rs were
saddling up to leave, under circumstances showing that they
had no intention of returning, such as packing up every
article that could be carried with them, and cutting and
destroying their lodges--this last being done to obtain
small pieces for temporary shelter.

I had retired to my tent, which was some few hundred yards
from that of General Hancock, when a messenger from the
latter awakened me with the information that the general
desired my presence in his tent. He briefly stated the
situation of affairs, and directed me to mount my command
as quickly and as silently as possible, surround the Indian
village, and prevent the departure of its inhabitants.
Easily said, but not so easily done. Under ordinary
circumstances, silence not being necessary, I could have
returned to my camp, and by a few blasts from the trumpet,
placed every soldier on his saddle almost as quickly as it
has taken time to write this short sentence. No bugle calls
must be sounded; we were to adopt some of the stealth of the
Indians--how successfully remained to be seen. By this time
every soldier and officer was in his tent sound asleep.
First going to the tent of the adjutant and arousing him,
I procured an experienced assistant in my labours. Next the
captains of companies were awakened and orders imparted
to them. They in turn transmitted the order to the first
sergeant, who similarly aroused the men. It has often
surprised me to observe the alacrity with which disciplined
soldiers, experienced in campaigning, will hasten to prepare
themselves for the march in an emergency like this.
No questions are asked, no time is wasted. A soldier's
toilet, on an Indian campaign, is a simple affair, and
requires little time for arranging. His clothes are
gathered up hurriedly, no matter how, so long as he retains
possession of them. The first object is to get his horse
saddled and bridled, and until this is done his own dress
is a matter of secondary importance, and one button or hook
must do the duty of half a dozen. When his horse is ready
for the mount, the rider will