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PAGE FOURTEEN
JEB STUART’S LAST BATTLE.
♦
A Brilliant Charge by Ouster as
Seen on the Confederate Side.
“The most brilliant charge I ever
witnessed was made by Custer at the
battle of Yellow Tavern,” said an
old Confederate cavalryman at the
recent reunion in Richmond. “It
was near the beginning of what his
torians now call the Wilderness cam
paign.
“I was with Jeb Stuart, Gen.
Fitz Lee’s division, Wickham’s bri
gade, and Phil Sheridan’s troops
were hanging on us like a pack of
hungry wolves, nipping us at every
turn. We had been marching and
fighting pretty steadily for more than
two weeks with mighty little time
for rest.
“We left Hanover Junction about
one o’clock one night and reached
Yellow Tavern before ten o’clock the
next morning. You know Sheridan
was not one to let grass grow under
his feet when there was any lighting
to be done and when he was matched
against Jeb Stuart it was nip and
tuck.
“We hadn’t more than halted at
the Tavern when up comes Sheridan
and tries to drive us out. It was
a pretty tough struggle, a hand to
hand light, and we fell back from
the Tavern, but held our position on
the telegraph road leading to Rich
mond. I was, with the battery on
the extreme left wing and it was
about two o’clock in the afternoon
when orders came for the whole di
vision excepting the First Virgin
ias to dismount but hold their po
sitions.
“It did seem good, I tell you, af
ter so many hours in the saddle to
stretch out on the ground and take
a smoke; that is, all who had any
thing to smoke. There was just one
pipeful among that whole battery,
and the boy who owned it passed it
down the line and each man took his
turn puffing at it.
“When it was gone we all began
to speculate on what deviltry Sheri
dan would be up to next and how
Jeb Stuart would head him off. It
wasn’t long before some fellow wish
ed for a drink of water.
“You know how it is, when one
man wishes for water the whole com
pany begins to swear they are dying
of thirst. Jack Saunders and I took
a bunch of canteens and started over
the hill to a spring that he had seen
that morning during our scrimmage
with the Yanks.
“I was on my hands and knees
over the spring when I heard Saun
ders’ grunt of surprise. He was
staring through the trees.
“There only a few hundred yards
away was a considerable body of cav
alry. Making sure that it was our
right wing, I wondered to see them
mounted and in ranks. Just then
the voice of an officer rang out:
“ ‘Cavalry! Attention! Draw
saber! ’
‘ ‘ The entire line moved forward
at a- quick walk, and as the officer
wheeled his horse I saw his face.
My God! it was Custer!
“The situation came to Saunders '
and mo like a flash. We threw down
the canteens and started back to the
battery on a dead run.
WATSON’S WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN.
“ ‘Trot!’ Custer’s voice rang out
again. The next instant he shouted:
‘ Charge! ’
“With wild cheers his cavalry
dashed forward in a sweeping gallop,
attacking our entire left wing at the
same time. We saw our battery tak
en, our line broken, and our men run
ning like sheep.
“Saunders and I had but one
thought—to join our fleeing company.
As we reached the telegraph road
above the din of the battle I heard
Jeb Stuart’s voice.
“There he was making a stand
with a handful of men around.
Thank God, I had sense enough left
to join them.
“It seemed but a moment before
Custer’s troops were coming back
as fast as they had gone forward.
They had met the First Viiginias.
We greeted the mwith the rebel yell
and the last charge in our weapons.
“Jeb Stuart cheered us on, ah,
how he cheered us! I gave them
my last shot and was following with
my weapon clubbed when I saw a
man, who had been dismounted and
was running, out, turn as he passed
our rally and fire his pistol.
“Jeb Stuart swayed in his saddle.
It was only for a moment, then his
voice rang out cheering his strug
gling troops.
“The enemy rallied just across the
road and fired a volley into the lit
tle band gathered around Jeb Stu
art. His horse sprang forward with
a scream of agony and sank down on
its knees. As we lifted the general
off, the young officer who was help
ing me exclaimed:
“ ‘My God, general, you are
wounded! Your clothes are soaked
with blood! You must leave the
field, sir!’
“ ‘No,’ Gen. Stuart answered; ‘I
will not leave until victory is as
sured. Get me another horse!’
“When I returned with the horse
he was seated with his back against
a tree, and when he tried to get up,
weakened by loss of blood, he sank
back again.
“ ‘Go!’ he commanded us. ‘I am
done for. Fitz Lee needs every man.
I order you to go!’
“ ‘We cannot obey that order,
general,’ the young officer told him,
and I’ll never forget the look that
came over his face when he faced the
general. ‘We must carry you to a
place of safety however the battle
goes. ’
“ ‘lt must not go against us,’
Stuart replied, and the thought seem
ed to put fresh vigor in his body.
‘You must put me on my horse and
keep me there. My men must not
know that I am wounded!’
“We lifted him on his horse and,
mounting our own, we held him in
his saddle. When the tide of the
battle turned, supported between us,
he made a last effort to rally his
fleeing troops.
“ ‘Go back, men!’ he cried. ‘Go
back, men! Go back and do your
duty!’
“We felt him sway in his saddle.
The young officer turned our horses’
heads to the rear and we carried our
fainting general from the field, still
holding him upright in the saddle.
That was Jeb Stuart’s last battle
and Custer’s most brilliant charge.”
—Washington Post.
HOW WE KILLED OUSTER.
By Old Iron Tail.
Next Tuesday is the thirty-first
anniversary of the most famous In
dian fight in history—the Custer
massacre. Two of the few remain
ing Sioux who took part in that trag
edy were here in New York recent
ly performing in mimic war dances
and battles with Buffalo Bill. They
were Rocky Bear and Iron Tail.
The writer had met Iron Tail at
Pine Ridge during the famous ghost
dance troubles, and the Chief rec
ognized his ancient opponent instant
ly when the latter called upon him
in his canvas tepee. This tent was
soon reeking with the smoke of the
Indian tobacco —a granulated mix
ture of willow bark and twigs.
Looking at a beautiful scalp dang
ling from the shoulder of Rocky
Bear, the writer asked: “Where
ketch ’em?” Rocky shook his head
and muttered: “Me good Indian,
me no fight, me no scalp. Long
time” (with a sweep of his hand
backward over his shoulder) “me
bad Indian; me fight white man,
ketch him scalp. Fight no good;
me good.”
The smoke rose in silence for sev
eral minutes.
“Tail, thirty-one snows and grass
ago you were not showing the dance
for fun. Then you danced and, with
Rocky and the others, were looking
for white scalps. With grass that
year you fought Custer. Tell me
about it”
Champion Tribes of Fighting Men.
Both chiefs were reluctant at first
to talk about the fight, but at last
they thawed out and for three hours,
recited the story of the troubles that
culminated in the death of Custer
and his men on June 25, 1876, and
the banishment of the Sioux fr.un*
the country. Stripped of its crude
wording, Iron Tail’s story ran as
follows:
“My tribe and the Cheyennes,
with which we are married, have al
ways been fighting men. They ha\e
fought and beaten all the Indians
of the plains, and have been feared
for their, prowess. We made raids
into the country south of us, ran off
ponies, cattle and whatever we want
ed. We fought the Indians and th?
whites and the soldiers with success.
Finally the Great Father wanted us
to become reservation Indians and
hold us to the agency. Red Cloud,
a great chief, was a friend of the
whites and wanted the reservation.
Sitting Bull, a big medicine man.
he wanted to be as always—able to
go everywhere in Indian country,
hunt, camp and roam. Red Cloud
had his followers. Sitting Bull had
his. With the latter were such
fighting chiefs as Gaul and Rain-in
the-Face. I was young, so was
Rocky Bear—we were just chiefs,
what you soldiers call colonels; they
were generals.
“Previous to 1876 Rain-in-the-
Face had been in the guard house
at Fort Abraham Lincoln, where
Custer was the big chief, and Tom
Custer had put iron on him, which
made his heart bad. He told Tom
Custer he would eat his heart some
day when he got away. Later Rain
in-tbe-Face escaped to us, and he
was a bad Indian, always wanting
to fight; he kept the young fellows
stirred up and helped Sitting Bull.
“In 1876 when grass came the sol
diers came for us. There w T ere three
big chiefs with three villages, and
they tried to get around us, but
Gaul —he was our biggest chief —
kept moving on until we were near
the reservation, and a great many of
the young braves left the agencies
and went on the warpath with us.
We were trying to get up near th
line (Canada), and had felt we were
far away from the soldiers when we
fought Custer. We felt so safe we
had no scouts out for two days when
we made village on the Little Big
Horn River.
“We were all in tepees that morn
ing when Custer and his soldiers
came on us. We ran out and they
shot at us. We made for our ponies
and were going to escape down the
river, when we found Custer’s little
chief (Reno) heading us off. We did
not know which way to go until we
saw the little chief run away. Then
Gaul —he big fighter—led us all at
Custer. We find he only has few
men and we fight him. The soldiers
fight, fight like Sioux; they brave,
they good fighters, but we kill them
all in short time and scalp them.
Then we go for the little chief, and
he and his soldiers in trenches so
we take the women and children and
go over the line.
“It a big fight”—to go back to
Tail’s own words —“Sioux brave In
dian, whip soldier, get soldier gun,
get clothes, get blanket, get scalp
and one sleep get where soldier no
came. Gaul, he want fight, may be
six suns more; he no want fight then.
Gaul he fight good when Cust?r
come. Heap Sioux!
“That long snows ago! Me good
Indian now. Fight no more.”
The old chief took the pipe of
peace from the hand of the write’’.
The youthful fire of excitement at
living over those scenes or carnage
died from his eyes, the paint on his
face which had made him again the
savage of the 70’s took on grotesque
ness.
Throughout the recital of th?
story Rocky Bear had sat with legs
crossed under him, his beady eyes
peering out over cheeks as wrinkled
as the hide of an elephant, fixedly
set upon the speaker. When Tail
had finished, Rocky said:
“White man think Sitting Bull
big chief. No, Sitting Bull big med
icine man. No fight. Big chief
Gaul and Rain-in-the-Faee, they
fight. Rain-in-the-face say he eat
‘Tom’ Custer’s heart. He eat heart
that fight. He not forget wrong.”
The massacre of Gen. George A.
Custer and 261 men of the Seventh
Cavalry will stand out in the his
tory of the world as one of the most
horrible fights of record.
For several weeks three columns
of troops under Gen. Gibbon, Gen.
Crook and Gen. Terry had been clos
ing in on the Sioux, who were on the
warpath. They were approaching
from the west, the south and eas 1 .
The latter body, in command **
Terry, had Custer and his regiment,
using them for scouting, because of
country and the habits of the Tn
the familiarity of Custer with the
dians. Custer persuaded Gen. Terry
to let him scout south toward the
Rosebuid, and left the main com
mand on June 22 under orders to re-