The Indian Territory in the Civil War Message Board

Watie's Campaign of Dec. 1863

It had been a good while since I read this. If not accurate, it is at least very entertaining to read.

The Leavenworth, Kansas version of events around the end of 1863:


    DAILY TIMES [LEAVENWORTH, KS], January 23, 1864, p. 2, c. 2-3

    Incidents of the Late Fight in the Indian Nation
    with Quantrill and Stan Watie.
    [Correspondence of the Times.]

    Ft. Gibson, C. N., Dec. 23, 1863.

    The Attack on Gibson.

    For several days the enemy had been threatening an attack. They were camped four miles distant, on North Fork. Spies of Quantrell's men, in Federal uniform, with Sharpe's rifles, had been hovering around the refugee camps to get information, pretending to be "6th Kansas men." Col. Phillips moved in his command and got ready, but did not believe they would have the audacity to attack the Fort.

    On the afternoon of the 18th, "Simps Bennett," a scout, galloped in and reported the enemy pouring into the prairie out of the timber, five miles off. Instantly the regiments were called under arms. The ramparts and few guns manned, Col. Phillips, with a yellow man, Andy Murrell, galloped out to see how they were coming, followed, as fast as they could get mounted, by their orderlies, and Lieutenants Waterhouse and Thompson.

    "Middling Impident [sic]."

    Our old friend, Capt. Chester Thomas, A. Q. M., who is one of the Colonel's staff officers, got on his horse and galloped after the party. The old Captain, whatever his peculiarities may be, was not afraid, but very much astonished, at this experience of "close proximity." As he rode up, Col. Phillips, with his little squad, was about 300 yards from the rebels, quizzing them with his glass. The rebels had been checked, but were amusing themselves by burning a house and shooting at the little party. The old Captain rode up alongside of the Colonel and asked:

    "What men are them, over there?"

    "The enemy."

    "The secesh? Great God!"

    He took a ferocious bite at his tobacco plug and resumed:

    "They are middling impident, ain't they?" What are you going to do with them?"

    The Colonel shook his head and said:

    "I have no cavalry, and I am afraid they won't wait for my infantry."

    "Well, Colonel, I am here for anything."

    Here an orderly galloped up and reported that neither of the three regiments could mount a man, and that the infantry ordered out were coming. It was over three miles from the Fort.

    "Captain," said Phillips sharply, "gallop back to the Fort and tell Major Wright to move out his regiment through the timber to Dunbacks, and to form them on the edge of the timber on my right, as a reserve, there wait orders."

    Away galloped the Captain. Arrived at the Fort he shouted out, when he was yet fifty yards from the Major's tent:

    "Oh, Major! Major! Major!"

    The Major stepped out.

    "Oh, Major! haven't you heered it?"

    "Of the attack? Yes."

    "Great God! Major—they are out there in thousands—the perairie's full of them—where's your men?"

    The Major pointed to his men in line of battle in front of their tents, and the orders were given.

    Not Quite a Stampede.

    The first arrival of infantry on the prairie was two companies from the 1st—only fifty-five men and three officers. The nearest of the reinforcements behind were more than a mile back. Fred. Crofts commanded the two little companies, and was ordered "forward," the few mounted men going ahead. Slowly the portion of the rebel force that was round the burning buildings fell back on their main body that was marching in column of fours in the edge of the timber, going northwards past the Fort, at a distance of five miles from it. The small force of infantry swept on the double-quick—occupied the ground lately held by the rebels, and pressed forward. The Colonel's object was to tempt them into an engagement.

    Suddenly the enemy perceiving the small force so far out, conceived the idea of stampeding it and cutting it to pieces, as had been done at Baxter's Spring. A very considerable force broke off from the main body and came charging over the prairie, shouting, while eight hundred yards distant, and galloping with fury, uttering fierce yell. The few horsemen fell back and Col. Phillips immediately formed the little line in a sunk ditch or ravine in the prairie, that showed only the head and shoulders of the infantry. It was done in a moment and the command given: "Don't fire till you are told—when you do, fire low and take good aim;" and the men quietly waited.

    On came the rebels, and their balls from English Enfields were whizzing round pretty sharply, but when they got within two hundred yards and could see the heads and shoulders of that little line of battle, and away over the prairie, more than a mile off, some 200 more of the 3d coming on the double quick, they wheeled and broke back in confusion to their main body, followed by a shower of balls.

    Storm and Darkness.

    It was an intensely cold winter's night. The wind swept with cutting fierceness, and the horsemen shivered. Slowly, as the darkness set in with an impenetrable pall, the rebels retreated into the deep timber and ravines of the mountains. An Orderly galloped out, and reported from Col. Wattles, who was left in command at the Fort, that the enemy were reported to be marching a column by the Creek Agency, away on the other flank. It was found impossible to catch the retreating rebel force with infantry. All were ordered back to the fort, and as the deep darkness settled on the earth, a narrow beam of flame rose from the Creek Agency, going up in a crimson flush to the zenith, and showing that the enemy was also moving there.—Expecting an attack, the 2d, which had been down in the timber, was moved into the fort during the night. Every preparation was made for a storm at daybreak. Men paced the ramparts that night, and all was bustle and activity. Parties were mounted and sent out to find the enemy's camp that night, and the rebels, who had also squads patrolling the prairie, would chase or be chased, and some stirring adventures occurred that dark night. Two Federal soldiers lay dead on the prairie; one was dying, and a fourth shot, like Achilles, through the heal [sic]. We had the consolation of learning afterwards that five rebels had been shot that evening, two of them mortally wounded.

    A Brave Cherokee.

    That day two Cherokees had got leave to go out in the hills to buy butter. At dark the rebels surrounded a house where they were, but the two men, with their revolvers, kept them at bay. One rebel was shot, and all the others trembled to approach men fighting in that stout log house, and so evidently determined to sell their lives dearly. Col. Stan Waite was sent for after dark, and directed his men to load up a wagon with combustibles and back it up against the building, as was done at the battle of Franklin, in the old Free State war in Kansas. This was done, and soon the roof and wall caught the blaze. Paralized [sic], one of the Indians would have yielded, but the other tore up the floor, and ordered his timid comrade to dig a hole under the sill with a butcher-knife and a hoe, while he watched the door with his revolver. "Don't be afraid," he whispered to his companion; "work on—it is God only (not these men) who can determine whether we will escape." Amidst the cracking of the flames and whirling smoke an aperture was made, quietly the men slipped out at it in the darkness, and as they escaped to the dense plumb [sic] thickets, they heard the roof fall in with a dull thundering sound, amidst the yells of Col. Stanwaite's men, who gloated at the idea of their perishing in the ruins.

    A Prudent Pow Wow.

    The rebels had come to attack the party, but during that afternoon and night their courage, like Bob Acres, oozed out at their fingers ends. Col. Chili McIntosh, who commanded the rebel cracks, had refused to cross Arkansas river, on the plea that it was too cold weather. He might, in various ways, have woke to a conviction that there was "a north," but while he dissembled with Col. Waitie, he secretly told his men, in Creek, to skedaddle, or as a very gallant officer who went out of the battle of Prairie Grove said, "march by the flank." While Col. Waite, Adair and Quantrill were fording the river, the Creeks "marched by the flank," and as some of the big fragments took the Agency in their way, they burned a house, either to warm themselves or that they might have the credit of doing something. Twice Col. Waitie, who commanded the rebel force, moved his camps that dark night, as parties went into the hills to feel for them. Morning broke on them, and such a bitter, cheerless morning! They had reason to expect an immediate attack. They had moved ten miles from Fort Gibson, but their position was known. They learned in the night that Major Forman had gone to Rhea's Mill with 300 men, and 37 wagons for flour, and they bethought them that taking such a train would be the safest enterprise. They cursed Chili McIntosh, and made him the scape goat of their cowardly retreat, and set off hot foot for Talequa and Park Hill, where Quantrill and his men distinguished themselves as usual, by "taking things," and murdering a helpless idiot, who no one supposed they would be mean enough to kill.

    The Night March.

    It soon became evident that the rebels were after the train. Had infantry started in the forenoon, when we learned of the enemy's movement, the rebels would have found it out, and, as they were mounted, arranged their programme accordingly.—But when evening came, Capt. Spilman, of the 3d, was sent, with half the available force left in the fort, to hurry through and reinforce Major Forman. His command was all infantry except about a dozen mounted on poor ponies. But a 12 pound field howitzer doubled the force of the command, which was little over 400 men. Col. Phillips' orders were, "Press to Forman. Don't be diverted from your purpose should the enemy swing back here. If the enemy offers fight, accept it; but do not be amused [sic—amazed] by a small force, while the main body of rebels might strike for the train." In the darkness of that night, Capt. Spilman made a march of 25 miles, and crossed at one of the fords of the Illinois river about 1 o'clock in the morning. The enemy were camped across on the other side of that clear and turbulent stream.

    The Battle.

    Day broke on a cold winter's morning. The great pine-crowned hills—for I cannot call these Boston mountains—"mountains," looked down on a quiet scene soon to be broken. The beautiful Illinois gushed over its pebbly bed, leaping and bubbling up in its turbulent course, but so limpidly beautiful—talk of creeks—if we could only steal the Southern Illinois for Kansas I would, for the time, acquiesce in Jayhawking.

    As Capt. Spilman marched his men to the river, a portion of the enemy came down to contest the passage. The bottom of the Illinois was covered, as were the surrounding hills, with dense brush. The stream was rapid and waist deep. In those deep dells and in that thickly bottom lay the enemy. An enemy much more than twice—nearly thrice as strong. To cross the river—to hazard all—to "wade in." It is such steps, that seem unimportant that are pregnant with events. For a moment the thoughtful young Captain wavered on the brink, and then the command swept over.

    There was a sharp rattling of musketry, but it was mere skirmishing yet, and the rebels had o idea that it was a real attack. Their main camp was on Barren Fork, three miles from the ford, and they thought it merely a small scout which they would allow to be inveigled in before they made serious resistance, or overwhelmed it; but the rebels heard the wheels of the Howitzers over the rocky ford, and thought it was a wagon, and conceived that they were about to take it. An attempt to do so opened the eyes of the rebels. As the echoes of the old Howitzers went booming through the woods it woke up all that was half slumbering in that segment of secessia, and warned them to prepare for battle. The second shot tore off a rebel's arm at the shoulder, and some wounded horses went plunging in agony through the brush.

    The rebels fell back on Barren Fork two miles, and formed where they would have had a strong position, but for the unfortunate circumstance that we had artillery and they had not. They formed their main line of battle in a ravine that ran down from the mountains and clear across the bottom, in a dense brush, the Barren Fork washing a precipitious [sic] bluff on their right, with their left running up the gorge into the hills. These men were dismounted, and the force that remained on horseback were drawn up in irregular shape by companies in the hills.

    As our command swept slowly through the dense woods near this line all was silent, for the rebels who had been in front went off into the hill precipitately as if beaten. The small advance of mounted men discovered the rebel line and galloped back. A line of battle was formed against it, and swept on until the rebels indiscreetly poured out a volley at too long a range to be effective. Halting his men, and using his howitzers, Capt. Spilman briskly shelled the ravine. Galled, and for a moment desperate, Quantrill's men who were near the road charged out of the ravine and forward. Then blazed the whole forrest [sic] with a terrible musketry, and cannister [sic] swept the woods. The rebels broke into the hills up the ravine, and their horsemen, instead of coming to help them, galloped off in a panic. Over the hill our boys poured after them, but as they began to rise on its first brow, the rebels rallied and pressed them back.

    The road of Barren Fork being clear, Capt. Spilman pressed on several hundred yards, and came to a knoll in the bottom, where there were several log houses, and where the howitzers would have an elevation that gave it better range. Thinking this a retreat, the rebels, now mostly in the rear, poured again out of the hills and attacked with considerable fury; but the first roar of the howitzer again scattered their horsemen. A part of the rebels pressed forward desperately in an attempt to take the gun. It was here, while leading the men of the First regiment to the charge against them that Capt. Willet fell mortally wounded, shot through the abdomen. In front of his little line he was bravely dashing on, when the fatal bullet arrested his career of glory.

    The rebels were again driven to the hills, and for an hour the firing was desultory. Remembering the Colonel's stern order, "Do not permit yourself to be amazed by a small force, but press on to Forman," and suspecting some such feint, Capt. Spilman abandoned his knoll and log houses, and pressed on.

    Here the rebels made their last desperate effort. Supposing the movement to be a retreat, they formed and rushed forward in pursuit as rapidly as the nature of the ground would permit. Here the rebel Col. Adair had his horse shot from under him. For a moment the two lines of battle swung. Spilman stayed by the guns. Lieut. Parsons, Luke Parsons, one of the old John Brown boys, was on the right, and taking his hat swung it and called his Cherokees to charge. The effect was as ludicrous as irresistible. Mistaking the nature of the demonstration, each Cherokee soldier pulled off his hat likewise, and with a terrific roar of enthusiasm went forward. Talk of a bayonet charge—that was a hat charge, and goes to prove that the enemy who goes in wins. The whole rebel line gave way, and were driven back to the hills in confusion, not to form again that day. The fighting altogether had lasted from daylight till one o'clock, and five miles in all had been fought or skirmished over.

    Great portions of the rebel force broke up. Capt. Anderson, from McKeys Lick, with a few Indian soldiers on ponies, broke into the fleeing fragments, killing and taking a few of them prisoners. Another small party—all the ponies that could be hooked or borrowed around Ft. Gibson, also raked into them. Col. Stanwaite had given notice to the women of the nation that he would "issue flour" from the train he would take on Barren Fork the day after, but he gutted his fish before he got them. He fled, bragging through the mountains by Rabbit Trap, having lost 50 in killed and wounded, while Capt. Spilman marched 18 miles farther towards Major Forman that night.