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Authors: Terry C. Johnston

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SAN FRANCISCO, June 23—A Portland press dispatch says General Howard telegraphs from Fort Laparoi, June 21 st: Captain Miller with 300 men leaves for the front this evening. The Indian prisoners state that the soldiers left wounded on the field were killed but not mutilated. A steamer arrived at Lewiston this morning with 125 troops and a large quantity of arms, etc.

C
APTAIN
D
AVID
P
ERRY WASN'T SURE IF HE READ DISAPPROVAL
in General Howard's eyes … or merely a deep, deep disappointment.

“Is that the extent of your report, Colonel?” Howard used Perry's brevet rank.

The captain cleared his throat nervously. “Not exactly, sir. With your permission—”

“There's more?”

“Not really any more to my report, General,” then Perry felt angry with himself for hemming and hawing. “Yes, sir. I have something to say.”

Howard shifted uneasily on the camp stool in front of his headquarters tent pitched near the base of one of the low hills here at the army's camp surrounding the Norton ranch on Cottonwood Creek.

Back in those early days of this dirty little outbreak, Benjamin Norton and his family had been flushed from their home by renegade warriors, chased onto the Camas Prairie, and run down miles from succor or aid. While Norton and others in the same party had died of their bullet wounds, his wife, son, and niece had survived their hellish ordeal. Now the road ranch stood in shambles: Warriors had ransacked the house as they rummaged through the white family's possessions, everything not taken or burned lay about in utter disorder, clothing cut or torn apart, drawers yanked out and dumped over, chairs chopped into kindling, sacks of sugar and salt strewn across the wood floors, an unrestrained victory riot gone completely mad.

The only signs that this had once been a peaceful setting
might well have been the upturned milking pails still resting on their corral fenceposts, a few unfed chickens scratching in the yard, and a lonely pup that cowered in the shadows beneath the porch.

Arriving here yesterday, the twenty-third, at noon after a forty-three-mile march from Lapwai, the general had put his men into bivouac, intending to use this spot as his base of operations against the Non-Treaty Nez Perce who were surely still ravaging the surrounding countryside. While Howard's eight companies established their perimeter, dug rifle pits, and organized a horse-guard, the general sent word to the nearby settlements of Grangeville and Mount Idaho with orders for Captain David Perry to report to his commanding officer at Cottonwood Station.

Taking the better part of two hours on the morning of the twenty-fourth, Perry had detailed every step of his march from Fort Lapwai, his approach to the seat of the troubles, along with a studied emphasis on the testimony of the local civilians that the Indians were sure to flee, certain to throw down their arms without a fight at the first sign of the soldiers, that Perry was convinced he must act quickly before the thieves escaped across the Salmon with their stolen horses and cattle.

At that point the captain explained his march across the White Bird divide, awaiting dawn when they could march down into the canyon for the attack.

“You had all your men deployed before they began falling back?” Howard had asked more than once.

“Yes, sir.”

“With none of your elements held in reserve?”

“No, General.”

Howard brooded at that. “But you chose to place the civilians on your far left, at a critical place along your line.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And that's where the Nez Perce rolled up your line, beginning with those untrained civilians.”

The captain reluctantly nodded. “That appears to be exactly what happened.”

It was a painful two hours—some of the hardest Perry had ever endured in the army. But these next few minutes, and what more he had to tell General O. O. Howard, might well be the most painful of all, or this might be just what saved his hash in this man's army.

“Well, Colonel,” Howard said wearily as he tossed out the cold dregs from his tin coffee cup. “You said you had one thing more to report.”

“I have a concern as to Major Trimble.” He spoke in little above a harsh whisper, his heart thumping in his chest as he struggled to control his anger, an anger at the mere mention of the man's name,

Captain Joel G. Trimble, brevet major, commander of H Company, First U. S. Cavalry—and Perry's subordinate at Fort Lapwai—had ridden into the valley of the White Bird with David Perry … but had been the first to race back out in the retreat.

“Trimble failed to acknowledge your orders for him to halt and assist in your orderly retreat?” Howard asked, dumbfounded.

“Lieutenant Parnell will back me up, General,” Perry asserted. “We both saw Major Trimble stop at the top of the divide, turn, and look back down at us as we closed the file. He had to have seen us calling for his assistance, seen us waving him back to cover our retreat.”

“What did the major do?”

“We watched him turn away and disappear at the top,” the captain explained. “I didn't see him again until I reached the Grangeville settlement—”

“Have you confronted Trimble with your accusations?”

Perry could no longer peer into Howard's eyes. He dropped his gaze to the thick grass beneath his boots. “More times than I care to count, sir—I've asked myself why I didn't upbraid him there and then.”

Howard clinked down the empty coffee cup and asked, “You didn't state your charges against him?”

Still unable to look the general in the eye, Perry said, “No. The only reason I have been able to figure out for my
failure to demand an explanation of him is that I found myself barely able to throttle back my anger whenever I'm around Trimble. I'm certain that if I ever got started on this topic in his presence, I might not be responsible for my actions—”

“Are you charging him with insubordination?”

It took a few moments before the captain finally raised his eyes to look at Howard's face, then nodded. “Yes, General.”

“And dereliction of duty?”

“That too, yes, sir. In my opinion, the battle was lost when his left side of the line disintegrated. He could have held—even after the civilians were rolled up. But within minutes he had abandoned me. Major Trimble abandoned everyone who was behind him in the retreat.”

“How many men was that, Colonel?”

Perry straightened and brought his shoulders but. “I doubt there was any more than a handful of soldiers in front of Trimble in their retreat out of the canyon.”

Howard wagged his head and stared into the fire. “He was out ahead of all the rest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“These … are serious charges.” For a long time Howard continued to stare at the nearby fire. When he finally spoke, it was to call out to his dog-robber, who was perched on a canvas stool just out of earshot from that quiet discussion the two officers had been having. “Orderly, pour me some more coffee.”

Perry watched the young private hurry over and drag the coffeepot off the coals with a greasy towel. These orderlies, who worked as servants for their superior officers, had been given that appellation commonly used by the army of that day:
dog-robber.
With the coffee poured and handed to the general, the private again retreated out of hearing.

“Colonel Perry,” Howard sighed with finality. “We've got a war exploding around us at this moment.”

“Sir?”

Howard took a long sip of the coffee, then continued
without looking across at the captain. “For the moment, I don't dare sacrifice a single one of my officers through disciplinary action.”

That stunning admission caught Perry by surprise. “B-But, General. I wasn't considering bringing Major Trimble up on charges. No disciplinary action. Perhaps an official reprimand from you was all that I could expect. If his offense goes without notice, it serves to show a bad example to the enlisted men who all witnessed his dereliction—”

“Colonel,” Howard interrupted him. “For me to take any action against the major would be to relieve him of duty, sending him back to Fort Lapwai under escort until an official inquiry is made, and I determine if a court should be called. I'd be taken up with having to prefer charges and you taken up along with me. We simply don't have the time for that right now. Instead, we've got a war to fight.”

Perry kept staring at Howard's bearded face, wondering when the general would look up from his coffee tin, when Howard would take his eyes off that smoky fire. While he hadn't graduated near the top of his class, David Perry was nonetheless slowly realizing that he had this situation sorted out for what it was. There would be no arguing with the general's decision.

“Very good, sir,” he said with a somber note of regret. “I understand this matter of preferring charges against Major Trimble will only be delayed for the time being?”

“Yes, by all means. Just for the time being.”

He dragged his heels together, straightened, and saluted his commanding officer. “Very good, General. For the time being. … After all, we do have a war to fight.”

Fort Lapwai
June 25, 1877

Dear Aunt Annie,

 

Your nice letter came this morning and decided me to write to you.

You ask about the Indians. They are devils, and I will not feel easy again until we are safely out of the country they claim as theirs. Joseph's Non-Treaty band was given thirty days to come onto the reservation. On the last day of the thirty, when everybody was comfortably settled and never dreaming of trouble, they began to murder the settlers.

Doctor was away in Portland. He came hurrying home horrified. He had heard this post was burned and all sorts of alarming rumors. I felt all my calmness and bravery departing when he came home, as he only came in the morning and expected to move out with the troops in the evening, but the General found it necessary to leave someone to forward supplies and look after the troops that are passing through here and left Dr. F. for the present. Dr. Alexander
…
is the chief medical officer in the field. Dr. Sternberg
…
was also with us last week and has moved on to the front. We have been busy entertaining the officers who are passing through, with our hearts aching, knowing they will never all come back, and fearing, too, all the time, an attack on the post.

We had one horrible false alarm of an Indian attack last week. The long roll was sounded, the men were all under arms, and the women and children all gathered into one house around which there are breastworks … Poor Mrs. Theller joined Mrs. Boyle and me. She had strapped on her dead husband's cartridge belt and was carrying his carbine and looked every bit as if she were ready to avenge her husband's brutal murder.

We fear there will be a horrible battle within the next few days. Everybody here is busy day and night. My poor John! I have not had five minutes to talk with him since he came home …

Doctor wanted to send us right home, but I can't leave him or leave here, even when he goes to join the troops that are in the front, as I can hear of him so often and so immediately here. If I should lose him (I hope and
pray he will be spared to me) I would, of course, come right home to you all and expect you to take care of me, at least until I could think what I could do with my helpless little babies … Doctor says he thinks us safe here, or he would not let us stay. We are all well, only nearly worn out by the excitement and constant strain. I start at every unusual sound and feel the strength departing from my knees and elbows. John declares I have lost ten pounds. Everybody feels blue and anxious for the result. Another victory for Joseph would bring to his standard all the disaffected Indians in the Department, and the whole Nez Perces tribe is wavering.

 

After Lunch

 

The Nez Perce Agent lunched with us. He says he learns from friendly Indians that Joseph's command is not a large one, does not number much over a hundred, but that hundred is prepared to fight to the death. The Indians say they know they will be hung if taken, and they mean to kill as many soldiers as they can first and then die themselves. Our officers going through here think the campaign will be a short but severe one. I wish all the Indians in the country were at the bottom of the Red Sea. I suppose the country will have trouble until they are exterminated.

Your affectionate niece,
Emily FitzGerald

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

J
UNE
25, 1877

BY TELEGRAPH

—

Great Storm in the West.

—

Extending Over a Large Portion of the West.

—

OMAHA, June 25.—The storm, very general throughout the west, was first heard of at Cheyenne yesterday evening. Heavy hail and wind extended north of Sioux City, south of Kansas City, and over the state of Iowa.

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