Campaigning with Crook, and Stories of Army Life — A Reader’s Guide
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The catalog record for Campaigning with Crook, and Stories of Army Life — A Reader’s Guide provides practical reading context through 85,089 words, 6 hr 10 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.
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FORT HAYS AND THE START.
The disastrous battle on the Little Horn, which resulted in the annihilation of General Custer and his five favorite companies of the Seventh Cavalry, occurred on the 25th of June, 1876. On the 4th of that month, we of the Fifth Cavalry were far to the south, scattered over the boundless prairies of Kansas. Regimental headquarters and four companies occupied the cosey quarters of Fort Hays, nearly midway between Leavenworth and Denver, Missouri and the mountains, and Company "K," of which I then was first lieutenant, had pitched its tents along the banks of a winding fork of the Smoky Hill River, wondering why we had been "routed out" from our snug barracks and stables at Fort Riley, and ordered to proceed, "equipped for field service," to Hays City, by rail. Ordinarily, Uncle Sam pays the costly railway fare for horsemen and their steeds only when danger is imminent. The two posts were but a week's easy march apart; not a hostile Indian had been seen or heard of in all Kansas since the previous winter; General Pope, who commanded the department, had won the hearts of the ladies and children of the officers' families by predicting that there would be no separation from husbands and fathers that summer at least; all the ladies had "joined," and, after our long sojourn in the wilds of Arizona, where but few among them had been able to follow us, we were rejoicing in their presence and luxuriating in the pretty homes ornamented and blessed by their dainty handiwork. Some among their number had never before appeared in garrison, and were taking their first lesson in frontier experience. Some, too, had only been with us six short weeks, and did not dream that the daily parades in which they took so much delight, the sweet music of our band, the brilliant uniforms and dancing plumes that lent such color and life to rapid drill or stately guard-mounting, were one and all but part and parcel of the preparation for scenes more stirring, far less welcome to such gentle eyes.
Fort Hays was joyous with mirth and music and merry laughter, for some of the ladies of the regiment had brought with them from the distant East younger sisters or friends, to whom army life on the plains was a revelation, and in whose honor a large barrack-room had been transformed into "the loveliest place in the world for a german," and Strauss's sweetest music rose and fell in witching invitation after the evening tattoo. Riding, driving, and hunting parties were of daily occurrence, and more than one young fellow's heart seemed in desperate jeopardy when the summons came.
The sun was setting in a cloudless sky as I reined in my horse in front of General Carr's quarters and dismounted, to make my report of a three days' hunt along the valley of the Saline for stampeded horses. The band, in their neat summer dress, were grouped around the flagstaff, while the strains of "Soldaten Lieder" thrilled through the soft evening air, and, fairly carried away by the cadence of the sweet music, a party of young ladies and officers had dropped their croquet mallets and were waltzing upon the green carpet of the parade. Seated upon the verandas, other ladies and older officers were smilingly watching the pretty scene, and on the western side of the quadrangle the men in their white stable frocks were just breaking ranks after marching up from the never-neglected care of their horses. Half a dozen laughing children were chasing one another in noisy glee, their bright sashes and dainty dresses gleaming in the last rays of the golden orb. The general himself was gazing thoughtfully at the distant line of willows that fringed the banks of the stream, and holding an open newspaper in his hand as I entered and made my report.
"Have you heard the news?" he asked me. "Schuyler has gone to join General Crook as aide-de-camp. Got a telegram from him just after you left on this scout, and started last night. It's my belief that Crook will have a big campaign, and that we'll be sent for."
King's preface frames the book as a tribute to General Crook, written ten years after the campaign for a small circle of comrades. The tone is reverent and elegiac, noting that many named officers have since died. Yet the excerpts that follow quickly undercut this solemnity: a newspaper correspondent's tall tale about the 'Camelquo'—a hybrid of elk and camel—is recounted with dry amusement, and Company B's reputation for stealing horses from neighboring units is treated as a running joke. The reader should expect a work that oscillates between memorial and barracks anecdote.
From Tribute to Tall Tale
The preface establishes King's purpose: to honor Crook and his comrades. He calls the sketches 'rough' and notes they were printed in limited pamphlet form. But the very first excerpt after the preface introduces a comic episode about a correspondent named D——, who fabricated a story about a 'Camelquo' and later wrote a scandalous account of the Slim Buttes battle. King's tone shifts from solemn to wry, and he concludes that 'Camelquo Creek' is the only trace of D——. This juxtaposition—formal dedication followed by irreverent yarn—sets the book's dual character.
The Horse as a Character
King devotes considerable attention to the condition of cavalry horses. He describes how soldiers led exhausted horses along the column, hunting for grass to keep them alive. One company, Montgomery's Company B, lost not a single horse—a feat King attributes to 'unerring judgment and ceaseless vigilance.' Yet he also notes that neighboring companies woke to find their horses missing, implying Company B's methods were not entirely above board. The horse becomes a measure of competence and a source of humor, as King balances admiration for Montgomery's horsemanship with sly digs at his men's thievery.
The Correspondent's Fate
The D—— episode recurs as a cautionary tale about journalism on the frontier. D—— started with Crook's staff but was reassigned to packers, then joined Major Mills's command. After witnessing the Slim Buttes fight 'in a state of abject terror,' he wrote a false account accusing Mills of misconduct. The paper was forced to apologize and likely fired him. King's telling is matter-of-fact, but the moral is clear: the campaign tested not only soldiers but also the reporters who tried to capture it. The only lasting trace of D—— is a creek name, a joke that outlasts the man.
The Voice of the Veteran
Throughout the excerpts, King writes as a participant, not a historian. He uses first-person plural ('we set to work') and addresses readers as comrades. His descriptions of losses—'in horseflesh and equipments the gaps were appalling'—are precise and unsentimental. When he praises Captain Montgomery, he does so by contrasting him with unnamed others who were 'not thorough horsemen.' This insider's perspective gives the book authority, but King's willingness to include absurd stories like the Camelquo keeps it from becoming a dry after-action report.
Readers should approach this book as a hybrid: part memoir, part collection of campfire stories. King's preface promises a tribute, but the excerpts deliver a more varied experience—one that includes humor, criticism, and a clear-eyed view of the campaign's hardships. The narrative voice is that of a veteran who respects his commander but is not above poking fun at his peers. Let the tone of the Camelquo story guide your expectations: this is a soldier's account, not a general's.
Captain King’s campfire yarns, all dust and dry humor, always make me think of another shelf’s quiet companion—The Secrets of the German War Office — Reading Notes. Where one tells of horsemen and bluster, the other whispers of maps and silence. Both, in their own way, are about what men don’t say around the fire.
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