Jerome A. Greene by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: 1866-1895, History, Indians of North America, Wars, General, United States, Military, Bisac Code 1: HIS028000, Native American, Civil War Period (1850-1877)
ISBN: 9781611210224
Publisher: Savas Beatie
Published: 2007-01-31T06:00:00+00:00

A soldier’s leather diary and pencil. Editor’s Collection

A Memory of the Pine Ridge Campaign (By Henry B. Becker, formerly of Troop E, Seventh U. S. Cavalry. From Winners of the West, June 28,1943)

On the night of December 28, 1890, the second battalion of the Seventh, Troops C, D, E, [and] G, were called to Pine Ridge, South Dakota, to reinforce the troops of the Seventh under Major Samuel M. Whitside, who had captured Chief Big Foot and his hostile Indians [who were] surrounded and guarded at Wounded Knee Creek, about eighteen miles from the agency. I was given charge of a mule carrying two cases of ammunition. When we had covered about half the distance, I fell out of line to adjust the mule’s pack, and also took time to tighten the horse’s girth. When I remounted, I found myself alone on the trail, the troops having disappeared. I kept on for several miles and then I heard hoof beats from behind. I pulled up short, and when the riders were close enough, I drew my .45 Colt out of the holster and held my carbine ready for emergency use. Then I challenged: “Who goes there?”

“Frank Grouard and Indian scouts.”

“Advance, Grouard. Scouts stay where you are.”

Believe me, it was a relief to see this well-known scout just then. He asked me how come that I was out here alone, except for the very dangerous company of the ammunition-carrying mule. After we had proceeded a few more miles along the trail, he called my attention to a pony about a hundred yards from the trail. The three scouts fanned out in the direction of the pony, and I saw an Indian mount and disappear in the distance. Then, without further incidents, my escort rode with me in to the camp at Wounded Knee. The troops had made a detour and the captain (Charles S. Ilsley) had sent a few men back to locate me. He told me he would never again entrust me with the care of a mule, especially one carrying such important cargo. I am writing this because I believe Frank Grouard deserves all the credit for my being alive for all these years since December 28, 1890, and I have been informed that his remains rest in sacred ground at or near St. Joseph, Missouri.

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