Chapter 3: The Council

We camped under the walls of Fort Leavenworth, and the next day Col. Griscom who commanded the troops there, came down to see us. He called at once for Capt Simpson, our leader, and the two sat down by a wagon and talked earnestly for a very long time. Then the Colonel went away and I noticed that Simpson’s face was very grave. I ventured to approach him, and asked what was the matter.

“Nothing,” he said, and he answered me rather curtly, I thought. Henry, with his usual inquisitiveness, had gone into the fort with Starboard Sam to examine the quarters of the soldiers and their mode of living. When they returned a few hours later I saw at once that they had news.

“What is it?” I asked, as soon as they came up.

“Haven’t you heard!” exclaimed Henry, excitedly. “They told us all about it in the fort. The scalping parties are out. The Indians are on the warpath. Every man, woman and child in an emigrant party has been killed and scalped not four days’ journey west of here. Col. Griscom says we must not think of proceeding further at present The moment we pass out of sight of the fort our lives will be in danger, he says.”

Starboard Sam nodded his head emphatically in corroboration of what Henry had said.

“If we can’t go on, then what are we to do?” I asked.

Neither Henry nor Starboard Sam could reply, and we three stared blankly at each other. I felt my gorge rising, for unfortunately I am of a stubborn temper, as my uncle often told me, and was indisposed to stop long under the walls of the fort after having come so far.

“But what does Capt. Simpson say?” I asked at length.

“Nuthin’ as yet,” replied Starboard Sam, “but I suppose we’ll call a council of war about it”

Sam was right, for that evening all of us were asked to meet in the circle of the wagons. Sam, Henry and I were there very early. A big fire had been built, and its flames flared back and forth in the wind. We squatted in Turkish fashion around this fire, and I do not remember anything that has made a greater impress on my memory than that hasty council by the firelight on the open prairie. The men were nearest the fire. In the background were the women, their anxious faces showing through the shadows. Henry, the old sailor and I took our seats in the circle of the men. Just across the fire from us stood our leader, Simpson. With him were Col. Griscom and a third man, who at once attracted my attention. The stranger was an Indian, of the Pawnee tribe, I learned soon afterwards. I had seen Indians before, but the lithe, erect and powerful figure of this man, and his strangely impassive face, held my gaze. He stood so erect that I could understand readily why the expression, “As straight as an Indian,” had come into such general use. He was wrapped in a bright-colored blanket of the kind that the Indians of the far Southwest make so well, and he held his rifle in his hand. There were no preliminaries to this council. Capt. Simpson came forward and said: