Buffalo Soldiers | Cadets of Courage | 2
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Imagine it's December 1869, in Indian territory near the Texas border. You're a soldier with the 10th Cavalry. You've been on patrol all day on the north side of the Red River, 45 miles south of your post at Fort Sill. Muscles are aching after hours in the saddle, but you still keep your eyes sharp. Whoa there.

You pull on your horse's reins as you come upon a white man sitting in the shade of a covered wagon, smoking a pipe. It looks like he's transporting bulky cargo from the way the wagon's canvas is straining at the sides. You have a suspicion that the man is a whiskey peddler trying to trespass on the nearby Kiowa Comanche Reservation. Afternoon. Where are you headed? He looks up at you from under a wide-brimmed hat and takes a long draw of his pipe. Ranch, not far from here. Looking for work, herding cattle.

You glance at the tracks behind his wagon. Funny thing, if you're looking for ranch work, I reckon you'd be heading south. From the looks of your wagon, looks like you're heading north. Must have gotten myself turned around. You nod slowly, taking in the wagon again. The canvas bulges awkwardly. He's carrying a heavier load than any cowboy you've ever met. Then you won't mind if I search your wagon? Don't think you want to do that. You ignore him, dismount your horse, and walk to the back of the wagon.

You pull back the edge of the canvas flap to find cases of whiskey piled high, just as you suspected. You freeze. The man stands beside you with a gun drawn. I said don't. You lunge before he can fire, slamming your body into his. His gun goes off, but the bullet sails wide. You pin him on the ground, and he twists beneath you, fighting to escape. Get your hands off me! With one arm holding him against the wagon, you pull a length of rope from your belt.

He wrench his arms behind him and tie his wrists together. "You keep fighting me, and I'll gag you too. You got no right. Who do you think you are? A soldier in the United States Army? You're coming with me. Ain't nothing you can do to keep me down. I'll pay a fine, spend a month in jail, but after that, I'll be back. I promise you that."

You don't answer. As much as you want to take satisfaction in keeping this poison off the reservation, you know he's right. He'll soon be back, breaking the law and spreading chaos.

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In 1869, Black soldiers of the 10th U.S. Cavalry were stationed at Fort Sill on the Kiowa Comanche Reservation in modern-day western Oklahoma. Among their many duties was the difficult task of stopping unlicensed merchants and whiskey peddlers from preying upon local Indians. These intruders supplied weapons and alcohol to Indian raiders, sowing conflict that threatened to escalate into open war.

And Army life on the isolated frontier of West Texas was no less difficult. In the desolate, drought-ridden Staked Plains, Buffalo soldiers tracking a band of Comanche warriors soon found themselves in a battle against nature itself,

And while the men of the 9th and 10th Cavalry struggled to keep order in the West, more than 1,000 miles away in New York, the first Black cadet at West Point was fighting to earn an officer's commission. But in his quest to lead, he would face an onslaught of racial harassment and violence.

From east to west, these Buffalo Soldiers continue to distinguish themselves through their hard work and perseverance in the face of racism, unforgiving terrain, and hostile adversaries. And they would soon solidify their reputation for bravery by refusing to back down from one of their toughest fights yet. This is Episode 2, Cadets of Courage.

Back in the spring of 1870, James Webster Smith arrived in West Point, New York, with hopes of becoming the first Black cadet in the 70-year history of the U.S. Military Academy. Born enslaved in South Carolina, Smith had attended school through the Freedmen's Bureau, and a Republican congressman gave him the required congressional nomination for his application to West Point. But before he could be admitted, he would have to pass the Academy's famously difficult entrance exams.

making them even more difficult almost as soon as he stepped foot on campus, white students harassed him. Nevertheless, Smith passed the entrance exam, and in July, he was officially admitted to the nation's leading officer training school.

But admission to West Point was one thing, and graduation was another. As the sole black cadet, Smith was isolated and forced to endure constant verbal and physical abuse from his white classmates. He wrote of his early days there, I have been lonely indeed. And Smith's father, a Civil War veteran, wrote back to his son, encouraging him to persevere, declaring, Don't let them run you away. Show your spunk and let them see that you will fight. That is what you are sent to West Point for.

By the early 1870s, the 9th Cavalry was scattered across nine forts in West Texas, some of the most lonely and remote posts in the country. There, the food was poor, and most of the soldiers had not been home since their enlistment, as requests for extended furloughs were typically denied.

And while Congress had assigned chaplains to the black regiments to educate them in reading, writing, and math, the 9th Cavalry was so widely dispersed that these chaplains could not spend much time with each post, meaning little progress was made. All told, there were only two chaplains for the entire regiment, and they were often on sick leave.

Making things more difficult for the black soldiers, Texas was not just a frontier state, but also a former member of the Confederacy, meaning these Buffalo soldiers were tasked with protecting white Texans who bitterly resented their presence.

In 1869, a middle-aged frontiersman named John Jackson ambushed and killed a black infantryman named Boston Henry, after Henry had written a letter to Jackson's daughter. After the first killing, Jackson killed two more black soldiers who pursued him. He was eventually caught and tried, but the Texas jury quickly declared him not guilty.

But even as Buffalo soldiers faced hostility from white Texans, they worked to protect the frontier and expand infrastructure. The soldiers diligently laid telegraph wire, guarded railroad crews, and escorted mail carriers. They also undertook long and grueling expeditions to map areas only Native people had traveled in order to make the terrain accessible to future settlers.

But this work was often overshadowed by continuing conflict in the area. Despite the Army's best efforts to secure the region, Texas citizens and legislators flooded Army General and Chief William Tecumseh Sherman with complaints about ongoing Indian raids.

And when Ulysses S. Grant became president in 1869, he pursued a so-called peace policy of bringing the Plains tribes into reservations overseen by Quaker Indian agents. But Grant's peace plan prohibited the army from attacking rogue Indian warriors without the permission of the Quaker Indian agents, and many soldiers felt that this policy hamstrung them from curbing Indian raids.

Responding to these complaints, Sherman decided to travel west and observe the situation for himself. In early May 1871, he set out from San Antonio, Texas with his staff officers and an escort of 10th Cavalry Troopers.

Over the next two weeks, this group toured various Texas Army posts without incident. Sherman became convinced that the crisis in Texas had been exaggerated. But after Sherman arrived at Fort Richardson on May 18, 1871, a bloodied civilian stumbled into the fort. He announced that his wagon train had come under attack and that seven of his eleven companions had been killed. Sherman sent 150 soldiers out to confirm the story.

Soon, the soldiers discovered a disturbing scene. Their report described bloated and mutilated bodies, including one that had been chained to a wagon pole and burned to a cinder.

Shocked by this brutality, Sherman soon set out for Fort Sill, roughly 115 miles away in Indian territory. For two years, this fort had served as the headquarters for the 10th Cavalry and their commander, Colonel Benjamin Grierson. The troopers served as watchdogs for Comanche, Kiowa, Arapaho, and southern Cheyenne Indians who refused to settle on reservations.

And there at Fort Sill, Sherman learned that the Kiowa war chief Satanta was responsible for the wagon train attack. To arrest Satanta, Grierson, Sherman, and the local Indian agent devised a plan. They invited Satanta and other Kiowa leaders to Grierson's house at Fort Sill for a council meeting. Grierson placed 10th Cavalry troopers strategically around the house and grounds. A dozen soldiers stood inside behind shuttered windows facing the porch where the meeting would take place.

During a tense confrontation, Satanta reached for a gun hidden under a blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders. But Sherman yelled out a command and the black soldiers in hiding aimed their weapons out the windows, prepared to fire. At the same time, mounted cavalry on the grounds closed in, preventing any escape.

Soon after, Satanta and the other Kiowa leaders were arrested. The 10th Cavalry's discipline and restraint had helped save Sherman's life and avoid a potential massacre. Afterwards, Sherman wrote Grierson, declaring, "'I regard your post as one of the best, if not the very best, on the frontier.'" But in just the following month, another incident involving the 10th Cavalry revealed the Buffalo soldiers' ongoing struggles to earn the respect of their white officers.

In the spring of 1871, the 10th Cavalry Sea Company was encamped in the New Mexico desert. The troops' white second lieutenant, Robert Price, had a reputation for mistreating the black soldiers under his command. One day in June 1871, Price walked by a group of soldiers laughing, including Private Charles Smith.

Drunk and furious, he accused Smith of laughing at him, drew his weapon, and shot Smith dead. Smith's friends were shocked and horrified, and they soon resolved to get their revenge. Imagine it's a June night in 1871 at an army campsite in the New Mexico desert.

You're a 1st Sergeant in the 10th U.S. Cavalry. Beside you, the body of Private Charles Smith lies motionless. Beneath him, a dark pool of blood seeps into the dirt. Earlier tonight, the white officer Robert Price shot Smith in a drunken rage. And now, a young private named Dandridge and two of his friends are galloping through the camp, firing their weapons into the air.

Get out of the way! We can't let Price get away with this. Put your weapons down, all of you.

Dandridge shakes his head, though, the light of the campfire flickering in his angry eyes. Sergeant, with all due respect, I mean it. Return to your quarters. That bastard killed Smith in cold blood for no reason. Just let us arrest him. I'm sorry, but that's just not how it works. We're enlisted men. We don't have the power to arrest an officer no matter what he's done.

Dandridge shrugs. Then we'll just have to take matters into our own hands. I'm warning you, do not do this. You are seconds away from making a fatal mistake. If you all shoot Price, there will be hell to pay. If that's what it takes, then so be it. Think, boys. Shooting an officer, even one like Price, will damn us all. Do you want to hang for this? Because that's what'll happen.

So you just want us to walk away? No, but we have to do things the right way. I'll write a report.

Take it up the chain. You think the army's gonna care what you say? They'll just sweep it under the rug. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure that justice is served.

Dandridge's skepticism echoes your own doubts, but you can't let them stage a revenge killing. Private Dandridge fixes you with a hard stare, weighing your words. At last, he lowers his weapon and dismounts. His comrades follow suit. Dandridge then turns to walk back to his tent, his shoulders slumped. You better mean it. Our lives are worth more than this.

As the private walks away, you kneel beside Smith's body to say a prayer for him and his family. But no matter how much you might want it, you fear you have no chance of finding true justice.

After the white 2nd Lieutenant Robert Price killed Black Private Charles Smith, three of Smith's comrades picked up their weapons and threatened to kill Price in revenge. Their Black sergeant managed to defuse the situation. The rebellious soldiers were court-martialed, but thanks to the sergeant's testimony, they were acquitted. Price's fate is unknown, but convictions of officers for brutality, even when it was lethal, were extremely rare.

One major exception occurred in the wake of severe cruelty perpetrated by 9th Cavalry Captain Lee Humphreville. In December 1872, the 9th Cavalry's K Troop was camped in Fort Richardson in Texas, preparing to march to Fort Clark, some 400 miles away. For months, tensions had escalated between the troops and Captain Humphreville.

Humphreyville was a harsh disciplinarian who tended to play favorites with black soldiers who had a lighter complexion, and he was notorious for frequently being absent from his post for days at a time. While he insisted that he was away conducting official business, others accused him of drinking away his days in bars.

During one of these absences, soldiers under his command managed to procure two kegs of liquor, and when Humphreyville returned and discovered one of his soldiers was drunk, he ordered him thrown into an icy creek. The soldier was hospitalized as a result, and the company's resentment grew. Humphreyville's attempt to restore order with further harsh punishments only caused more uproar.

When one soldier protested after being denied food, Humphreyville had him tied to a tree, then proceeded to beat him with a rifle, taunting the man, "'What did you do when you was a slave?'

And then, when it was time to begin the march to Fort Clark, Humphrey Bill ordered the soldiers to be handcuffed in pairs, tied to the back of an army wagon, and nearly dragged across 400 miles of the Texas prairie. Over the next 19 days, he limited their rations, marched them through freezing waters, and forced them to walk around in circles while carrying heavy logs.

The man had little recourse, but months after this hellish ordeal, testimony from a white lieutenant with the company spurred an investigation into Humphreyville's actions. He was court-martialed, found guilty, and dismissed from service.

The violence of Robert Price and Lee Humphreyville lay bare the persistent racism among some of the white officers. But these incidents also underscored the courage and resilience of black soldiers who dared to challenge authority, even under the threat of severe punishment. And in the case of Humphreyville's court-martial, some white army officials stepped forward to support black soldiers' civil rights.

But prejudice was not the only challenge the Buffalo Soldiers faced. As the 1870s went on, their work would only grow more demanding. And soon, one unit would suffer one of the Frontier Army's most infamous disasters.

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At Georgetown SCS, the learning never stops, and neither do you. Write your next chapter. Be continued at scs.georgetown.edu slash podcast. In the early 1870s, the 10th Cavalry struggled to maintain order in Indian Territory.

Much of the trouble was caused by white and Mexican merchants and whiskey peddlers who traded liquor and weapons with Indian raiders. The Buffalo soldiers continued to patrol in an effort to keep these intruders from trespassing on the reservations, and in the summer of 1872, Colonel Benjamin Grierson spread his regiment across three different forts to cope with the problem.

That summer, the 10th Cavalry arrested and expelled hundreds of trespassers but were frustrated when local courts handed down lenient punishments, leaving the merchants free to continue their disruptive activities.

In one example, in January 1873, on the northern border of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Reservation, one company of cavalrymen set out to bust up a handful of whiskey-selling operations. Twenty troopers marched through below-zero temperatures to capture these intruders, and they rounded up fifteen peddlers and confiscated large quantities of whiskey, rifles, and revolvers.

But the winter conditions were harsh, and by the time they returned to their post, more than half of the soldiers had to be hospitalized for frostbite. Meanwhile, the merchants they captured were fined a paltry $10 and sentenced to just one month in jail. After their release, they promptly resumed business. This illegal sale of weapons and whiskey was one of several factors contributing to rising unrest in the southern plains.

By 1874, President Ulysses S. Grant's so-called peace policy was obviously failing. And while federal officials had demanded that the Plains Indians abandon their way of life and be confined to reservations, the government had failed to provide the funds it had promised, and inadequate food supplies and poor soil quality made the reservations unlivable. The government's compounding failure to curb the rampant theft of Indian ponies and the commercial slaughter of the buffalo deepened Native American resentment.

And as tensions rose, so did Indian raids. In late June 1874, a coalition of hundreds of Comanche, Kiowa, and Southern Cheyenne attacked Adobe Walls, a buffalo hunter station in the Texas Panhandle. Four buffalo hunters and 16 Indians died. In response to this attack, President Grant abandoned his peace policy and the Army launched a full-scale attack known as the Red River War.

Officials dispatched 3,000 infantry, artillery, and cavalry units into the Texas Panhandle. Five columns of soldiers converged on hostile bands of Kiowa, Comanche, Southern Cheyenne, and Arapaho with the goal of forcing them back onto reservations. The men of the 9th and 10th Cavalries formed the backbone of two of the five columns.

In the fall of 1874, they captured nearly 400 Indians and more than 2,000 animals. They also destroyed more than 700 lodges and large quantities of supplies and camp equipment, more than any other regiment in the field, though they received little credit for their efforts. So by January 1875, the army had forced most of the hostile Indians back onto the reservations. The end of the Red River War marked the collapse of armed resistance in the southern plains. No longer would Indians freely roam the region.

After the Red River War, the 9th and 10th Cavalries moved into new terrain. By 1875, the 9th Cavalry had spent eight long years in West Texas, in some of the most hostile territory in the country. One general commented that the Cavalry are constantly at work, and it is the kind of work, too, that disheartens us. There is little to show for it. Yet their zeal is untiring. So in 1875, General Philip Sheridan decided it was time to relieve the troopers.

He ordered Colonel Edward Hatch to begin transferring the regiment to New Mexico. So as the 9th Cavalry left the Texas frontier, Benjamin Grierson's 10th Cavalry stepped into the void. These 10th Cavalry troopers would remain the primary military presence in far west Texas for the next decade. They continued to map the area and patrolled thousands of miles of what Grierson's brother called the most godforsaken part of Uncle Sam's dominions.

From his headquarters at Fort Concho, Grierson resolved to open settlement into the Staked Plains, a large, uncharted region in the Texas Panhandle notorious for its unforgiving terrain. Back in 1852, one Army captain declared that in these Staked Plains, the traveler sees nothing but one vast, dreary, and monotonous waste of barren solitude. But hoping to transform the landscape, Grierson gave orders to find bodies of water and address whether any of the land could be used for farming or ranching.

So in the sweltering heat of July 1875, Lieutenant Colonel William Shafter took six companies of the 10th Cavalry on an expedition to force the remaining Indians out of the Staked Plains and assess the territory for settlement.

The troopers only found a few Indians, but by the time the expedition ended in November, they had found multiple sources of water and large expanses of grass, dispelling the myth that the entire area was unfit for settlement. So, despite occasional Comanche raids, cattle ranchers and homesteaders soon moved in.

But two years later, a routine cavalry scout mission turned catastrophic. In the blazing heat of July 1877, Grierson ordered Captain Nicholas Nolan to take a company to the Staked Plains in pursuit of Apache and Comanche warriors who had attacked stagecoaches along the San Antonio-El Paso Road. Nolan and 40 troopers set out from Fort Concho, and along the way, they joined forces with a group of buffalo hunters and a veteran civilian scout.

And then, on July 26, 1877, while this group was camped at Double Lakes, south of modern-day Lubbock, Texas, two additional buffalo hunters found the group and announced that a large band of Comanche had been spotted. The soldiers hastily broke camp and set off in pursuit. But in their rush, many soldiers neglected to refill their canteens, and Nolan failed to remind them, even as the Comanche they trailed led the soldiers away from known watering holes.

By the time the group broke camp at dawn the next day, the temperature had already surpassed 100 degrees, and the soldiers had neglected to ration what little water they carried. Before long, their canteens were empty, and in this relentless July heat, their mission to round up Indians was fast becoming a fight for survival. Imagine it's the night of July 28, 1877.

The moon hangs low over the Texas-staked plains, casting the barren landscape in a ghostly light. You're a soldier in the 10th Cavalry, and two days ago your regiment broke camp to follow a band of Comanche warriors. But you've barely had a sip of water since then, and your mouth feels like sandpaper. Your limbs are dragging under the weight of your exhaustion. Another soldier, Isaac, trudges beside you just as weary. The two of you have fallen behind the rest of the pack. Watch out!

Isaac stumbles over a rock, but you catch him by the elbow before he falls. Come on, let's take a moment to rest. You and Isaac drop your packs and sit on the ground, careful to avoid the scraggly brush and jagged rocks. Isaac stares off in the direction of the rest of your company, quarter mile ahead of you. We've already fallen so far behind. We need to keep moving. You wipe the sweat from your brow with a shaky hand. Why should we? All this madness...

Just to follow some damn Comanches. I say we run for it. Run for it? You mean dessert? You must really be losing it. I'm serious. We should just take our chance now, while the others aren't looking. But what if we get caught? They'll court-martial us. Then who knows what'll happen. But at least we'll be alive. Out here, we're as good as dead. Captain Nolan's chasing shadows. Only one thing's for sure.

We're not gonna last another day wandering the deserts like this. Isaac unscrews his canteen, looking for a drop of water that you both know isn't there. But what'll happen if we leave and we still can't find water? What if... What if, what if, what if? What if we leave and find a watering hole a mile away? I'd rather risk it. I don't know. If we die, then at least we die trying. At least it'll be on our terms.

Isaac hesitates, his gaze moving from his empty canteen to the rest of your company in the distance. Deal.

You stand and hold out your hand to help Isaac up. Together, you start walking in the opposite direction of your company. The horizon stretches endlessly ahead of you, and all you can do is hope that somewhere in this vast, empty expanse, you'll find the water you need to save you both from an all-but-certain death.

1877 was a drought year in the Southwest, and many of the water sources Captain Nolan remembered from only two years ago had disappeared. As the hours wore on, his men grew increasingly anxious. And on the afternoon of July 27th, their civilian scout left to look for water. He never returned.

The soldiers wandered on, but their horses struggled to stay on their feet. Some of the men fell from their saddles with heat stroke. And on July 28th, Nolan decided to set a compass course back to Double Lakes. To survive, the men drank horse blood and urine mixed with sugar. A few of the soldiers deserted rather than continue following Nolan.

But finally, at dawn on July 30th, the remaining men straggled back into Double Lakes. They had gone 86 hours without water. Four of the Buffalo soldiers had died, along with 20 horses and five pack mules. A Galveston newspaper dubbed their experience as the Staked Plains Horror. The story of the soldiers' desperate fight for survival became national news.

A few of the survivors were later court-martialed for desertion, but the commander of all forces in Texas intervened to reduce their sentences and return them to service. But despite the harsh reality of Army life on the frontier, most Black soldiers faithfully executed their duties. Desertion rates of Black soldiers were significantly lower than rates for their white counterparts. Most Buffalo soldiers recognized that life in the Army was preferable to the meager opportunities afforded to Black civilians.

And desertion remained uncommon, even though the 10th Cavalry continued facing harassment and violence from white Texas civilians. 1877 marked the end of Reconstruction in the South and the beginning of a new era of racial oppression. Despite it all, though, one man faced one of the Army's most enduring color barriers and dared to break through.

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But he refused to quietly accept this abuse. He constantly got into arguments with his white classmates, including one notorious incident in which he hit a classmate with a ladle. He was disciplined several times, including a court-martial for lying, after which he received a year's suspension.

But in June 1874, with just one year left in his studies, Smith's West Point career ended abruptly. One of his professors deemed him deficient in his philosophy studies. But after enduring years of bigotry and isolation, Smith had no intention of backing down without a fight. Imagine it's a June afternoon in 1874 at the War Department in Washington, D.C. A secretary ushers you into the oak-paneled office of the Secretary of War William Belknap.

This is your last recourse after being dismissed from West Point. The room is hot and stuffy, and the faint scent of cigar smoke lingers in the air. Belknap sits behind a large desk, running his fingers through his long beard. He waves a hand, inviting you to take a seat. So, you must be the cadet kicking up all this fuss. Thank you for meeting with me, sir. I've come to plead my case. I believe I've been dealt a grave injustice, and I am asking you to intervene on my behalf.

Belknap leans back in his chair and his gaze narrows. I hear you failed an examination. Yes, natural and experimental philosophy. But if I could explain, the Academy regulations are clear. After the June examinations, cadets found deficient in conduct or studies will be discharged unless otherwise recommended by the academic board. You were not. Sir, all I asked for is a second chance, a re-examination.

Belknap raises a hand, cutting you off. I'm sure the examination was conducted fairly. As I understand it, the results were conclusive. A re-examination would undermine the integrity of West Point's procedures. Then turn me back a year. Please, sir. I just want to prove I belong, once and for all. The academic board declined to recommend such a procedure. You've been given plenty of second chances. I'm afraid that your grades just aren't up to par.

You lean forward in your seat, desperate to try to make him understand. I was an excellent student until I came to the Academy. You don't know what it's been like. The other cadets constantly call me names, trying to rile me up. I can't concentrate. My life there is a living hell, but I promised my father that I'd see it through. The Academy is rigorous for everyone. If you can't cut it there, then you have little hope of succeeding as an officer in the United States Army.

You stare at Belknap, not understanding how one exam can destroy everything you've worked for. You've suffered years of abuse, you've fought for every inch, and still it wasn't enough to prove that you belong.

In the summer of 1874, James Webster Smith met with the U.S. Secretary of War to try to reverse his dismissal from West Point, but he was refused. The Army and Navy Journal concluded, "...the disease of civil rights as applied to the selection of cadets left to run its course has wrought its own cure."

So Smith, the first black cadet at West Point, was forced to leave the academy. But he would not be the last black cadet. In 1873, another young black man entered West Point, Henry Ossian Flipper.

Flipper was born into slavery in Georgia. His family lived with their owner's estranged wife, who made the unusual and illegal decision of allowing Flipper and his siblings to learn to read. After the Civil War ended, Flipper's parents hired the poor widow of a Confederate soldier to tutor the family, and Flipper cultivated a lifelong passion for education that led to his nomination for admission to West Point in April 1873. By July, he had passed his entrance exams and become a cadet.

During his first year at West Point, Flipper shared a room with James Webster Smith. But unlike Smith, he endured his classmates' attacks without complaint. He lived and studied in almost total isolation. And in the summer of 1877, he became the first black cadet to graduate from West Point.

After graduation, Flipper became the Army's first black commissioned officer, and in January 1878, he traveled west to join his new regiment, the 10th Cavalry, at Fort Sill in Texas. He would serve as second lieutenant of Company A under Nicholas Nolan, who had led the disastrous Stake Plains Horror the previous year.

There at Fort Sill, Flipper supervised road and telegraph line construction and spent four months as acting commander of a troop. Then, at Fort Elliott in Texas, he worked as a surveyor and cartographer and led an investigation into illegal ammunition sales, resulting in the court-martial and conviction of a white quartermaster sergeant. He returned to Fort Sill in 1879, where he designed a drainage system for controlling floodwaters known as Flipper's Ditch, which remains in use to this day.

It was not until the summer of 1880 that Flipper finally saw combat, when he and the other soldiers of the 10th Cavalry were drawn into a new conflict known as Victorio's War.

Victorio was a charismatic Apache leader and a shrewd military tactician. In 1877, the federal government forcibly removed him and his followers from New Mexico and transported them to the Arizona Territory. There, they were taken to the San Carlos Reservation, a place so miserable that U.S. soldiers called it Hell's Forty Acres. Victorio begged the army to return his people to Ojo Caliente in northern New Mexico, but to no avail.

So in 1879, Victorio led a mixed band of warriors and their families off of the reservation and into Mexico, beyond U.S. Army jurisdiction. They left a path of destruction in their wake, burning ranches, setting forest fires, and killing livestock and people. Then, from their new base in Mexico, Victorio's followers launched raids into U.S. soil.

And in the fall of 1879, 40 of his followers attacked a company of the 9th Cavalry Troops, killing five Buffalo soldiers and capturing 68 horses.

In May of the following year, 1880, General Sheridan ordered Grierson's 10th Cavalry to join the 9th in pursuing Victorio. But Grierson disagreed with his superiors. He thought pursuit would be ineffective and unnecessarily hard on the soldiers and their horses. He believed Victorio and his men would re-enter the U.S. through Texas and knew they would not get far without water. So Grierson sent his soldiers to guard every watering hole in Texas within Victorio's reach.

Henry Flipper played an active role in these efforts to capture Victoria. On one occasion, he rode nearly 100 miles in under 24 hours to alert Grierson that Victoria's advance guard had been spotted. Having traveled twice the distance considered reasonable in that amount of time, Flipper collapsed from exhaustion, but only slept for a few hours before rejoining his company at Fort Quitman.

And the very next morning, Flipper and his troops heeded a distress call from Grierson. They rode 20 miles to join another troop under attack and already engaged in heavy fighting. Flipper recalled, we got right into it and soon had the Indians on the run.

After successfully fending off that attack in May, on July 30, 1880, Grierson and 24 soldiers staked out an isolated watering hole on the El Paso-San Antonio Road. And as Grierson predicted, Victorio and his followers soon appeared. For two hours, Grierson and his men battled 150 of Victorio's warriors until reinforcements from the 10th Cavalry appeared and the Apache fled back across the border without having watered their horses.

The 10th lost one man, while killing at least seven and driving the rest back into Mexico. In a letter to his wife, Grierson predicted that Victorio's downfall was imminent. A week later, Victorio once again crossed into the United States, but the 10th cavalrymen were waiting for him at another watering hole and drove him back a second time. The Buffalo soldiers' years of scouting the area paid off. By denying Victorio's band access to water, the soldiers made it impossible for him to remain in the United States.

So in the end, it was the Mexican army that delivered the final blow, killing Victorio in Mexico in October 1880. But the soldiers of the 9th and 10th Cavalries had relentlessly pursued Victorio over thousands of miles, outmaneuvering and outfighting his forces, sapping his will to fight. General John Pope praised their meritorious and gallant conduct during this campaign and commended their zeal and intelligence under difficult conditions.

Once again, the Buffalo Soldiers had proven their valor on the unforgiving Texas frontier. But with Reconstruction at an end, race relations deteriorating across the country, the fate of Henry "Ossian" Flipper and the West Point cadets who aspired to follow in his footsteps hung in the balance.

From Wondery, this is episode two of our three-part series, Buffalo Soldiers, from American History Tellers. On the next episode, Apache war leaders seek revenge for the death of Victorio, Henry Flipper faces a court-martial, and the 9th Cavalry stands guard at the Pine Ridge Reservation during the infamous massacre at Wounded Knee.

If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. Voice acting by Ace Anderson. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski. Managing producer, Desi Blaylock. Senior managing producer, Callum Plews. Senior producer, Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

At 24, I lost my narrative, or rather it was stolen from me. And the Monica Lewinsky that my friends and family knew was usurped by false narratives, callous jokes, and politics.

I would define reclaiming as to take back what was yours. Something you possess is lost or stolen, and ultimately you triumph in finding it again. So I think listeners can expect me to be chatting with folks, both recognizable and unrecognizable names, about the way that people have navigated roads to triumph. My hope is that people will finish an episode of reclaiming and feel like

they filled their tank up. They connected with the people that I'm talking to and leave with maybe some nuggets that help them feel a little more hopeful. Follow Reclaiming with Monica Lewinsky on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Listen to episodes everywhere on February 18th