Colonel Chivington and elements of the First and Third Colorado regiments walked out of Fort Lyon on the evening of November 28, heading into the darkness and into the history books.
“Our course was almost exactly under the north star most of the time,” recalled Sergeant Coffin. The First Colorado was on the right and the Third Colorado was on the left. Each company was formed into fours, and steadily pushed on. It was walk, trot, gallop, dismount, and lead, at hour intervals, throughout the night. The pace exhausted Private Howbert. “I would willingly have run the risk of being scalped by the Indians for a half-hour’s sleep,” he declared. In order to stay awake, Howbert and others nibbled on their hardtack, unaware it was infested with weevils. The surprise at what they were eating arrived with the dawn. “Much to our disgust,” grumbled Howbert, “we found [it] to be very much alive.” Some managed to nap in their saddles, but Coffin admitted “it is a poor way to get sleep.” When an occasional halt was made, many troopers dropped off their mounts, fell to the ground, and fell quickly to sleep, only to be jostled awake a short time later when the march resumed.
About midnight, the column passed through an area dotted with several shallow lakes about a dozen miles north of the fort. Guides Robert Bent and Jim Beckwourth were doing their best, but there was no moon that cool starlit night. When the leading artillery and caissons began splashing through icy water, many troopers believed they were being purposely led into a like to get the ammunition wet. The officers, however, were well aware of these small lakes. Lieutenant Horace W. Baldwin had taken his command there to water the horses back in August. The course was adjusted and no further problems occurred.
Sometime during the night, James E. DuBois of Company D, Third Colorado, dropped back when his horse went lame. With his horse barely able to walk, DuBois hailed one of the last passing troopers and asked him to relay a message to Capt. Jay Johnston, acting provost marshal, to whom DuBois was attached. DuBois knew Johnson had some fresh horses just for this purpose. The soldier rode off, but no one came back with a spare mount. DuBois led his horse another mile or so when the animal refused to take another step. The soldier stripped his mount, turned him loose, hoisted all of his ammunition and rations, and continued to follow the trail north on foot.
Billy Breakenridge rode ahead with the scouts. He was tired and slept fitfully in the saddle half the night. About three in the morning, the scouts came upon a number of ponies far out on the plain. Breakenridge rode back to inform Chivington while the rest of the scouts rounded up the small herd. A detachment of men from the First New Mexico drove the ponies back to Fort Lyon and Chivington appointed Breakenridge as courier for the day between himself and Colonel Shoup. He was waiting in the darkness for orders when Breakenridge heard scout Beckwourth tell Chivington that the Indian camp would be about six miles ahead. As soon as the New Mexico troops departed, the command veered to the right, north by northeast.
As they drew closer to where they believed the village was located, Robert Bent drew his horse up and listened. Chivington rode closer to hear what Bent had to say. According to one account, the scout said: “Wolf he howl. Injun dog he hear wolf, he howl too. Injun, he hear dog and listen; hear something, and run off.” Chivington glared at Bent and ominously tapped his revolver. “I haven’t had an Indian to eat for a long time,” he said. “If you fool with me, and don’t lead us to that camp, I’ll have you for breakfast.”1
* * *
In Black Kettle’s village, meanwhile, the embers of the campfires were dying. The lodges cooled, and everyone snuggled into their buffalo robes and blankets. Hours earlier, about the time Chivington made his surprise appearance at Fort Lyon, business was booming in the village.
David Louderback of Company G, First Colorado, arose from his uneasy sleep, and when John Smith broke out his trade goods, the tension of the previous evening seemed to vanish. Louderback and Dexter Colley’s hired man, R. Watson Clarke, assisted Smith in a rousing business, which was surprising considering what many Indians thought of Smith and Colley. Old John Smith—“Gray Blanket” or “Lying John”—had been known (and distrusted by) the Indians for some 25 years. He and his partner Colley had been cheating the Indians for years. William Bent was aware of their shady dealings. Government goods, meant as annuities for the Indians, were withheld until the Indians traded something of value for them, most often in the form of ponies or buffalo robes.
“The son of Major [Sam] Colley, the Indian agent of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, was an Indian trader,” remembered Bent, who continued:
He [Dexter] came to this country the fall after his father was appointed agent. When he first came he could not have had property of the value to exceed fifteen hundred dollars … From what he said to me he must have made twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars in the two or three years he was trading with the Indians. John Smith acted as the Indian trader, and was considered a partner in the business. It is hard to identify Indian goods, but I am satisfied that a portion of the goods traded with the Indians were annuity goods.2
When Dexter Colley was not using annuity goods to trade, Sam Colley was distributing them improperly. Bent explained that the goods would be “piled in a heap on the prairie, the Indians sit round in a large circle, and the agent tells them, ‘There are your annuity goods—divide them among yourselves.’” The agent then gets a few chiefs to put their marks on the vouchers. “As a matter of course,” he continued, “the Indians do not know what or how much they are signing for.” Still, some Cheyenne told Bent “that they had no confidence in Major Colley, knowing he was swindling them out of their goods.”
Nevertheless, winter was upon them and the Cheyenne needed their annuities and so traded freely with Smith—especially when part of the trade goods may have included powder, lead, and caps. During the transactions and while moving about the village, Louderback made a specific count of the tipis: 115, with about eight lodges of Arapaho one-half mile below the main village. Before dark on Monday, November 28, Smith had traded and sold most of his and Dexter Colley’s goods, possibly some of the very items Sam Colley was supposed to hand over to the Indians for free. In return, Smith collected three ponies, one mule, and 104 buffalo robes, property he would assess at $12,000. The robes were bundled that evening, and with business completed the three white men went to the lodge to rest. They expected to head back to Fort Lyon the next morning.3
Eyewitnesses and participants in catastrophic events who later take up the pen to record their experiences often look back and decide that the warning signs that something was coming were there all along, but they had failed to heed them. The were plenty of swirling currents gathered in proximity that evening at Black Kettle’s village.
There were warriors present who had stolen horses the past summer. Since there were peace talks of late, however, they contemplated returning the horses in a show of good faith. Perhaps they would discuss the matter more the next day. There were also warriors in the camp who had participated in the recent raiding and killing. Some of these same Cheyenne had destroyed civilian wagons at Plum Creek and captured Nancy Morton and Danny Marble in August. War Bonnet and his men had fought against General Blunt and Major Anthony in September. Their plunder, including white scalps from many raids, filled some of the lodges. Although some Indians felt at ease in the camp, a significant number of others were wary. The warriors who had threatened to kill Louderback earlier that day were concerned that he left a trail for the soldiers from Fort Lyon to follow to their camp. They were smart enough to realize that a pledge of safety was no guarantee.4
Some of the Indians in the village on Sand Creek had peaceful inclinations. A significant number, however, still considered themselves at war. Black Kettle often said he could do nothing with his uncontrollable young men. The US military had heard that sentiment so often that it once prompted Gen. William T. Sherman to retort, “Tell the rascals so are mine; and if another white man is scalped in all this region, it will be impossible to hold mine in.” Now, several hundred possibly uncontrollable young white men were riding hard to catch some of the uncontrollable young Indians who had been making war for much of the year. The fact that many young men on both sides may have been more or less peaceably inclined was immaterial at this point. The past was both prologue and irrelevant.5
These temporary villages also contained innocent Indian women and children who had never been on raids and who had never harmed any whites. These families, however, were also manning the home bases of warriors who did engage in those acts. They aided and abetted their men in their warlike actions. Likewise, the settler homes on the frontier were filled with women and children who had never harmed any Indians, but they too supported the militia and the soldiers. The noncombatants on both sides shared similar roles. The best of the scenarios would be to leave all of them out of the fighting, but if one was looked upon as a legitimate target, so was the other. It was in the Indian villages and the settler homesteads where the real tragedy of the Indian wars took place.
That evening, a group of young people stayed up late playing games. They did not return to their lodges until well after dark. One of the girls spotted a light moving on the distant prairie. Several others also saw a light that flashed, disappeared, and then flashed again. The news was reported to War Bonnet, who also saw the light. He passed the word on to others and became uneasy, wondering what it meant. He thought that it would be a good idea to get the horses in before daylight.
The Cheyenne chief Cometsevah sat in his lodge that evening. His little sister, 14-year-old Tallow Woman, had gone to visit her aunt. She was on horseback, moving along in the moonless night when she heard strange voices and whistling sounds in the darkness. She slowed and turned her head from side to side, but could not see anyone. Suddenly, objects that might have been sticks went flying past her. She heard what sounded like whistling, but could see nothing. Frightened, she put her heels to the pony and hurried home. When she told all this to her older brother, Cometsevah brought it up with other chiefs, who laughed and said it was just some young men trying to get her attention.
Cometsevah was not so sure and and argued that the camp should be moved. “No, maybe tomorrow,” came the reply. There would be plenty of time to move the camp once the morning sun rose.6
1 Morse H. Coffin, The Battle of Sand Creek (Waco, TX, 1965), 18, 30; “Sand Creek Massacre,” 176; Howbert, Indians of Pike’s Peak, 99–100; Breakenridge, Helldorado, 43, 47–48; J. P. Dunn, Jr., Massacres of the Mountains: A History of the Indian Wars of the Far West, 1815-1875 (New York, NY, 1886), 342. This conversation is almost surely apocryphal. Dunn indicates Chivington spoke with Jack Smith, but Smith was in the Indian camp, and Bent was better versed in English.
2 Coel, Chief Left Hand, 118; “Chivington Massacre,” 95.
3 “Chivington Massacre,” 95; “Sand Creek Massacre,” 135, 138, 208.
4 Monahan, Denver City, 165; “Massacre of Cheyenne Indians,” 29; Roberts, “Sand Creek,” 421; Michno, Encyclopedia of Indian Wars, 147–49, 153–55, 356; Thomas T. Smith, The Old Army in Texas A Research Guide to the U.S. Army in Nineteenth-Century Texas (Austin, TX, 2000), 32. Some have made the point that the Cheyenne didn’t post sentries because they were assured they were at peace and that no harm would come. Such declarations show a lack of understanding of Indian warfare. Even while at war, Indians did not “defend” a village in the conventional sense of the word. They did not entrench, or put out skirmish lines or pickets. They rarely had more than a token number of boys as herd guards. For all the Indians’ ability to attack suddenly, to maneuver, to move quickly, to disperse and disappear, their lack of military discipline was nearly always fatal after pitching camp. They invariably let their guard down. One study shows that the military surprised Indians in their camps on 205 occasions, while another concludes, “The fact that Indians were so often surprised is a reflection of their notoriously lax security.”
5 Robert G. Athearn, William Tecumseh Sherman and the Settlement of the West (Norman, OK, 1995), 69.
6 Sand Creek Massacre Project, 203.