Frozen Fury: The Battle of Rush Creek and the Plains War Ignited
BROADWATER, NEBRASKA, 1865 – The biting Nebraska wind howled a frigid symphony across the snow-dusted plains, carrying with it the scent of conflict and the echo of recent atrocities. It was January 4, 1865, a new year, but the old year’s bloodstains were far from washed away. On this desolate landscape, near what is now Broadwater, a brutal and often overlooked battle unfolded, setting the stage for one of the most intense and protracted periods of the American Indian Wars: the Powder River War. This was the Battle of Rush Creek, a clash born of vengeance, desperation, and the unforgiving clash of cultures, fought in temperatures that numbed the soul as much as the body.
The engagement at Rush Creek was not an isolated incident; it was a direct and bloody consequence of the infamous Sand Creek Massacre just over a month earlier. On November 29, 1864, Colonel John Chivington’s Colorado Territory militia had descended upon a peaceful encampment of Cheyenne and Arapaho, flying American flags and white banners of peace, at Sand Creek in southeastern Colorado. The result was a horrific slaughter of over 150 non-combatants, mostly women, children, and the elderly. The brutality of Sand Creek shocked the nation, but for the Plains tribes, it ignited a fury that demanded retribution.
"We had been friends of the whites," recounted George Bent, a mixed-blood Cheyenne who survived Sand Creek and later fought with the Dog Soldiers. "But after the Chivington massacre, we hated them, and were ready to fight them to the death." This sentiment resonated deeply among the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers, a formidable warrior society, as well as allied bands of Lakota Sioux (including Oglala and Brulé) and Arapaho. They gathered, fueled by grief and a burning desire for revenge, forming a formidable coalition determined to strike back at the white invaders who encroached upon their ancestral lands. Their target: the critical Platte River Road, the lifeblood of westward expansion, carrying emigrants, freight, and telegraph lines. Disrupting this artery would send a clear, undeniable message.
The U.S. Army, meanwhile, was stretched thin, tasked with protecting vast territories with limited resources, often relying on volunteer cavalry regiments whose training and discipline varied. Lieutenant Colonel William O. Collins, commanding the 11th Ohio Volunteer Cavalry, was responsible for guarding a long stretch of the Platte River Road, including key telegraph stations and stagecoach routes. His troops, many of them green, were accustomed to guarding fixed posts, not engaging in winter campaigns against seasoned warriors. They were about to learn a harsh lesson.
The stage for the Rush Creek battle was inadvertently set on January 2, 1865. A small detachment of Collins’ men, escorting a stagecoach near Julesburg, Colorado Territory, discovered a large war party of Native Americans. The Indians, initially mistaken for friendly Cheyenne, opened fire, prompting a hasty retreat. This encounter, while minor, confirmed the growing threat and the massive scale of the Native American gathering. It also suggested their ultimate objective: a coordinated assault on the Platte River settlements.
Collins, receiving word of this encounter and reports of a large encampment, understood the gravity of the situation. He dispatched Captain George F. Nelson with a company to scout the area. Nelson’s patrol soon stumbled upon a massive Native American village, estimated to contain between 1,000 and 1,500 warriors, encamped along Rush Creek, a tributary of the North Platte River. This was no small raiding party; it was the combined might of the Cheyenne, Lakota, and Arapaho, preparing for their offensive.
Collins, a West Point graduate but with limited experience in large-scale frontier combat, faced a difficult decision. His command, consisting of approximately 140 men from the 11th Ohio Cavalry, along with elements of the 1st Nebraska Veteran Cavalry and a detachment of the 7th Iowa Cavalry, was significantly outnumbered. However, allowing such a large force to remain unmolested posed an even greater threat to the Platte River Road. He decided to strike first, hoping to disrupt their plans and perhaps scatter them.
On the morning of January 4, under a sky as gray as a wolf’s pelt, Collins led his combined force across the frozen North Platte River. The temperature hovered around zero degrees Fahrenheit, making every movement a struggle, every breath a plume of ice. The terrain was unforgiving: rolling hills gave way to bluffs and the frozen, snow-covered bed of Rush Creek. The cavalrymen, dismounted to fight on foot, left their horses under guard, a common tactic against Plains warriors who excelled at mounted combat.
As the soldiers advanced, they soon encountered the Native American pickets, who quickly alerted the main camp. The alarm sounded, and hundreds of warriors, primarily Dog Soldiers under leaders like Tall Bull and Lakota under Spotted Tail, streamed out to meet the advancing soldiers. The battle quickly devolved into a series of fierce skirmishes across the broken ground.
The U.S. troops formed a defensive skirmish line, utilizing the sparse cover offered by the frozen creek bed and small rises. Their Spencer repeating rifles, capable of firing multiple rounds quickly, provided a significant advantage in firepower. The Native American warriors, masters of horsemanship and tactical maneuver, employed their traditional circling tactics, attempting to draw the soldiers out, find weak points, and overwhelm them with sheer numbers. They rode their ponies at breakneck speeds, unleashing volleys of arrows and rifle fire, then retreating to reload or regroup.
"The Indians fought with great bravery and determination," one soldier later recalled, describing the relentless pressure. "They seemed to be everywhere at once, riding like demons and yelling like furies." The battle raged for several hours. The soldiers, exposed to the brutal cold and constant fire, held their ground, but their progress was slow and costly. Collins, recognizing the overwhelming numbers and the difficulty of dislodging the entrenched warriors from the bluffs overlooking the creek, ordered a strategic withdrawal.
The retreat was orderly, covered by skirmishers, but the Native American warriors pressed their advantage, harassing the soldiers’ flanks. It was during this phase that the U.S. suffered most of its casualties. Collins reported 14 men killed and 9 wounded, though some historical accounts suggest higher numbers. Native American casualties are notoriously difficult to ascertain, but likely substantial due to the soldiers’ superior firepower. The U.S. troops managed to capture some ponies and supplies, including a significant number of bows, arrows, and some rifles, which they burned.
The Battle of Rush Creek was, in a tactical sense, a bloody draw. The U.S. Army claimed a victory, having engaged a superior force and forced them to temporarily retreat. However, from the Native American perspective, they had successfully halted the soldiers’ advance, inflicted casualties, and most importantly, preserved their main force and their overall objective. Just three days later, on January 7, 1865, the combined Cheyenne, Lakota, and Arapaho forces descended upon Julesburg, burning the station, raiding the supply depot, and demonstrating their undiminished strength and resolve. The Powder River War had truly begun.
Rush Creek holds a significant place in the narrative of the Plains Wars, even if it is often overshadowed by later, more famous engagements. It was the first major battle of the conflict sparked by Sand Creek, a grim opening act that foreshadowed the brutal years to come. It showcased the immense difficulty the U.S. Army faced in combating a highly mobile, determined, and deeply aggrieved enemy across vast, harsh landscapes. It also highlighted the logistical nightmares of winter campaigning, where the elements were as formidable an enemy as any warrior.
For the Plains tribes, Rush Creek was a testament to their unity and fierce independence. Despite the technological advantages of the U.S. Army, they demonstrated their tactical prowess, their unwavering courage, and their refusal to be subdued. The battle solidified their commitment to defending their lands and way of life, leading to further devastating raids and engagements along the Platte and later in the Powder River country.
The echoes of that frigid January day still resonate in the windswept plains of Nebraska. The Battle of Rush Creek, a forgotten fury for many, stands as a stark reminder of the tragic cost of westward expansion, the profound impact of betrayal, and the unyielding spirit of those who fought to preserve their world against an irresistible tide. It was a battle where the snow turned red, and the future of the American West hung precariously in the balance.
