Buckskin Mose: Or, Life From the Lakes to the Pacific, as Actor, Circus-Rider, Detective, Ranger, Gold-Digger, Indian Scout, and Guide.Perrie, George W.
History
Buckskin Mose: Or, Life From the Lakes to the Pacific, as Actor, Circus-Rider, Detective, Ranger, Gold-Digger, Indian Scout, and Guide.
Perrie, George W.
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Latter Day Saints -- Fiction; Western stories
Up to this moment, I believe the red-skins did not believe that Connor
would attack them. Scarcely unreasonably, they counted too much upon
their past experiences with Uncle Sam's blue-coats. In the present case,
the blue-coats were tarred with a widely different brush. They had
barely seen us in the river, than a rolling series of yells and whoops
broke from them, which it would be utterly useless for words to attempt
giving any idea of. The wall of icily chill water they had counted on to
secure the front of their camp was useless. They had to fight, and
dashed into the stream to drive back the enemy. Not more than one minute
had they plunged into the freezing water, than from the bank and bluff
rang out the rifles of the men Connor had posted there.
It was a terrible discharge, and drove them back. As they found
themselves on dry earth, our gallant fellows followed them.
Dripping with the water, which would have frozen on them, but for the
savagely fierce passion of that terribly mad struggle--shooting,
clubbing, knifing, with the shouts and yells of actual devils--never do
I believe a more bitter strife, considering its numbers, has been seen
on any battle-field. It took two hours of hard fighting for us to
completely rout them. This is the first time I have ever applied such a
term to the defeat of a body of red-skins, simply because it is the
first time in which I ever saw them really stand up and fight.
Often enough they slay when their numbers are fifteen to one, or are
slain if the proportion chances to be an inferior one. It is,
nevertheless, very rarely that they resist an open attack. This, more
especially when it is made by any force which, in number, approaches
their own.
When the last living Indian had fled, orders had been given us to
destroy their supplies. There were several tons of dried meats,
Government bacon, sugar, with no inconsiderable amount of whiskey and
United States blankets, besides tobacco and other articles of native
luxury. The red rascals had evidently a good commissariat, and had
provided themselves for what they imagined would be a lengthy campaign.
We also found a large quantity of powder. This we rolled into the river,
and burned the rest.
In the meantime, our men who had not been employed in this necessary
task, had been reckoning those who had been killed.
About one hundred and nineteen dead bodies were, I believe, counted in
all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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