A Punitive March Turns Into A Saber Charge On The Kansas Frontier

A river can look calm and still be a trap. We drop into the Solomon River valley in 1857, where the U.S. Army launches what many consider the first true campaign against the Plains Indians in this series: the Cheyenne Campaign of 1857, better known as the Battle of Solomon Fork in northwest Kansas. The stakes are bigger than a single clash. This is the collision between a mobile Cheyenne world built on buffalo hunting, raiding, and shifting boundaries and a United States determined to impose fixed lines, enforce policy, and protect overland migration routes. 

We walk through the pressure cooker that builds after the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851, when rising immigrant traffic and wagon-train attacks trigger reprisals and then retaliation. With Secretary of War Jefferson Davis demanding punishment, Colonel Edwin V. “Bull” Sumner takes a stripped-down “scout in force” into Cheyenne country, leaning on speed, discipline, and a mix of units that includes 1st Cavalry, infantry support, prairie howitzers, and Indigenous scouts like Pawnee and Delaware trackers. 

The heart of the story comes from soldier Robert E. Peck, whose eyewitness detail turns a textbook campaign into a lived experience: night fires, exhausting trails past abandoned villages, and the moment Cheyenne warriors mount and form a bold line across the valley. Then Sumner makes the choice that defines the fight, ordering a saber charge that stuns opponents who expected a gun battle at distance. We end with the brutal intimacy of close-quarters combat and the unanswered question of what “success” even means in a frontier war built to terrify and control. 

If you care about U.S. Army history, the Cheyenne Indian Wars, and the real mechanics of conflict on the Great Plains, listen now, then subscribe, share the episode, and leave a review. What part of Peck’s account changed how you picture the Plains wars?

Transcript

Series Setup And Stakes

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The Wild West podcast proudly presents the third of a five-part series on the early Cheyenne Indian Wars from 1857 to the Sheridan Winter Campaign of 1868. In part three of the series, the Cheyenne Campaign of 1857 is the historical accounts of the first actual campaign against the Plains Indians, known as the Battle of Solomon Fork. This little-known clash with the Cheyenne Indians took place in Northwest Kansas near present-day Finoke in Graham County, Kansas. Throughout the American West, regular troops delivered state-sanctioned violence to execute United States law and policy. The mission was either to punish and terrorize Indian plundering and drive specific tribes onto legitimate reservations, or force Indians into the treaty table. Race, environment, technology, profession, and fear aggravated the pitch of violence on the frontier battlefield. Before the whites' arrival, the only boundaries recognized by the Cheyennes were those imposed by their limited means. The Cheyenne's rights were expansion and their enforcement by might over other tribes. They hunted buffalo within their boundaries and frequently raided across the borders against their enemies to steal horses and gain honor. The Cheyenne did not comprehend how the overpowering wave of white migration moving on to their lands would eventually force upon them fixed boundaries across which the white man would tolerate no raiding. Nevertheless, the Cheyenne way of life had produced a healthy and productive society, an enviable culture that they were determined to retain. These brave and proud people would not be compelled to accept the white man's changes upon their lifestyle without a fight. The United States government anticipated that the increasing influx of immigrants moving across the Great Plains through Cheyenne land would eventually lead to conflict. The U.S. government attempted to forestall problems with the Cheyenne through negotiations. Those negotiations led to the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851. The treaty's goal was to avoid confrontation by moving the Cheyenne away from the white settlements and immigrant trails. The treaty set aside land in northern Colorado for the Cheyenne. Initially, it was successful in promoting peace between the two cultures. Even so, increased traffic along the Kansas and Nebraska overland migration routes prompted Cheyenne raids against the immigrants in the spring of 1856. The army struck back against the Indians, which in turn resulted in more Cheyenne retaliatory raids against the wagon trains that summer. The attacks slowed with the onset of fall when the Cheyenne bands came together for their winter camp near the junction of the Solomon at Smokey Hill Rivers. But Secretary of War Jefferson Davis wanted the Cheyenne punished and authorized Colonel Edwin V. Bull Sumner to conduct a punitive campaign in the winter of 1856-1857. Several hundred regular troops crossed challenging terrain in every Western department, searched for the Indians, and struck devastating blows. The success of these scouts in force was tied directly to the commanding officer, who personally led the brigade into the field and into combat. These ambitious men linked the destiny of their civilization, nation, race, regiment, and themselves to their victories in battle with the Indians. The following is an account of Robert E. Peck, who served in the 1st Cavalry Division during the Battle of Solomon Fork. As the sun went down, our column rested among many campfires. The campfires became bright and vivid, as though someone had shown a spotlight on us. The intensity and excitement of the flames was like they were dancing in the moonlight. The nearby river had a reflection of a distant glow, like a bright sun on land. The colors were brilliant reds, oranges, and faint yellows. It was during this time our column learned about Colonel Sumner and two companies of 1st Cavalry who left Leavenworth on May 20th. We were told that Sumner arrived at Fort Kearney and hired Pawnee scouts and attached two 2nd Dragoon Companies to his force. Taking the Platte River Road, his battalion pulled into Fort Laramie on June 22nd. Five days later, leaving behind the dragoons, but augmented by three companies of sixth infantry, his column struck out southward, rendezvoused with Sedgwick's command, and established Camp Buchanan, a few miles west of Kioah Creek, on the South Platte River. Sumner planned to cut loose from his wagon train and march southeastward toward the Republican River, the heart of the Cheyenne homeland. This was the news we had all been waiting for. The news that a battle was close at hand. A few days later, our column bivouaced at Camp Buchanan. There, my comrades and I prepared horses and tack, mules and packs, and kits and weapons for Sumner's bold strike. The Colonel's scout in force included six First Cavalry and three sixth infantry companies, including four Prairie Howitzers. Our scouts in force was also manned with a crew of Delaware and Pawnee scouts, mule train, a Romuda of horses, and beef herd. To preserve our horses and the weight we carried, we were ordered to strip our clothes, saddle blankets, and weapons. Sumner's headquarters and the hospital carried one rainfly tent each. The mule train packed ammunition and twenty days' rations. Casting off from the wagons, the Cheyenne expedition snaked eastward along the South Platte River on July 13th. Bull Sumner intended to dog the Cheyennes into battle all summer long if necessary. Four days later, his expedition, three columns arrayed in echelon, left behind the South Platte drainage and coursed southeast toward the Republican River. The landscape was primarily a short grass plains country that was somewhat broken and almost entirely treeless. Our scouts screened the advance and flanks at a distance of ten to twelve miles. Their information was that a large Cheyenne village had stood on Beaver Creek as late as May. The hunt was fatiguing and tedious until three weeks into July, the regulars crossed the South Fork of the Republican. Pursuing a wide, fresh trail, our unit passed through the sites of three abandoned villages and one Sundance village before encamping at Bow Creek between the north and south forks of the Solomon River on July 28th. The following day, still tracking southeastward, our Cheyenne expedition entered into the South Fork drainage. Later that morning, one of the trackers bumped into Cheyenne scouts, who slowly retreated toward the east. Anxious to hit the Cheyennes before they fled, Sumner immediately readied our first cavalry to give chase. At Sumner's command, we dismounted, tightened up saddle girths, and examined arms and equipment to see that everything was in fighting order. Once ordered to mount, I looked over to see Sumner sitting astride his cavalry mount. The white-headed, white-bearded Sumner haranged everyone to obey orders, pulled together, and proclaimed, We can whip the whole tribe. I thought to myself, Today the men and officers would learn whether his epithet bull cnotted his booming parade ground voice, thick forehead, and fighting temper. Sumner had no clear idea of how many Cheyenne's awaited the first cavalry in the Solomon River Valley. However, he probably figured that his regular's discipline and firepower would offset any Cheyenne numerical advantage. Glory in death came to the frontier soldier who struck quickly and hard, and Bull Sumner had come to fight. He put in motion his six companies of cavalry, followed by the artillery and the mule train. A few minutes later, Sumner's bugler sounded trot. The infantry dropped behind, and the howitzers soon sank into a streambed. The first cavalry and the pack train jogged onward. Sumner's column descended from the upland prairie to the Solomon River bottom. The river is a symbol of how far we've come. The river was now a sleeping cobra. It lies across the land in smooth, seductive curves, beautiful in the late morning light, cool and innocuous. Yet the river bottom held a myriad of danger as our unit of three hundred regulars moved eastward along the north bank. Our unit formed three parallel columns and crossed in single file at a narrow split between the rocky point and the river. It was now approximately 1 p.m. at the far end of a broad plain extending two and one half miles, and crowned with a few cottonwoods. A small army of Cheyenne Indians mounted up, spread across the valley in a jagged line, and loped toward the regulars. Through their field glasses, Sumner and his officers realized that the Cheyennes had succored the Bluecoats onto the ground of their choosing. The Colonel grimly bellowed, Front into the line! His right sat on the river, and his left grazed the bluff. By God, he had his fight. Cheyenne, being confident that they could defeat the soldiers, boldly lined up along the Solomon River, blocking the army's advance. Sumner estimated their numbers at 300 to 350 warriors. The Indians were all mounted and well armed. Many of them had rifles and revolvers, and they stood with remarkable boldness. Sumner, with his 300 troops, was equally confident of success. Going into battle without the infantry seemed a little reckless to me and my comrades, but Colonel Sumner, a 38-year veteran, cautiously approached the Cheyennes. I looked over to the other side of the riverbank and saw many Cheynes painted and dressed for war. The Cheyennes eerily warbled their death songs and gesticulated with shields, spears, bows, muskets, rifles, and pistols. This sight astonished me. The Cheyenne War Party seemed 900 to a thousand keen, but Sumner's more sober calculation was approximately 300. Bull Sumner would not bulk at fighting fifteen-score Cheyenne. Riding at the point, he ordered the march and then the trot. It was if Sumner said to himself, I see you in the shadows of my mind. I see the calculation behind every move you make. You are a technician of a chess player, but so am I. With my cavalry I will invoke fear in so many, using your position to my advantage. I understand you. The fear you once reigned over me is ebbing, not yet fully under control, but reducing little by little. I won't back down. I won't run or turn tail. There is a weakness in the way you posture, and it will prove your Achilles here. When within rifle range, Chief Scout Fall Leaf dashed out front to fire his weapon. Several Cheyenne rounds chased him back. Swelled with pleasure, Sumner declared to the young officer riding next to him, Bear witness, Lieutenant Stanley, that an Indian fired the first shot. Nervously clutching our carbines and rifles, our unit of regulars quietly swept forward in an unbroken line toward the commuting Cheyenne. Without halting, Sumner's wing companies momentarily detached to drive in enemy flankers, while the center, silent and tense, trotted onward. A short moment later, Sumner bellowed, Draw Saber, charge. The thundering of hooves split the silence as our horses galloped through the bleak landscape. The wind wisped into the manes of my horse like flames. I could feel each muscle ripple from under my horse's freshly groomed belt and powerful legs. They propelled us forward and kept us going as horse and soldier powered over the land. The horses we rode over the riverbank carried us onward into a full charge for battle. To see a battle approaching from horseback is a privilege. One we owe thanks for to our four-hoofed brethren. The order irritated our officers. The ring and flash of sharpened steel startled the Cheyennes. Their long, beautiful bonnets trailing behind, war leaders darted up and down the line and urged their warriors to fight manfully. However, their prepared battle medicine only protected them from bullets, not sabers. The edged steel bearing down on them, terrifying for both attackers and defender, completely rattled the Indians. Sumner's calculations were a mystery to everyone. First, cavalry firepower was formidable and lethal. From company to company, the regiment carried the most modern small arms, Springfield rifled carbines, Merrill breech loading carbines, and Springfield pistol carbines. The first sidearm was the Colts Navy revolver, and everyone had the saber. Recruited and organized in 1855, the 1st Cavalry had suppressed political riot and guerrilla atrocities, hardly combat trained, in Bleeding, Kansas during most of 1856. Officers and men expected to stagger the Cheyennes with volley of small arms fire. At a hundred yards in closing, however, Colonel Sumner, the old man to his men, and an old fogey to some junior officers, suddenly roared, Sling carbine, followed by Gallop March. Four Leaf, a Delaware Indian, and myself, got over the creek before anyone else. That is when I saw and commenced firing at three or four Indians. One or two of them got away. Two of the Indians stopped during their flight and returned to fight. One of the Indians was the chief, said Leaf. There were several, perhaps eight or ten Indians in my immediate neighborhood, when I first got across the creek. All the Indians but three cleared out. I shot eight times at those remaining three Indians. But I don't think I hit but one of them, and that was not the fatal shot. One old fellow Indian gave Four Leaf and myself a parting salute before he left. The parting Indian shot at us with blunderbuss from about 20 yards. The blunderbuss looked like an old-fashioned carbine. Fourleaf and I were right together when he shot, but he missed us both. Taylor, a private in E-Company, ran up very gallantly on an Indian when his horse fell and he went over the horse's head. The Indian went after him with his tomahawk. I watched with amazement as the Indian struck first with his tomahawk while Taylor avoided the blow, just missing his skull. Then suddenly Taylor slammed into the Indian's face while the Indian sunk into Taylor's stomach. Taylor and the Indian stumbled apart for a brief second to catch their breaths before driving back at each other. Taylor's eyes narrowed in determination. While Taylor dodged the Indian's first blow, he took a second blow to his forehead. Taylor shook off the blow to his head, stepped back, fell to the ground while evading a wild swing. Is that all you got? crowed Taylor as he smirked infuriatingly at the Indian. After receiving a slight wound in the forehead, Taylor got up, struck the Indian over the head two or three times, downed him, pulled his saber, and then ran the Indian through. Blood pooled in the Indian's mouth as Taylor gagged. By the time we'd finished these two or three Indians, all the rest had vamoosed. So we mounted our horses and chased the escaping Indians five or six miles beyond the creek, but could not catch them.