Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far WestDrannan, William F.
History
Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far West
Drannan, William F.
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- Wars
Taking our pistols in our left hands and sabres in the right, we
made a rush for them, intending to cut the first ones down with
our sabres, and if we got into close quarters we could use both at
the same time.
In such cases it is quite essential that a scout should be able to
use his pistol in his left hand, which had been part of their
drill duties before starting out scouting.
As soon as the attack was made some of the Indians arose on their
feet, and we tried to cut them down as fast as they arose, but it
was so dark that it was difficult to distinguish our own men from
the Indians.
The Indians fought us with their tomahawks, and it was not long
until we were all mixed up together, and a person had to look
close before striking, for fear of making a mistake. After
fighting some time I had two hand-to-hand encounters, but was
victorious in both of them. Just as I had finished the second one
I got a tremendous blow from behind that caught me on the
shoulder, and it knocked me as blind as a bat. When I tried to
rise I would stagger and fall like a drunken man. After making the
third attempt to get on my feet, and seeing it was no use and
being afraid my own men might mistake me for an Indian, I laid
down as still as I could until the fight was ended.
About this time my shoulder commenced to pain me fearfully, and it
was a hard matter for me to lie still. I could then see a very
little, but to me everything was still. Just then I heard George
Jones' voice. He was asking where Will was. I did not hear any
reply, and a moment later he hallooed at the top of his voice. It
sounded to me as though he was a long ways off, but at the same
time he was within four rods of me. I made out that time to answer
so he could hear me, and in a moment they were all by my side.
Some one raised me up, while another ran to the lake and got his
hat full of water. They removed my clothing sufficiently to exam
me my wound, and found that my shoulder blade was broken in two
places. When I was able to talk, the boys asked what they had
better do, saying they had the last Indian killed. I said if you
are sure you have them all killed, build a fire and put out guards
until morning, and we will return to headquarters with the stock.
George Jones, feeling much concerned about me on account of my
wound, proposed to ride to headquarters that night for the
surgeon, but I told him it was not necessary, that I would be able
to ride to headquarters the next day.
I took a sup of brandy, which we were never without on a trip like
this, and drank a cup of coffee, after which I felt much better,
but could not move my left hand or shoulder without much pain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account