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Part I - The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., January 31, 1918, page 2
Part II - The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., February 14, 1918, page 2
Part III - The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., July 11, 1918, page 6
Part IV - The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., July 18, 1918, page 6
Part V - The Hood River Glacier, Hood River, OR., August 1, 1918, page 3

STORY OF THE CAYUSE WAR

(The following is the first of a series of installments of the history of the Cayuse war has told by the late Amos Underwood, who participated in subduing the Cayuse tribe. The history was printed in serial form in the Glacier 21 years ago.)

You ask me to give an account of the battles we had with the Cayuse Indians in the fall of 1855. Well sir, several newspaper men have wanted me to write it up for them, but I never got to it because I thought people would think I wanted to air myself. I will give it now, as nearly as I can remember.
I will have to speak of myself a good many times, as I can relate recollect my own doings better than I can recollect what was done by the other boys. A good many yarns have been told about the death of Chief Pepe Mux Mux and how he was captured, but they don't always correspond. I will give you the facts about the whole affair.
I was fourth corporal of Co. B, Oregon Volunteers, and had charge of him when he was killed. To make a long story short, on about the seventh of December, 1855, about 400 volunteers were at Old Fort Walla Walla, now Wallula. I can think of only a few of the names of the officers and men of the regiment. Col. James K. Kelly was in command, with Maj. Chinn. Co. A, from Portland, was commanded by Capt. Wilson, Ben Harding, lieutenant. Co. B., from The Dalles, was commanded by Lieuts. John Jeffreys and James Macaulif, Capt. O. Humason being at home sick in bed. Co. H. was commanded by Capt. David Laten. Co. F was there, I think, commanded by Capt. Bennett. Bennett was killed in the battle. There were other companies, but I can't remember which they were. Nathan Olney was there as Indian agent. He had a few Dalles Indians with him. We had pack horses and some wagons.
Part of the command started up the road with the teams and pack train towards Walla Walla, and about 200 of us started on horseback, across the hills, a little north of east. We rode on until about three o'clock in the afternoon, when we saw a big band of Indians coming toward us. They came on to within 200 or 300 yards of us and stopped. They were carrying a white flag. Some six or eight of them left the crowd and came within 100 yards of the rest where they halted and called for some of our officers to come and have a talk with them. A few officers went and had a handshake with the Indians. The rest of us sat there on our horses, and while our officers talked with the chief, we would flap our hands and crow and make sight with our guns at the Indians. The Indian boys did the same. Old Pepe said:
" I see your boys are like mine - keen for a fight. But us old men have better sense. We knew you were coming so I ordered five big cattle to be slaughtered and roasted and I started to me you and have you come and take supper with us."
So after about an hour he told his men to go and tell his people we would be there for supper.
The old chief and about eight of his men stayed with us and the rest of all started off on a keen lope. We then followed and rode on until sundown, when we could see lots of Indians on the high points. We were riding along a level bottom and soon arrived at a point where the bluffs came nearly to the creek, and for two or three miles the trail passed under high cliffs of perpendicular rocks, leaving just room for one horseman on the trail at a time. Across the creek was a thicket of brush, so thick that nothing could be seen through it. It was a dark evening and spitting snow. Nat Olney was riding back with the rear guard when he saw the commander and Indians making for the narrow trail. He spurned his horse and galloped to the front. As he passed me I heard him say: "G--d---n those fellows, what's the matter with them? If they go through that hole there'll not be one of them left to tell the story." He had said early in the evening that there was something wrong; that the Indians meant to trap us. He had run his horse about 400 yards before he overtook the head of the column. Arriving there, he used about the same language to the bosses. He called a halt and then the command turned to the right into a bottom and went into camp for the night. It was now dark and snowing. Two or three Indians jumped up and ran. Bill Gates fired two shots at them, but could not hit them in the darkness. We still held old Pepe and about six others. We unsaddled and laid down for the night. The Indians were all around us, and kept halloing and talking to the chief. Nat Olney halloed to them in their own language; told them to go home and have breakfast all ready and we would be there; that the old chief had gone to bed and that did not want to be molested anymore. So all was quiet till morning.
When we got up in the morning there were about three inches of snow on the ground, and our horses were standing by our sides shivering. We had to build fires in the sage brush to take the kinks out of our blankets and ropes before we could saddle them up. It was a fine sunshiny morning. Some of the boys went to the canyon and crossed the creek, where they found nests in the brush where the Indians had hidden. When we started on the march, instead of following the trail through the canyon, we went around the bluff. We found tons of rocks piled up on the bluff, ready to be rolled down upon us if we had followed the trail. If our boys had got strung out on that narrow trail for a distance of two or three miles, with no chance to turn back or go forward when attacked, the Indians would have had us completely at their mercy. If we had jumped off and taken to the brush, the brush was alive with the Indians ready for us. In the first excitement, the chief and his crowd would have jumped off and have run to some place of safety understood by them. I do not believe we would have killed one Indian nor saved a man of our command.

Part II

(This is the second installment of the personal reminiscences of the late Amos Underwood on the Cayuse war of 1855. The third will follow in a future issue.)

We went three or four miles around and came to the Indian camp on the creek above the canyon. There were some 200 huts and about the same number of fires, but no beef and no Indians, only on the high points above us. We asked old Pepe where the roast beef and breakfast was. He shook his head and said: "Klonss hias quash tillicums." (guess my people are scared.) Some of the boys from The Dalles (they were called the Forty Thieves) could beat the Indians at their own game. They said: "We will have breakfast soon." Taking an old shovel they dug the fire away, dug down a foot or two and found a cache under every one of these fires -- brass kettles and all kinds of utensils and clothing, wheat, peas, camas, couse and all kinds of Indian grub. We fed our horses, ate all we wanted, took all we wanted and threw the rest in the fire and burnt it up.
We then started south and east of south, and traveled all day. Indians could be seen on all sides on the high points. Some of the boys would occasionally try and get a shot, but the old muzzle-loaders would not reach them.
We struck the Walla Walla road about dark; could see the train had not got far, so we took the back track. In about an hour's travel we found the train, camped on a small stream, and all well. We could smell the supper and were not long in getting alongside. The camp was about 500 yards long. Capt. Fontelroy was in charge of the commissary.
When bedtime came Corporal A. Underwood was called to take charge of the prisoners. We had six Indians and I had six men, one for each prisoner. Of the guard I can only remember the names of Warren Keith, Sam Warfield and Doctor Bates. When we put the Indians to bed, one big Indian, who said his name was Champoeg Jim, complained that there was a stick under him, and he raised up on his hands and knees and asked Bates to remove it. As Bates stooped to get the stick, the Indian jumped out by his side and ran. Some of the boys started to help Bates, and at the same time all of the other prisoners tried to make a break. I jumped out and told the boys each to hold his man. Old man Keith shoved the muzzle of his gun against the breast of the chief, pushed him over and held him on the ground. The other boys each did the same with his prisoners. Doc Bates ran his man about 100 yards and caught him. As luck would have it, Bates was the swiftest man for 100 or 200 yards in the whole regiment. All hands turned out and tied the prisoners hand and foot. Next morning when we started on the march myself and guard were kept in charge of the prisoners.
Before we left camp I could hear the rifles popping around the bend. The advance guard were properly in it. As we marched up the road, our position with the prisoners was about the center of the column, then followed the wagon train and the rear guard. We could see the boys running along the hillsides and hear them shooting all day, and I did want to be with them. As we rode along I noticed Ab Addington sitting by the roadside leaning on his elbows. I said:
"Ab, are you badly hurt?"
"No," he replied, "but those ----- have got my race mare."
Ab's mare had run away with him, and had run clean through the main line of the Indians. After being shot through the hip he fell off, and as the Indians passed him they tried to shoot him, but being too closely pressed by our boys they would stick their guns in his face and before they could pull the trigger they would be beyond their mark and the bullets would whistle to one side of his face. The skin was pulled off his face and head in several places where the muzzles of the guns had struck him. Ab was a Linn county boy.
Next I saw a dead Indian lying on the hillside. I pointed him out to old Pepe, who shook his head. Then Lieutenant Ben Hardin came riding back on his big iron gray horse. The animal had been shot in the withers and the blood streaming down on the light colored horse looked bad. Old Pepe shook his head again. Nat Olney came along going to the front. He said things were getting hot as hell on ahead. Old Pepe asked if Olney was good and smiled when I told him he was.
As we rode along one of the Indians told Keith and that he was a Nez Perce, 15 years old; that he had come down after some horses, but the Cayuses would not let him return home.

Part III

(This is the third installment of the late Amos Underwood's reminiscences of the Cayuse war, a pioneer incidnet of 1855.)

About 2 o'clock in the afternoon we stopped at a Frenchman's place by the name of Ramo. As we rode up we saw five of our men lying in a row on their backs, all fine looking men. We recognized Renny Crow, of Albany; Lieut. Burroughs, of Linn county, and Capt. Bennett. Neal McFarlane was standing by the fence, and just as he raised his gun to shoot at an Indian down in the creek bottom, bang went the Indian's gun, knocking off the tube and hammer of Mac's gun. The officers were all out in the fight. I saw Olney coming along and said to him:
"Olney what shall I do with these prisoners?"
"Tie the devils," he replied, "and put them in the house."
"I then ordered the men to take them off the horses and tie them. Old Pepe said:
"No tie men, tie horses and dogs."
The boys pulled them off their horses and commenced to tie them. Champoed Jim grew violent, grabbed a knife and cut old Miller in the arm. Then all commenced to fight and raise the dickens. Some one grabbed a gun and shot old Jim. Soon eight or ten guns were going. Down they all went except the 15 year-old boy, who was climbing up my stirrup leather. The crown made a rush for the boy, who held to me, and the excited men pointed their guns towards him. I told Keith not to let them shoot the boy and he pushed the guns to one side and two or three of them were discharged at my side. Finally we got them quieted to a standstill, when I told them the boy was a Nez Perces Indian with a Cayuse mother. When all was quiet I told the boy to stay with the cooks and not try and run off, and he would be all right.
Olney had got about 100 years away when he heard the shooting. He came back, and as he rode he drew his revolver and fired a shot into old Pepe, saying, "You old rascal. I am satisfied now." Old Pepe had tried the same beef game to murder Olney about six weeks before, but some of the Indians had posted him.
I then galloped up the road to join the boys in the fight, and would have ridden right into the Indians, but John Ashcroft jumped out of a fence corner and called me back. The boys had come to a stand, and all were hiding behind anything that afforded shelter.
The line extended from the Wallula river across the flat and up the bunch grass hills, something near a mile long, with a steady rattle of fire arms on both sides. I went out to the foothills, dismounted and went to shooting, but the distance prevented much execution. I noticed an Indian who would swing his blanket by a corner while he rode in a circle and cried out insults to tantilize us. I tried him two shots but missed. The third shot I elevated, and at the crack of my old gun he nearly fell off his horse, but kept hanging to the saddle. Some of the others ran to him and led his horse behind a hill. Night coming on we went to camp in the Frenchman's field of about eight acres. While the cooks were preparing supper, and all of us were as hungry as wolves, with bright fires burning, bang went a gun outside the field, about 150 yards off. Orders were quickly given to put out the fires, and in about a minute every spark was extinguished.
We threw all the water we had in camp on the fires, and the cooks even emptied the coffee kettles. Every man then went to the fence corner, where we laid till morning, some sleping while the others kept guard.

Part III

I have learned since that the Indians were in great numbers, crawling through the sage brush, and intended to fire on us and then make a grand charge, but a gun went off accidentally, which stopped them and when they saw our fires go out they changed their plans. When morning came our officers wanted to start for our fort on the Umatilla with the whole command, they thought there were too many Indians for us, and our ammunition was running low, but Olney told them if we ever started to retreat the Indians would cut us to pieces. He claimed that we were well enough fortified where we were and Ramo's house for a hospital. Old Mountain Robinson was given Pepe's black horse and started with another man for The Dalles, via Umatilla, to hurry up reinforcements. All old Oregonians will remember Robinson, who lived on what is now known as Robinson's Hill in Portland. On his way down he met several companies that had been to Yakima and returned to The Dalles, and were on their way to help us. But more about them hereafter.
After having breakfast we started for the battle ground, about half a mile from camp. The Indians managed to get advantage of the ground every morning and we would have to do some hard fighting to get a good position. The battle raged fiercely all day, and about 3 o'clock in the afternoon we were within 50 yards of the Indians. The Indians opposing Co. B. were on one side of a hill and our company on the other. When one would rise up with gun to face, there would be an Indian standing on the other side of the hill with his gun to face, and if he was about ready to shoot we would drop and hear the bullets whiz over our heads. One of the boys proposed that if any one killed an Indian we would charge on them and get his scalp. Just then Hank Humphrey fired his gun and as he dropped to load, he said: "Ame, there's one right there." I raised up and saw an Indian jolting his gun to get the power in the tube I quickly fired and he was my Indian. I then called out, "I've got him, boys, charge." Over the hill the boys went, yelling and shooting, with the Indians running like the devil was after them. I soon came up on my Indian who was trying to get up. Catching him by the hair, I pulled him over and cut his throat. I then scalped him, took his powder horn and blanket and was trying to get his leggings, which were beaded and very pretty, but seemed to be sewed on. The Indians made it so hot for me I had to leave the leggings. There must have been 100 shots fired at me, and the bullets kept striking the ground at my feet and filled my eyes with dust. Our company had got too far in advance of the line of battle and the Indians had a cross fire on us and their bullets came from three sides. As the boys came running back by me I grabbed the powder horn and blanket and followed. I did not want the leggings as badly as I thought I did. We fought on till dark and then started for camp. On our way we found three rifle pits that had been dug by the boys, about 4 feet long and 1½ feet deep. John Fulp and I got into one and waited for the Indians who were following to come up. The company went on a while we waited till dark. We could distinguish a gang of Indians coming, and letting them get within about 100 yards, we fired our guns and at them and then ran till we caught up with the other boys.
All that day there was steady firing along the line. When we could see them carrying off the dead and wounded we would yell and make fun of them, and they would do the same when they saw our dead and wounded being carried off.
I have learned since that the Indians in great numbers were crawling through the sagebrush, intending to fire on us and then make a grand rush. But a gun went off accidentally, stopping them. They changed their plans when they saw our fires go out.
When morning came our officers wanted to start for our fort on the Umatilla with the whole command. They thought there were too many Indians for us, and our ammunition was running low. But Olney told them if we ever started to retreat the Indians would cut us to pieces. He held that we were well enough fortified where we were and that we had Ramo's house for a hospital. Old Mountain Robinson was given Pepe's black horse. He started with another man for The Dalles, via Umatilla, to hurry up reinforcements. All old Oregonians will remember Robinson, who lived on what is now known as Robinson's hill in Portland. On his way down he met several companies that had been to Yakima, returned to The Dalles and were then on their way to help us. But more about them hereafter.
After having breakfast we started for the battleground, about a half mile from camp. The Indians managed to get advantage of the ground every morning and we would have to do some hard fighting to get a good position. The battle raged fiercely all day, and about 3 o'clock in the afternoon we were in about 50 yards of the Indians. The Indians opposing Co. B. were on one side of a hill and our company on the other. When one would rise up with gun there would be an Indian on the other side of the hill with his gun pointed. If he was about ready to shoot we would drop and listen to the bullet whiz over our heads. One of the boys proposed that if anyone killed an Indian we would charge on them and get his scalp. Just then Hank Humphrey fired, and as he dropped to reload he said: "Ame, there's one right there." I raised up and saw an Indian jolting his gun to get the power in the tube. I quickly fired and he was my Indian. "I've got him, boys, charge." Over the hill the boys went, yelling and shooting, with the Indians running like the devil was after them. I soon came up on my Indian who was trying to get up. Catching him by the hair, I pulled him over, cut his throat and scalped him. I took his powder horn and blanket and was trying to get his leggings, which were beaded and very pretty, but they seemed to be sewed on. The Indians made it so hot for me that I had to leave the leggings. A hundred shots must have been fired at me, and the bullets, striking the ground at my feet, filled my eyes with dust. Our company had got too far in advance of the line of battle, and the Indians had a cross fire on us, their bullets coming from three sides. As the boys came running back by me I grabbed the powder horn and blanket and followed. I didn't want those leggings as badly as I thought. We fought on until dark and then made for camp. On our way we found three rifle pits, about four feet loing and one and a half deep, that had been dug by the boys. John Fulp and I got into one and waited until the Indians came up. The company went on, and we waited for dark. We could distinguish a gang of Indians coming. When they were about 100 yards distant we opened fire and then ran until we caught up with the other boys. All that day there had been steady firing along the line. When we could see them carrying off the dead and wounded we would yell and make fun of them, and they would do the same when they saw our dead and wounded being carried off.

Part IV

(This is the fourth installment of the late Amos Underwood's reminiscenses of the Cayuse war, a pioneer incident of 1855.)

When we got to camp the little Nez Perces Indian came to me and shook hands. I showed him the scalp and the blanket with the bullet hole in it. He laughed, while he examined them closely. During the day he had told Col. Kelly that Gov. Stevens was coming back from the head of the Missouri river; that he had passed through in June going up country with lots of mules and pack animals. The boy said it had been planned by the Indians to ferry about half of the party over the river and then murder them all. The boy said it was about time for Stevens and his command to reach the river. That same night Col. Kelly started the boy with a letter to take to Gov. Stevens, and next morning early nearly every man was swearing at Col. Kelly for sending out a hostile Indian, claiming that he would give us all away. I offered to bet the boy would go to Gov. Stevens.
In the morning we went again to the battle ground and found the Indians in the rifle pits, and it was some time before we got them out. A man named Sheppard got shot in the arm; a German was shot in the nose; several of the boys got bullet holes through their clothing. Freling Choate got three shots through his coat. One bullet went through his tin cup on his belt, and striking his pocketbook opened it at the catch. One half the bullet stopped there, the other going on.
Lieut. Jeffreys of our company went over in the hills and made arrangements with Capt. Connor, in charge of company of mounted half-breeds from French Prairie, to charge the Indians. This company was about the best company of Indian fighters in the command. Pretty soon we heard the French boys yelling, and we could see their flag above the hill. They dashed off as fast as their horses could run. Company B then charged over the hill. The Indians ran and we captured their rifle pits. They left their tobacco sacks, gun sticks; in fact nearly everything they had could be found in their holes in the ground. We got into their rifle pits. I was along with Lieut. McAuliff and Jim Beebe. The Indians had made a stand just over the next rise of ground. They would raise their hats on gun sticks for us to shoot at, and occasionally one would dance around, holding his blanket by one corner while he swung it in the air. I made a hole in the ridge of earth thrown up outside our pit, laid a stick of wood on top so that I could not be seen by the enemy, and sat there with my gun cocked. McAuliff and Beebe were lying down. Beebe kept saying "Why don't you shoot? " I said "Wait till that rascal swings his blanket again." Presently the Indian made a grand flourish and swept around gracefully with his blanket. It was all done in an instant, but I fired and shot him in the belly. The Indians made a great fuss, and I could hear him crying. He was put on a horse and started across the bottom. Finally they took him off his horse and about 25 Indians came out of the timber and he was carried away.
While a party of us were sitting on a hillside eating camas and coose, we noticed an Indian stealing down toward a hollow in the direction Choate had gone. We yelled to Choate and tried to tell him to look out for himself, but couldn't make him understand. We then motioned for him to come back. I went over toward the Indian and crawled up behind a badger mound. I look looked over in the gully and saw the Indian crawling along. He saw me at the same time and got behind a light rise in the ground. I laid with my face close to the ground, as the little mound with hardly hide me. Pretty soon the boys shouted "Shoot him, Ame; he's running." As I raised up he had started to run across the bottom. He ran in a zig-zag course, so that I could not take aim till he was about 125 yards off; but I finally downed him. He laid there in plain view of us, but I could not get to him, as he was too close to the headquarters of the Indians in the timber. We had an old mortar gun that we had brought from the fort,. We loaded it with a sock filled with pieces of old iron, bullets, etc., then fired several shots into the timber, thinking to oust the Indians. While Capt. Wilson was pouring powder into the tube along came a bullet and knocked the can of powder from his hand. About the third time the mortar was fired it bursted, and the flying pieces nearly killed Capt. Wilson, who went about with his head tied up for several days. The Indians came in the night and dragged my "injun" away with horse and lariat, and all I got from him was 16 bullets found scattered along the trail over which they had dragged him. A little later a bullet struck the front part of Meigs' cap and nearly tore it off his head. A bunch of cotton bigger than his cap was knocked out of it. Meigs jumped onto Bill Gate's horse and rode down the hill 50 yards and up the other side of the gulch about 50 yards and then came riding slowly back. He was a young lawyer from The Dalles.
The next day was the last day of the fight. An Indian came out some distance from the main crowd and said he wanted to talk with the commander. Lieut. Jeffreys and I went out to meet him. The Indian also had a man with him. When we got within 200 yards the Indian asked that only one of us come to him, so I stopped and the other Indian did the same. Jeffries and the Indian met and shook hands. Their talk lasted about five minutes, when each man turned and started for his own command. The Indian was on horseback while Jeffries was on foot. When they got about 50 yards apart about 50 Indians on horseback came yelling toward us. Jeffries ran until he came up to me. I drew my gun to my face. The Indians came to within about 200 yards, when one half of them turned to the right and the other to the left. What they wanted to do was kill one of our officers, but they saw our boys running down the hill to meet them, and they were too cowardly to come nearer.

Part V

(This is the last installment of the late Amos Underwoos's reminiscences of the Cayuse war, a pioneer incident of 1855.)

It was rather quiet on the hill for a while in the forenoon. We could see a big Indian riding up and down a ridge across a hollow. He seemed to be waiting for something. John Fulp, better known as Oregon John, and myself stole down the hill, across the flat and up a little gulch. The Indian came back down the ridge, and as he turned to go up, our boys called to us, "Now is your time, boys." We ran up the hill a few yards. Both of us were so tired out from running that we could not hold our on him, but being anxious to shoot, bang, bang went our guns. The Indian wheeled his horse and came riding towards us. Our guns being empty we took to our heels and ran. The Indian did not follow far, but turned and rode back up the hill. I have since been told that it was Stock Whitley, chief of the des Chutes, and that he was on a strike. He and his band were fighting for revenue, and they had concluded that they wanted more pay, and while riding back and forth on this ridge he was waiting for an answer to his demand for a raise. In the afternoon the fight was more lively all along the line till about 4 o'clock. The volunteers that Mountain Robinson met came in sight on the hills toward Umatilla and there was one continuous stream of soldiers kept pouring over the hills until after dark.
Next morning the Indians were off the battle ground. We could see one here and there on the high points, acting as spies. It was nine o'clock before we discovered that the Indians had left. We started up the road and in about four miles came to their town. They had taken the roofs off their houses which consisted chiefly of skins of animals. There was about 500 houses in the village. In some of them were large ricks of the provisions of all kinds. We took some and set fire to the balance. We then followed their trail over to the Coupee, 15 or 20 miles, where we camped for the night. Some of the officers went to the French barracks, where all the French of the valley and some friendly Indians stopped all fall and winter. They reported that the Indians passed there in great confusion, saying they could have stood us off, but that a new crowd had come, a string of soldiers reaching from The Dalles to Walla Walla, which they considered too much for them. The Frenchman said the Indians had their children tied on top of their packs on their horses and that while traveling in the night a woman discovered that a horse, with her baby lashed to its back, was missing. She went back and found the horse feeding on a hillside. She was only three or four hours ahead of us.
Next morning it was snowing, and our horses were not fit to follow the retreating Indians after standing so many days without food. We returned to camp and the next morning the snow was 15 inches deep and the thermometer 27 degrees below zero. We went into winter quarters in factory cotton tents, and wintered on beef straight, but it was good beef, captured from the Indians, and we had plenty of it.
I was said to be the best shot in the regiment. I shot away 60 bullets in the battle and was known to kill but five Indians. Lots of the boys did good work, among them, Mr. Hald, formerly a resident of Hood River valley.
One evening, after the cold spell had ended, two half breeds rode into camp and reported that Governor Stevens would be there next day by 10 a.m.. So next morning we made ready to receive him and made a platform for him to give us a speech, at which business he was second to none. We formed in hollow squares, fired a salute from our guns and gave him a royal reception. The little Indian had taken Col. Kelly's letter and delivered it to Gov. Stevens somewhere in the Nez Perces country, and that was the first in intimation the governor had received of the war. Everything was so agreeable when he passed up in the spring that he never thought of war. He got 100 Nez Perce braves to accompany him and was not molested.
The Governor mounted the platform and spoke for about an hour and half. I was standing in line with two of three lines back of me, when one of the boys in the rear rank gave me a nudge and said a gentleman wished to speak to me. I turned around and there sat the little Indian on his horse. I went to him and he leaned over and grabbed my hand and held it quite awhile. I asked him how he knew me among so many. He smiled and said, "Me always know you." I have since learned that he joined the hostiles next summer and was killed in a fight across the Snake river, along with Ow High. The Nez Perces all went to The Dalles with the governor.
I suppose some will say we were wicked in our treatment of the Indians, but while we were fighting them they would shake the scalps of white men, and sometimes of women at us, and we naturally wanted to retaliate.
One of the most excitable instances of the whole campaign happened the first night of the battle while we were lying in the fence coroners. The Indians set fire to a house about 600 yards from us. It made a big blaze and lighted up the surroundings like day. About 1000 Indians circled around and around the fire, each yelling his best.
George Monteny was our guide, and a good one he was. This end the story of the battle as I saw and recollect it.