The Island



When Captain Cameron called the troops together on that day There wasn't any inkling of, the fate' . . . . . ahead that lay. They rode to check a rumor, that the Cheyenne once again, Were massing somewhere, though as to . . . an Indian war begin. The first day out his scout had found: fresh ‘killings' and warm trail; This time with fifty crack frontiersmen'. justice would prevail They rode both day and night and soon were deep in Cheyenne land; There camping by a stream, none knew, this was their final stand At daybreak Indians spooked' their mounts, then up the canyon fled. The Captain sensed attack and to a tiny island', led. Frontiersmen dug into the sand as round them bullets flew- They'd found the army of Hungry Wolf's' warriors; this they surely knew. The Indian's chief and families watched from nearby hills to see The brave Cheyenne Dog Soldier Cavalry', fight to victory. In ranks of sixty, angry warriors, all the stream-bed packed; Cameron's Tiny Island Band' awaited, to be attacked! Their only hope, of defense was, a volley fire' command; Repeating rifles, nade the fifty, more than double stand. Then came the charge as blazing Henry's' downed each mark they hit, And at the Island's edge the bloody remnants veered and split- Surviving warriors circled back - reforming round the bend- Dog Soldiers' they were called, and Cheyenne's best would charge again. But after many hours the Captain's marksmen took their toll; Hungry Wolf abandoned tactics - fought as in days of old. They stationed snipers on the banks and several white men killed, But though they charged for two days, white man's guns could not be stilled! The Captain, wounded, both legs broke, asked how long can we stand? They had no food and only water sipped from pits in sand. Some rode their horses to the Island, dead, these now they ate, But soon the meat was, rotten, seemed starvation was their fate. They'd sneaked out two, to go for help; one old man, one a lad; With strength and knowledge they would be the best chance Cameron had- The young one had the strength, the old one wisdom to protect; With wise old help', the youthful lad, - would surely risk his neck. They'd been gone three days now and two more surely it would take For help to come to rescue, if a forced march', they could make. Oh, God!-for laudanum, praying, wounded men fought pain so trying; Those wounded, sick, infected, bleeding, knew that they were dying. The smell that filled the air at night, when blowflies ceased their biting, Was that of blood and stench of death', all predators now inviting. Large flocks of buzzards hovered, anytime the fighting spelled, And coyotes howled and prowled at night and from each hilltop yelled. The Captain called his Scout and Sergeant, to his dying side, To ask they share command with him - Lieutenant Crump had died! Those able-bodied left to fight now numbered thirty - one, But Hungry Wolf lost hundreds more since fighting had begun. That night, alone and lonely, each was asked to make a choice- To leave or stay with Cameron - STAY! - Unanimous was their voice! Returning courage filled their hearts; with pride each voice came forth; By dawn, eyes fixed, with nerves of steel, all guns were pointed north. As daylight broke a hundred' made a savage charge that day, And when the fighting finally stopped, but twenty, rode away, This was the sign to Hungry Wolf. . . . . . his medicine wasn't right; He gave the order to cease the fighting . . . .all moved out that night. Help came next morning just in time, for time was running out- These men had fought and died and bled and starved throughout the rout'- The youth' had brought the army to the rescue none too soon, For some like Cameron, wounded so, would've died by afternoon. The Captain lived to tell his tale, and Scout and Sergeant too: Of brave heroics, those who died, or fought the battle through; Of courage, pain and suffering great, and valor so much more, That in the decades coming forth through history's pages bore: Nine-hundred came to meet the fifty', Cameron northward led; But when the battle ceased, two-hundred quietly turned and fled; The conflicts waged by Cameron's men, That Tiny Island Band', Enshrined in History's Annals', They'll forever, proudly stand!!
Poem by Ron Baron - (from the U.S. Military Annals of War) Please View Next Page ~ ~ ~
ronbaron@web-access.net