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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-