force of about two hundred cavalry and
less than one hundred and fifty infantry had collected at Rawlins station.
The move to the relief of Payne and his command must be made as soon as
sufficient force was collected. Payne had reported he was sorely pressed
by the
Indians on every side, and had many wounded, among the rest the
medical officer. His supplies were sufficient to last for five days from
the 29th September. The way to the scene of disaster was long, and succor
must arrive in three days of the time still left for the troops at
Rawlins. Other troops were being hurried forward, but they could not reach
the railroad starting-point for a day or two at least. Rumors were current
that the Southern Utes had broken out, which would increase greatly the
strength of the hostiles. The greater their strength, the less time
remained for saving the shattered and maimed command. Even then the Ute
Indians
on the war-path had been largely augmented by the malcontents from kindred
bands, and were making every effort to destroy the weak remnant of
Thornburgs command.
In anticipation of the
fewness of the available cavalry for the rescue, and with knowledge that
no infantry unassisted could make the march in time to be of service,
light wagons, with as good teams as the country could afford, had been
ordered collected from the country around Rawlins, in which to transport
the infantry. This was all done, and the supplies of every kind
transferred to wagons and pack trains, so that the command march-ed out
from Rawlins at eleven & clock on the morning of October 2nd. There was a
distance of 170 miles to be traversed before the fate of the besieged
command could be determined.
The march was a case for
calculation and judgment. A single dash of fifty or even seventy-five
miles can be made by horses, as racing men say, on a breath, but at the
end of this greatest distance still a hundred more miles were left to be
accomplished. Too much haste at first, wearing out the horses, would leave
the command afoot and helpless. Would the command reach its destination in
time was the one absorbing thought in the mind of every officer and
trooper in the column.
It is difficult for one
who has never marched on the plains to form a conception of the tedium and
seeming slowness of the progress. The cavalry command scouting after
Indians
will see the land-marks, apparently a few miles off, made so by the clear
atmosphere of the plains, stand out as though one could walk to them in a
few hours, remain during days of marching in the same places and with the
same appearance. Were it not that nearer objects conveyed the fact of
distance gained, one might easily imagine that he was journeying in a land
where the efforts at motion were nullified by the sorcerers art, and
progress was impossible. And if this is so when a usual march is being
made, who can tell the exasperation at the want of apparent progress on
the road the rate of travel on which means Life or death to those whom it
is ones duty to save! At the end of the first ten hours from the start the
relieving column had accomplished about forty-five miles. Everything was
brought up, and the command was still in good condition. Here a halt was
made till dawn of day, at break of which the onward march was resumed.
Let us now, while still
marching forward, recall, as was done by every one in the rescuing column
hundreds of times, what had occurred to Thornburgs command. Ten days
before the news of his disaster reached Fort Russell, Major Thornburg left
Rawlins station with a force of cavalry and infantry to protect the agency
and its white inhabitants from the
Indians
they were there to feed and instruct. The
Indians
had grown restless under the efforts of the agent to teach them farming
and the other industries of the whites, and the agent became anxious for
the safety of his family and himself. Thornburg moved leisurely through
the country, making convenient camps after usual marches, without
molestation, and not until the sixth day were any
Indians
seen. In the camp, after it was established on this day, several Ute
Indians
of prominence visited Major Thornburg in the afternoon, talked freely and
pleasantly with him and his officers, and departed about nightfall,
apparently in a most friendly mood. This was more than a hundred miles
from the agency. After this Thornburg pursued his march without incident.
On the morning of the 29th of September, while his command was separated
by a short distance, he came on the Utes in strong force near a pass in
the mountains which bounded their reservation. Their attitude was
extremely hostile. While incredulous of their intent to fight, he took the
precaution to deploy the part of the command with him, at the same time by
signs trying to open communication with the
Indians.
His overtures were met by a volley from the
Indians,
which was at once replied to by the troops, the skirmish line being slowly
withdrawn to connect with the rest of the command and to protect the
wagons. In battle,
Indians
always send warriors to the flanks and to the rear of the force with which
they fight. This they do without reference to the strength of the enemy.
It has therefore passed into a proverb that there is no rear in an
Indian
engagement.
The Utes pursued these
tactics with Thornburgs command, in the mean time violently engaging his
skirmishers in front. While concentrating his command, and when a few
hundred yards from the wagons, Thornburg was killed. The command was
united at the wagons, and, surrounded by the hostiles, hurried measures
were taken for defense, the fighting on each side being continued with
desperation. The wagons were formed in an irregular circle, and the
contents, together with the dead animals which had fallen near by, were
used in constructing a sort of defensive work. Within this ghastly
protection the wounded men were conveyed, and soon, with the implements in
the wagons, a circular rifle pit was constructed. And now a new danger
threatened. A high wind arose soon after the commencement of the attack,
and the
Indians fired the dry grass and brush to the windward of the wagons,
and taking advantage of the smoke and fire, made a furious attack in the
hope of burning the defenders out. This was a terrible danger, but
with coolness and courage the troops combated the flames, and it was not
long before their fury was expended. Later in the day the Utes made
a violent onslaught on the breastworks, but being repulsed, settled down
to watch their prey in the hope that starvation or lack of water would
finish the work. During the night the means of defense were
strengthened, and water was obtained by force from the stream nearby for
the famishing wounded and suffering defenders. Couriers were also
sent out into the darkness in different directions with the hope that the
distressful condition of the command could be made known and relief
hurried to them. The couriers succeeded in passing out, and carried
the news that started the relief command from Fort Russell.
On the last day of
September, and for four days in October, the command contended with the
Indians,
repulsing attacks made from time to time, answering shot with shot and
taunt with taunt – for many of the Utes spoke English. Each night
the defensive works were strengthened and each day defended against
renewed attacks. A deep square pit was dug in the interior of the
circle, in which the wounded were made comfortable, the medical officer,
though wounded himself, dressing the wounds of those most needing
attention. At night, also, armed parties sent out for water
succeeded in bringing in a supply, though at times meeting resistance and
fighting for what was obtained. In this way the time for five long
days and nights was occupied, who can tell with what anxieties, gloomy
forebodings and doubting hopes!
In the meantime the
rescuing force was losing no time. Without drawing rein, save for a
needed rest at intervals to conserve strength for the whole of the work,
the command pressed on with unflagging energy, marching with advance
guard, and at times flankers to prevent the possibility of ambuscade or
surprise. The country was quiet, and no signs of
Indians
were discovered. A halt was made on the second night, after
completion of little less than two-thirds of the whole distance to be
accomplished. At dawn the morning of the 4th of October
the march was resumed. The unfinished distance must be completed by
the following dawn. About one hundred miles had already been
accomplished in twenty-three marching hours. More than seventy
miles, to be marched over in daylight and darkness, in the next
twenty-four hours, was before the command. This would require little
less, if all went well, than twenty hours’ constant marching.
In these days of rapid
transit it is not easy for people to bring their ideas of travel down to
the rate of march of a cavalry column. This, if long distances are
marched, cannot safely exceed, including halts for rest, four miles per
hour. A single horseman can do more than this, for he can regulate
the rate according to the road, and he has not the dust and crowding of a
mass of cavalry horses on a narrow road to contend with. Besides,
the single horseman provides himself with the best of horses, while the
march of a cavalry column must be regulated to meet the abilities of the
least enduring animal. All these elements entered into the
calculation of the march of the rescuing force. It must make the
march, and that, too, with undiminished numbers.
On this day’s march
several settlers were met by the command, fleeing for safety, and rumors
of murders and depredations by the
Indians
were received from all quarters. At one point the head of the column
was approached by an excited party asking medical assistance, who led the
medical officer to a wagon in which a citizen was lying on an improvised
bed, who was an unsightly mass of wounds, and had been left by the
Indians
for dead. His companion had been killed. When it was
discovered that the wagon body in which he lay was nearly half full of
loose cartridges, in which he had been trading with the
Indians,
sympathy for him was greatly diminished.
As night came on the
difficulties of marching were much increased by the darkness and rough
roads. From time to time halts had to be made, and staff officers
sent to the rear to direct the column in the darkness and see that all
kept well closed. After a seemingly interminable season of marching
by the uncertain light of a waning moon, in which objects were dimly
defined and always distorted, the hour indicated to the weary though
watchful horsemen that they were approaching the scene of the conflict.
Not a sound broke the stillness of the chilly night save the steady tramp
of the horses and the rattle and jingle of the equipments of the men. The
infantry part of the command, owing to the darkness and difficulties of
travel, had fallen behind.
A blackened heap of ashes
on the highway, with fragments of iron and chains and pieces of harness
and rubbish, marked where a train loaded with stores for the agency had
been burnt, and further on the bodies of the slaughtered trainmen with
distorted features and staring eyes, told all too plainly of their short
run for life of the mercy they had plead for, and how their prayers had
been answered by the merciless foe. These were not cheering omens. Had
Payne and his men shared a like fate? No one had come to tell. But it
would soon be known. It cant be far from here, said the guide, for the
third time, as the command was brought to a halt, and every one strained
eyes and ears for a sight of the surrounding country or a sound from the
front. A bugler with his trumpet ready was close at hand to sound the call
known as officers call in the cavalry, a certain sign of recognition, that
there might be no collision with friends who, hearing the tramp of horses,
might mistake the force for foes. Presently the guide satisfied himself
that the command was near the place, and the clear notes of the trumpet
awakened the echoes of the night.
Captain Payne, in recounting the event, says:
“Believing it just possible for help to reach us next morning, I directed
one of my trumpeters to be on the alert for the expected signal.” And so
it was: just as the first gray of the dawn appeared, our listening ears
caught the sound of officers call breaking the silence of the morning, and
filling the valley with the sweetest music we had ever heard. Joyously the
reply rang out from our corral, and the men, rushing from their rifle
pits, made the welkin ring with their glad cheers.
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