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A Wife for the Pastor.
: : ; By CHAPIN HOWARD.
When the Rev. Gilbert Bancroft be
gan his pastorate in Windham, it wa
felt by the members of the village
church that they had secured all—il
fact a great deal more—than they hac
any reason to expect. They had treat
ed themselves to the pleasurable ex
citement of listening to a long line o!
candidates, considering and rejecting,
until one Sunday morning a slim
voung preacher had arisen in the pul
pit and surveyed them earnestly with
a pair of very fine gray eyes,
His frock coat fitted. perfectly, his
collar and tie were irreproachable, and
as it had been previously ascertained
that he was hampered by neither a
family nor a cough, an instantancous
convietion swept through the feminine
half of the audience that here, at last,
was the man for whom they had been
waiting. In a few Isolated cases of
spinsterhcod this ‘conviction even as
sumed a more personal significance.
The more conservative, masculine
. part of the congregation waited for the
sermon before committing itself to a
decision—happily unconsgcious that it
was taking an entirely unnecesgsary
precaution, and that the candidate had
been engaged practically from the
first moment. Before the singing of
the second hymn, Mrs. Saxton, the
wife of one of the deacons, was al
ready congratulating herself on the
fact that her daughter, Milly, sitting
unsuspectingly at her side, had always
been carefully reared, and was fitted
in every way to take up the duties of
a minister's wife. The parsonage roof,
of course, weuld have to be repaired,
and she would insist upon the Ladies’
Society repapering the parlor; other
wise the house would do very well as
it was.
At the close of the service, by skill
ful maneuvering and from the vantage
of a front pew, the deacon’s wife se
cured a promice from the candidate
to take tea with hér during the first
week of his pastorate, and her invita
tion was only the first in a royal sa
lute of welcome which rained upon
him from all the tea tables in the vil
lage, as soon as it was deflnitely
known that he would accept the call
extended to him by the church.
The parsonage was a low-roofed,
pleasant looking white house, standing
well back from the street, on a gentle
rise of lawn, and protected from the |
too close scrutiny of its neighbors by
a baflling hedge of locust trees and
shrubbery. Here, in the library on the
south side of the house, young Mr.
Bancroft establisped himself with his
typewriter and his books, scattering
through the other rooms his scanty
supply of furniture, the somewhat bat
tered equipment of his seminary days.
He engaged as housekeeper, Mrs, Em
ily Kimbal, an elderly widow of«his
congregation, and she at once assumed
a motherly charge of the minister and
his affairs. .- :
She was Inclined to view rather
skeptically the frank outburst of cord
iality with which the ladies of the con
gregation sought to make their new
pastor feel at home. He, however,
accepted all his invitations courteous
ly, starting out every afternoon punct
ually at five, faultlessly attired in
clothes of a noticeably city cut, his
fine, abstracted gaze unconscious of
the admiring scrutiny of half the vil
lage. Mrs. Kimbal never failed to ob
serve him critically from the shelter
of the parlor blinds.
“My land!" she remarked scornfully
to herself, “Any one would think they
was tryin' ter pay for the spiritual
food they get on Sunday by feedin’
him upon cake an' preserves all
through the week. An' when they
can't ask him out, they're a sendin’
of things in. Theras enough jell an’'
spice-cake in the pantry now to keep
him for a year. First they know they
will ruin his digestion an' then they'll
.have him preaching hell-fire an' dam
nation at 'em fit to kill!"
It was true that everything feminine
ingenuity could devise had been show
ered upon the youne clergyman to re
ligve the supposed barrenness of his
existence, .And from endless culinary
delicacies he found himself the posses
sor of a bewilderiug artay of Bible-
Kers, embroidered slippers and
sofa cushions, all of which he gave
ver dnto his housekeeper’s charge with
mrather helpless air,
“The church in Windham was only
his second pasiorate and he was young
and very much in earnest. He had
been persuaded to accept the call prin
cipally because he believed that here
he had found a definite work waiting
to be done. From the first Sunday
that he had preached in the village he
had set his heart upon securing the
erection of a new church te replace the
present old, dilapidated structure,
Apparently his plan met with ready
sympathy and encouragement on every
side. The more influential men of his
congregation, whom he approached
first, listened to him attentively, and
urged him to call and talk the matter
over more thoroughly, Meanwhile, all
. the services of the church were well
attended, and the outlook for success
appeared most gratifyingly bright,
But subtly and and by degrees a con
viction seemed to have insinuated it
self among his congregation that one
of the very qualifications which had
at first recommended him to their fav
or was, perhaps, after all, proving
somewhat of a drawback. It began to
be quite generally felt, and even deli
cately hinted, that a bachelor clergy
man’s usefulness was necessarily lim
fted. Several kind. motherly ladies,
7ho were possessed of daughters or
ieces of a marriageable age, admitted
5 him (confidentially) that they sigh
d whenever they thought of the lone
iness of his ..fe in that great par
“onage. One or two even playfully re
-1 «aonstrated with him-—there were so
nany sweet, sengible girlg in his con
;regation who were in every way fitted
0 be ministers’ wives.
The Rev. Gilbert Bancroft was at
iret puzzled, then disconcerted, and
dnally genuinely annoyed at this so
licitude shown on-his behalf. He
found it humiliating to admit that the
‘nterest and enthusiasm which he hon
-2sstly believed he had succeeded, in
arousing in thé building of the new
“hurch were, in péality, only the thin
cloak to various sentimental schemes
lor inveigling him into matrimony
against his will. His young confidence
and belief in his congregation were
severely shaken, and he passed
through a period of marked depression
and discouragement, which Mrs. Kim
‘!;al noticed with an experienced eye.
“He's beginnin’ to tind out what they
are a-drivin’ at,” she mused, “an’ he's
a tryin’ not to have any un-Christian
thoughts agin’ 'em, poor man. Secms
as if they was afraid they wasn’t a-get
in’ their money’s worth, hirin’ a single
man.” |
At first Mr. Bancroft had thought
to put an end to these embarrassing
suggestions by aunouncing firmly that
he did not inteund to marry. But he
was baffled and enraged to observe that
this was indulgently regarded merely
as the first step in his inevitable sur
render. There was no apparent abate
ment in the futile schemes to ensnare
him, and he continued to find himself
an unwilling, but outwardly courteous
guest, at tea-tables graced b the pres
ence of some demure and blushing vil
lage maiden whose virtues and accom
plishments were sme to be made the
subject of many a covert allusion for
his benefit. The hearts of his parish
foners were evidently set upon his
marrying, and they could give their
attention to nothing else. The new
church, in the minds of the ladies at
least, was a secondary consideration,
and could very well afford to wait,
The thought of failing in this, his
first ambitious undertaking, was in.”
tolerable to him, but after six months
of unavailing protest he found him
self reduced to a state of unholy ex
asperation, and realizing that his
patience was exhausted, he determined
to seek refuge temporarily in flight.
And so, having secured an old time
friend of his seminary days to occupy
the pulpit during his absence, he ar
‘tanged with the ccmmittee of the
Church to be away fiom Windham for
hree weeks. 1 ok |
~ The departupe occasloned consider
able surprise, and a number of theories
were advanced to account for it satis
factorily—the most complacent and
widely credited being that he had gone
away to get the ring. No one felt ex
actly in a position to supply particu- |
lars, but a feeling of pleased expect
ancy spread through the village. There |
were so many vacant third fingers up
on which that ring might fittingly be
placed! Gossip and speculation in
creased as the time for his return drew
near. A sensation was confidently ex
pected, and it came.
The unguessed truth burst with the
paralyzing suddenness of a bomb
among the startled congregation. The
Rev. Gilbert Bancroft had been mar
ried quietly, and was bringing home
his bride!
The news was received with mingled
feelings of incredulity and dismay.
Mrs. Kimbal was appealed to on all
sides for confirmation. Scant satis
faction, however, was to be obtained
from her. She would neither affirm
nor deny,
“"Anyway, it's just what you've all
been a-hopin’ an’ a-prayin’ for, ain’t
it?” she demanded. ‘
“I wouldn't be so upset about it, |
though, if I were you. 1t don't look |
just orthodox—bein' so surprised to
find your prayer's been answered.”
Mrs. Saxton voiced the general opin
fon of the flock when she replied that
if a minister made up his mind to
marry “it seemed hardly necessary for
him to go outside his own congrega
tion,"
“It wasn't necessary,” Mrs. Kimbal
admitted. *“Land, no! But why do
you s'pose I sent to the city when I
got my new alpaca three years ago—
'stead of buyin' it here to the store?
Because they didn't keep the line of
goods I was lookin'. for., 8o it ain’t
surprisin’, is it, he should feel the
same?"
A few days later all doubts were set
at rest when, just at dusk, an unfam
illar covered carriage, with a large
trunk strapped vehind, clattered up
the village street, and stopped before
the parsonage gate. The Rev. Gilbert
Bancroft alighted, and then, turning,
lifted out a slender, girlish figure,
stylishly gowned in black and wear
ing a heavy veil. The two passed
slowly up the walk, beneath the
searching gaze of half the village/ the
lady leaning heavily upon her hus
band's arm. Mrs, Kimbal met them in
‘Hhe hall, the trunk was brought in,
then the door closed and the carriage
drove away,
The village gasped.
The following Sundoy all Windham
attended morning service. But its
curiosity was destired to go unsatis.
fied. The Rev. Gilbert Bancroft enter
ed the church alone, and made his way
composedly into the pulpit. His eager
congregation’ conld scarcely wait T
the henediction to be pronounced g
fore they crowded about him, congrat
ulating and exclaiming. All the la
“dles, it appeared, had expected to see
the bride at church, , =~ = ¥
He met all inquiries with his.ugual
reticence. There had always been
something in his mauner which check
ed inquisitiveness, and it was felt
more strongly than ever now. He
thanked them pleasantly. Yes, it had
been very sudden. Still he had felt
sure that his congregation would ap
prove heartily of the idea if they had
known. But Mrs. Bancroft was very
frail, and would have to be allowed
to do good in her own way. He had
brought her to Windham only on the
condition that she might bhe sure of
the same absolute quiet in whieh, for
the last few years, she had been com
pelled to live. He hoped she might
exert a great influence for good, but
would beg the ladies to excuse her
from receiving calls. The flock with
drew, baffled and a little over-awed.
During the next few days, however,
in spite of the request, several well
meaning ladies insisted upon “just
running in” to see their pastor’s wife.
But they were me by Mrs. Kim
bal and the unchauging announce
ment that Mrs. Bancroft begged to be
excused. No one succeeded in pene
trating the impregnable wall of priv
acy which seemed to hedge her in,
Occasionally, just at dusk, she might
- be seen through openings in the shrub
bery, pacing slowly up and down the
walk before the house, leaning on her
husband’'s arm. She was always trim
ly gowned in unvarying black with a
white shawl thrown about her shoul
ders. She was very stately, with
abundant brown hair, and in the twi
light looked noticeably pale.
These infrequent and distant
glimpses of their pastor’s wife were all
that the congregation were able to ob
tain. As time went on she took no
part in the church work and attend
ed none of the services. Her exist
ence became the mystery of the quiet
village life. Young Mr. Bancroft was
dexterously plied+ with questions on
all sides, but he parried them as skill
fully with that guarded manner now
become habitual.
Mrs. Kimbal’s invariable reply was
pithy—and almost belligerent:
“I can’t see as folks has.any reason
to complain. She married him, didn’t
she?—not the deacons an’ the whole
congregation.”
One determined effort—and only one
—was made to storm the lady’s reso
lute seclusion. Placid Deacon Saxton
was chosen for the task. Having been
carefully instructed and rehearsed by
his wife, he made his way docily up
the grand path to the parsonage one
evening when Rev. and Mrs.
Bancroft could be seen taking their
usual twilight promenade. At sight of
the approaching figure the minister
turned and led his wife to the far end
of the walk. There he left her and re
turning greeted his vigitor with a chal
lenging cordiality while the lady re
mained standing by a lilac bush, her
graceful back half turned. Deacon
Saxton, very much disconcerted by
the unexpected coolness of his recep
tion, stammered out his errand. But
before he had half finished he was cut,
short by an indignant exclamation
from Mrs. Kimbal wno sped past them
from the house. The lady by the lilac
bush lay prostrate on the grass.
Mr. Bancroft sprang to her side, per
emptorily waving back the deacon,
who, thoroughly apnalled at the dis
astrous consequences of his intrusion,
beat a hasty retreat toward the gate,
There, glancing back, he could see the
unconscious, black-clad figure being
carried tenderly toward the house.
Instead of being solved, the mystery
had only deepened. Even the twilight
promenades were now abandoned and
no glimpse was caught of Mrs. Ban
croft during the fall or winter. After
many fruitless efforts village curiosity
was, for cnce, obliged to admit itself
conipletely baffled, and the nystery
was reluctantly left to Time, the great
unraveller,
Meanwhile, the Rev. @ilbert Ban
croft had been steadily at work rais
ing money for the building of the new
church, Since he had chosen to settle
I'is own matrimonial future he had
been free to pursue his scheme, un
hampered by the halo of romance
which had before surraunded him.
Public interest had shifted temporar
ily from his own personality to his
wife’s and the former zeal of his con
gregation for church work, abated
somewhat. But he worked on steadily,
his earnestness and perseverance
carrying him through moments of dis
couragement and apparent failure un
til, at the beginning of spring, he had
accomplished the seemingly impossi
ble—the money for the new church
had actually been raised.
Then, one Sunday morning, he elec
trified his congregation by quietly
reading his resignation. He felt, he
| told them, that his work in Windham
i was successfully completed, thanks to
their own generosity. Hé had decided
to accept a call to a larger chuSch in
a distant state where the opportunity
for work was greater, for he was young
with a young man's ambitions,
In spite of the loval protests of his
congregation, he resolutely declined to
reconsider this determination, and dur
ing the next few weeks began the
packing and shippirg of his house
hol% gocds. Although he made no
mention of the fact in connection with
his going, it was generally believed
that Mrs. Bancroft's health formed the
real reason for the change.
Would she leave Windham without
meeting any of the members of her
husband’s church? This was the ques
tion which (he village discussed with
| growing excitement gs the day of de
parture drew mear. But Mr. Bancroft
made his hurried round of farewell
calls alone, and in resvonse to covert
‘hints and open inquiries merely ex
fif.s.fa his regret that his congrega
tion could not nave had the pleasure
of knowing his wite, but he begged
;j;em to believe that he would l.xave
~arranged it if it had been possible.
.He should always remember his Wind
ham friends most pleasantly. .
“An’ invalid wife is goin’ to be a
terrible drag on him,” Mrs. Saxton
prophesied to her daughter, Milly, as
they watched the shim, athletic figure
striding down their front path to the
gate. “But she ain’t hindered him from
doin’ a grand, good work here. We
couldn’t never have got the new
church if it hadn’'t been for him.”
The next evening ihe carriage which
was to carry Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Ban
croft the three miles to the station,
drew up before the parsonage, and
later the whole village heard it when
it drove away. Mrs. Kimbal remained
over on 2 more da’ tc close the house,
then she locked the front door, hung
the key on its familiar nail in the
weodshed and was carried off by the
stage for a long visit with her broth
er's family in North Walpole.
- The deserted house had a lonely
look behind its scrzen of shrubbery,
as it stood awaiting the arrival of its
next occuplnt.
Late one afternoon, nearly a week
after the departure of the minister and
his wife, Milly Saxtiun burst into the
kitchen where her mother was prepar
ing supper. Her shawl, which had
slipped from her shoulders, streamed
out behind her. Her eyes were wide
with terror.
“Ma!” she gasped, cluiching her
mother by the arm. *“Didn’t Mr. and
Mrs. Bancroft go last week?—didn’t
we hear ’em go?”
“Why, yes,” 'said Mrs. Saxton, blank
ly. “They were goin’ to take that nine
o'clock train at Derry. An’ Em’ly
Kimbal, she went next day.
“Well, Mrs. Bancroft’s come back!”
cried the girl, hysterically. “She’s up
there at the house!”
“Oh, my land!” exclaimed Mrs. Sax
ton. ?
“I just ran up to peek in the window
an’ sce if they’d taken all their things,
an’ when I put my face up against the
glass there she stood lookin’ at me in
that empty room. I thought I was
goin’ to drop right where I was, but I
just shut my eyes an’ give one scream
an’ ran. It was awful!”
The girl dropped into a chair. Her
mother stood looking at her for sev
eral minutes. T'hen she threw her
apron over her head and went to the
kitchen door.
“Ezra!” she called, “Ezra!” Just you
step here a minute.”
Deacon Saxton anpeared with an
empty milk pail in each hand.
“I"want you should come up to the
parsonage alopg with Milly an’ me.
Mrs. Bancroft’s up there. Somethin’s
wrong or she wouldn’t have come
‘back.”
Deacon Saxton followed his wife un
‘questioningly as she led the way
across the yard and up the street and
<urned in at the parsonage gate. Milly,
pale and frightened, brought up the
rear. Mrs. Saxton scuttled around to
the woodshed and, returning with the
key, handed it to ner husband. He
unlocked the door and they entered
the bare, forlorn-looking hall. -~
“She’s in the parlor!” Milly whis
pered, shrinkingly.
The two women stood huddled close
together as the Deacon tip-toed over to
the parlor door and pushed it open,
gently. There by the mantel stood
Mrs. Bancroft slenderly erect in her
black gown, the white shawl falling
about her shoulders, -
- “Beg pardon, ma’am,” said Deacon
Saxton, retreating abashea, and pulling
off his hat.
The lady stared immovably out of
the window with her pretty, colorless
face. There was not a quiver of her
stylishly-clad figure. With a gasp
Mrs. Saxton brushed by her husband.
She cross the room and caught hold
of the white shawl—then she leaned
back weakly against the mantel-piece.
The power of speech seemed suddenly
t 0 have forsaken her.
“There ain’t any real Mrs. Bancroft,”
she said, at length, dully. “There
hain’t never been. She's just one of
them wire figgers, with a wax head,
they have in stores.’
Her bewildered gaze encountered a
piece of white paper pinned upon the
sleeve. She unfastned it with trem
bling fingers and crossing over to the
window read it aloud by the fading
light. It was in Mrs. Kimbal's hand
writing:
“I promised the minister I'd burn
up ‘Mrs. Bancroft' before I went away.
But I couldn’t seem to do it, nohow.
She was all my idea, and the minister
he didn’t like deceivin’' folks—but he
was drove to it, poor man! If it had
not been for her he couldn't never
have raised the money to -build the
new church, and there’s so many
match-making folks in Windham it's
going to be a lesson to them to know
the truth.”
Mrs. Saxton’'s eyes traveled con
‘selously from the immovable figure by
the mantel to where Milly stood be
side her father in the doorway.
“Em'ly Kimbal never spoke a truer
word!” she said.—Good Literature.
~_ Wanted One Mourner.
The lawyer was drawing up En
, beck’s will “I hereby bequeath all my
?‘s‘éperty to my wife,” dictated En
‘peck. “Got that down?’ “Yes,” an
swered the attorney. “On condition,”
continued Enpeck, “that she marries
_within a year.” “But why that condi
tion?" asked the man of law. “Be
cause,” answered the meek and low-
Jy testator, “I want somebody to be
m that I died.”—The Argonaut.
- New York city has one public park
“that is 250 years old, and that is Bowl
ing Green, which was the playground
_of the first Dutch settlers.
VISIT SCENE OF INDIAN FIGHT.
- Where Red Cloud Wiped Out 83 Men—General Car.
rington, Who Counselled Young Officer Against Py;-
suit, Renews Memories. - = - -t s
General Henry B. Carrington and
a few other survivors. of old Fort
Phil Kearny recently revisited the
scene of the Fetterman ‘‘massacre”’
in Wyoming and took part in exer
cises commemorating the slaughter
of eighty-three men by Red Cloud’s
Sioux in 1866. As in the Custer bat
tle, there were no survivors to tell
the story of Fetterman’s annihila
tion. The bodies of the men who
were led into a trap now rest on the
brow of Custer Hill, which has been
converted into a national cemetery.
The Government has erected an im
pressive monument of. bowlders
where Fetterman and his men fell,
and there is a bronze shield thereon,
telling of the tragedy in a few sim
ple words.
The Fetterman monument is on
top of what is known as Massacre
Hill, between Sheridan and Buffalo,
Wyo., a few miles north of the site
of old Fort Kearny, which was the
first outpost of civilization in that
part of the West, and where General
Carrington was practically besieged
for two years by the great chief, Red
Cloud, who is now near death from
old age on a Dakota reservation.
Fort Phil Kearny was established on
the old Bozeman trail, over which
many pioneers were pushing their
way westward in the 60's. Travel
over this trail was very dangerous,
and hardly a wagon train passed
through the hunting grounds of the
Sioux without being attacked. When
the fort was established Red Cloud
and his warlike braves were furious
and renewed “their attacks upon the
white men with redoubled vigor.
General Carrington himself superin
tended the building of the fort. He
made a strong stockade, which sur
rounded the buildings and parade
ground and constituted an impreg
nable defense. Red Cloud was too
crafty to try to assault the fort, but
he laid constant siege to it, and no
body dared venture beyond the stock
ade without a heavy guard of sol
diers. In the first six months after
the establishment of the fort the In
dians killed 154 persons, including
citizens and soldiers. There were
fifty-one demonstrations near™ the
fort, and every train that passed on
the trail was attacked. |
Captain Fetterman's Boast.
The Indians part'icularly delight
ed in making life a burden to the
wood cutters. Near the fort was a
hill called” Sullivant Hill, on which a
sentry stood all day long, watching
for signals from the wood cutters.
If an unusually large force of Indians
attacked them, the wood -cutters
would signal for more help and an
additional detachment would be sent
from the fort. On December 21,
1866, the lookout signalled that the
wood train had beer corralled and
was attacked in' force about a mile
and a half from the fort. A relief
party of forty-nine men from the
Eighteenth Infantry and twenty-sev
en troopers from the Second Cavalry
was ordered out. Captain W. J. Fet
terman, who had little experience in
Indian fighting, but who was a brave
if somewhat impetuous officer, asked
to be put in charge of the relief par
ty. General Carrington agceded to
his request and gave him positive in
structions to relieve the wood train
and drive back the Indians, but on
no account to pursue the Indians be
yond Lodge Trail Ridge, a long, high
ridge near the fort, extending from
Sullivant Hill. With Captain Fet
terman’s party were two civilians,
Wheatley and Fisher, both armed
with new breech-loading, rapid-fir
ing rifles, which they yere eager to
try in Indian warfare. /
Fetterman had made the boast
that with eighty men .he could ride
through the whole Sioux nation. He
now had eighty-three men, and the
sequel proved how little he knew of
the Sioux as fighters when he made
his boast. The Indians who were at
tacking the wood cutters were soon
aware of Fetterman's approach and
immediately withdrew, allowing the
wood train to break coral and go on
its way unmolested. The Indians
seemed to realize that the man in
command of the soldiers was not an
experienced fighter. They kept just
out of range and taunted the soldiers
and made insulting motions, and, in
short, tried by every means to keep
the command following them. In
this they succeeded. Fetterman was
so eager to punish the redskins that
he .‘orgot his orders and pursued the
Sioux across Lodge Trail Ridge. Once
over this ridge he was in the power
of the Sioux. Red Cloud bad posted
hundreds of Indians in ambush.
General Carrington soon found
that something was wrong. He had
dispatched a surgeon with an escort
of four men to join Fetterman's par
ty, but the doctor soon returned with
the information that the wood train
was all rigat, but that when he at
tempted to cross the valley to join
Fetterman he found it was full of
Indians, who were swarming about
on Lodge Trail Ridge, and that there
was no sign of the soldiers to be obh
served. The alarm caused by this in
formation was deepened when the
sound of heavy firing was heard
from oyer Lodge Trail Ridge, indicat
ing that a fierce battle was in prog
ress. General Carrington dispatched
fifty-four infantrymen to relieve Fet
terman, and a little later forty men
were sent out, reducing the garrison
at the fort to a very small number.
Indeed, so small was the number of
defenders within the stockade that
General Carrington released all the
prisoners from the guardhouse,
‘armed all the quartermaster’s em
ployes and citizens and then muys.
tered only 119 men, not enough 1o
defend the walls in case of attack.
The wives and children of the mep
in the first detachment were nearly
crazy with anxiety, and this deepened
when an orderly galloped in from the
relieving party and stated that the
valley on the other side of the ridge
was filled with, Indians and that no
sign of Fetterman was to be seen,
General Carrington ordered the two
relieving parties to consolidate, and
told them to unite with Fetterman.
He ordered in the wood train, which
gave him fifty-four men to spare for
the relieving expedition, Later in
the afternoon Captain Ten Eyck's
men returned with details of the ap
palling disaster. In the wagon were
forty-nine of Fetterman’s men, leav
ing thirty-four unaccountéd for. Ten
Eyck had remained on the defensive
on the brow of the hill, though the
Indians had tried by every means to
make him follow them into the val
ley. He found the bodies cf the sol
diers where they had fallen. and
there was evidence of a terrible con
flict on the hill. The soldiers had
taken refuge behind some huge rocks
and the forty-nine men he had
brought back were found in a space
about six feet square. They had
been shot tull of arrows, scalped and
mutilated. Captain Fetterman and
Captain William Brown, the post
quartermaster, were found side by
side, each with a bullet wound :n his
temple. Evidently they had stood
face to face and each had shot the
other dead rather than be taken
alive by the Indians.
Feared Attack on Fort. ;
The weather was hitter cold and it
was late in December, and there was
no telling when the Indians, encour
aged by their success, would make a
determined assault on the fort. But
the next day General Carrington went
in person to the scene of that battle
with a force of eighty .men, after
leaving strict instructions as to sig
nals to be fired from the fort in case
of an attack. The women and chil
dren had been placed in the maga
zine, and an officer was left in charge
of them pledged not to let the women
be taken alive if the general did not
return and the Indians captured the
fort.
General Carrington found bodies
strung along the road to the western
end of the trail furtherest from the
fort. The two civilians who had ac
companied Fetterman were found
behind a couple of rocks. By the side
of one were found. fifty shells, and
nearly as many at the side of the
other, showing that they had made
a desperate fight. Wheatley had no
less than 105 arrows in him.
Lieutenant Grummond was found
some distance from the others be
hind a pile of rock, with every evi
dence of a terrible struggle- having
taken place on the scene. The bodies
of the remaining soldiers, which were
stripped of clothing, were taken back
to the fort.
The weather was almost insuffer
able, and men and women were
forced to clothe themselves in furs
made from skins of wolves. As soon
as possible relief was sent to the
fort.
General Carrington was relieved
of command pending investigation,
but eventually he was absolved from
blame, as it was proved that he had
given Fetterman distinct orders not
to venture into the trap which Red
Cloud had sprung so successfully.
General Carrington was deeply in
terested in going over the scene of
his early experiences. It was planned
to have him meet his old foeman,
Red Cloud, probably the greatest
chief the Sioutz ever knew, but the
old warrior was too feeble to be
there.
Just before the abandonment of
Fort Phil Kearny Red Cloud received
ample punishment for the Fetterman
slaughter. Captain James Powell,
who had been detailed to guard the
timber cutters at the fort, repulsed
Red Cloud and his warriors in what
was known as the ‘“Wagon Box
fight,” a short distance from the fort.
Red Cloud had assembled ‘about 3,-
000 warriors, and determined to
make a direct assault on the fort.
As a preliminary move he intended
to annihilate Powell and his wood
guards. No less than 500 Indians
made an attack on the wood train,
but Powell promptly corralled the
wagons, and behind this fortification
he and his thirty-one men defended
themselves.
Unknown to the Indians the sol
diers were armed with a new rifle
of the rapid-fire type. There were
plenty of these guns, and one fron
tiersman, a crack shot, had eight
loaded weapons at his elbow. He
kept these eight guns busy for three
hours. The first charge was re
pulsed, the Indians falling in great
numbers. Four times the Indians
charged, only to be mowed down by
the *‘bad medicine guns.” Final
ly Red Cloud made a last charge, but
it was only for the purpose of get
ting the bodies of those who had
fallen. Red Cloud himself after
ward said he lost 1500 followers in
that fight. The defeat disheartened
the Sioux and caused Red Cloud to
lose the prestige he l;ad gained in his
defeat of Fetterman.—New York
Tribune,
