Official Report of Captain Frederick H. King
Camp on Goose Creek, Wyoming Territory
June 20th, 1876
Sir,
In obedience to Paragraph II of Circular of this date from HQBn, 2nd and 3rd Cavalry, I have the honor to respectfully report that my command was resting at the first halting place after leaving camp on the 17th instant, the horses being unsaddled and grazing, in obedience to orders received…
“Shit.”
Fritz put the pencil down and rested his head in his hands. Things had gone badly, and he didn’t want to sugar-coat them. They had been caught off guard, despite his warnings. They had entered the Rosebud Valley, and decided to take a coffee break!
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He awoke early, as the first grey streaks of light crossed the horizon. 3:00 AM was mighty early for the average man, but the average man wasn’t a Soldier. Fritz rolled out of his greatcoat and checked Strider. He’d run a lead loop from his halter and slipped it under his coat. If someone tried to take his horse in the night, he’d feel the movement. Whatever sugar cubes left in his pocket had been crushed by sleeping on the hard ground. He turned his pocket inside out, dumping the contents into his palm, which Strider greedily licked up.
“That’s it, buddy,” Fritz said, rubbing his mount on the spot between his eyes. The horse dipped his head to the touch, neighing softly.
“Yeah…I know. They’re close.”
Fritz found Scott, who was sliding his boots on. There would be no trumpet calls this morning, unless an attack came from the darkness. Men were roused by a word or a touch. They busied themselves by tending to their mounts, or talking in small groups. Cigars or pipes went unlit. Those who chewed tobacco spat happily, while others looked on enviously. Fritz chewed on a few coffee beans to wake him up.
Three hours later the command was ready to move out. As he mounted, Fritz prayed that Scarlet would stay safe, and that the command would fare well. The Infantry was first on the road, followed by the Cavalry, then the Packers and Miners who had joined the expedition. The scouts were Cyrus’s concern.
They had been augmented by about 250 Crow and Shoshone Scouts. General Crook had finally received the “Indians to fight against the Indians,” but they were a mixed blessing at best. True, they were probably the finest horse soldiers he had ever seen, but their noise and light discipline sucked. They were issued their rations, and immediately began feasting and dancing. If Scarlet were concerned about the noise the command was making, she was probably having kittens by now. They fired their weapons indiscriminately, without regard to ammunition stores. The Shoshones were armed with .45 caliber Springfield rifles; where they got them Fritz hadn’t a clue. The Crows were armed mostly with older .50 caliber Allin conversions. That ammunition would be hard to come by. Perhaps the Crows thought they would re-arm themselves with more modern, cast-off weapons. Whether they came from Soldiers or Sioux didn’t matter.
This morning, however, the Indian scouts were quiet. They knew there was danger in the air. Death was in their midst.
The Cavalry quickly outpaced the Infantry, and led the way into the Rosebud Valley. It would’ve been a lovely place; the river wasn’t very wide, and easily fordable. Thick blankets of roses covered both banks of the river, and the fragrance reminded him of his wife. The valley was a mixture of green grasses and blue wildflowers. It would’ve been a pleasant place to picnic…if not for the Sioux.
The column marched on both sides of the river. Three miles into the valley, the Rosebud River turned sharply north. The river then ran east for about three miles, and then turned sharply north again. The 2nd and 3rd Cavalry were midway between the bends when the order to halt came down the line. It was 8:00 AM.
“What???” Fritz said, not quite believing what he’d heard. He waited for Captain Mills to repeat the order.
“General Crook has ordered a halt. Some of the horses are done in…not to mention the men. We DID march 35 miles yesterday.”
Fritz was hurting too, but didn’t want to admit it to the younger man. “Very well,” he replied.
“And Captain,” Mills replied, “have the men unsaddle their horses.”
Before Fritz could protest, Mills was splashing back across the Rosebud to his command. Fritz made eye contact with Scott and motioned him over.
“What was that about?” Scott asked.
“A halt has been called.”
“Why? We’ve only made a few miles by my count.”
“Not my call,” Fritz spat. “The General says we need a rest. Have the men unsaddle their horses.”
“Are you kidding? We’re in Indian country for sure!”
“Pass the word slowly,” Fritz replied. “No rush.”
Scott nodded and began to move slowly through the company. He found Dave and Johann, and let the Sergeants pass the word down the chain. It would take 15 to 20 minutes before the word reached every ear.
The veterans wasted no time, turning to to unsaddle and boil water for coffee. Small fires popped up everywhere; luckily there was very little smoke to mark their presence. Men happily lit pipes and cigars. Fritz rolled one between his fingers. Remembering Scarlet’s warning, he slipped it back into his vest. Pockets of men chatted; some took the opportunity to catch a few winks. After 20 years, the capacity of a Soldier still amazed Fritz.
“Why walk when you can ride…why stand when you can sit…why sit when you can lie down,” he whispered.
He took a look at his surroundings. It was not the place Fritz would’ve chose to stop, but then again, he wasn’t a General. Water was plentiful, as was grass for grazing. To the south was a 500 foot high bluff. “That’s where I’d be,” Fritz said to no one. To the north were a series of low ridges, running from 150 to 800 yards distant. He could see the prairie rising behind those ridges. A lone crest, running northwest to southeast, terminated about one mile east of the west bend of the Rosebud. This crest separated the second, smaller valley called the Kollmar from the Rosebud. The Kollmar was created by a spring-fed creek, which was mostly dry this time of year. There was a solitary homestead on the banks of the Rosebud, owned by the Kobold family. I Company was situated near this house.
Fritz could see General Crook talking with Major Shurmann near the mouth of the Kollmar. He was sure that Bill was telling the General the same thing he thought. Several Crow and Shoshone scouts rode up to the pair. They were animated, and pointing towards the ridges to the northwest. Bill shielded his eyes from the sunlight, and looked in the direction the scouts pointed. The scouts wheeled and rode off towards the ridges.
“Scott,” Fritz called. “Post some pickets to the north of camp please.” Scott picked four men from the company. The four took their carbines and moved about fifty yards north of the camp. There they took interval and took a knee. They would wait there until relieved, or until something started. Fritz prayed it wouldn’t.
It was quiet and cool. The stillness was bothersome. Fritz walked back to Strider, checking his pistols as he went. He opened the loading gate of each Colt, dropping a round into the empty chambers. Several Soldiers took his cue and did the same. Fritz pulled the Berdan from its scabbard. There was no need to check the chamber. He rested the butt on his boot and looked off to the north.
Some of the Shoshones began racing their ponies, much to the amusement of the troopers. Fritz shook his head. There was nothing that could be done. At the first report of a rifle, he lifted his Berdan and dropped to one knee. One shot erupted into many, and the sound echoed over the valley floor.
“Maybe they’re hunting buffalo over there,” one trooper remarked.
“My ass,” Fritz replied, dropping to the sitting position. He thumbed back the hammer and put his rifle to shoulder. Suddenly, the Indian scouts galloped over the ridge top. One of them was yelling at the top of his lungs, “Lakota!!! Lakota!!!”
As the scouts bolted towards the safety of camp, hundreds of Sioux and Cheyenne boiled over the ridge top. Fritz flipped up the ladder sight and estimated the range. He released the set trigger, and took a bead on the closest attacker, who was wildly waiving a pistol in the air. Fritz held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The report of the big rifle sounded enormous by the river. The round struck the Sioux in the jaw, the heavy round tearing through it and the skull behind. The rider flipped backwards off his mount, and was promptly trampled by the hoard.
The battle of the Rosebud had begun.