Across the Fence: Portugee Phillips and a horse named Dandy

December 21, 1866: eighty troopers and Capt. William J. Fetterman lay dead on a battlefield a few miles from Ft. Phil Kearny, Wyoming. Capt. Fetterman's disregard for the orders of his commanding officer, Col. Henry B. Carrington, to rescue the wood gathering party that was under attack and not engage or pursue the enemy, resulted in the detachment riding into an ambush of over a thousand Sioux under the leadership of Red Cloud.

Women and children at the fort were hurriedly escorted into the more secure ammunition magazines and the remaining 160 troopers hunkered down, surrounded, outnumbered and under siege. Col. Carrington's only hope for reinforcements was to get word to the command at Ft. Laramie, 236 miles to the south.

The nearest telegraph was at Horseshoe Station, near present day Glendo, Wyoming 190 miles away. Col. Carrington called for volunteers to carry a dispatch to be telegraphed from that remote station. One man stepped forward-- a young Portuguese immigrant, a 34-year-old civilian named John Phillips. Some called him Portugee Phillips or just Portugee. He was a plainsman, an early gold-seeker, perhaps an adventurer and was, at the time, employed at the fort as a freighter.

Phillips volunteered with just one request and condition, "I'll go," he reportedly said, "if you'll give me the strongest and fastest horse on the post."

The horse Phillips referred to was Col. Carrington's own mount, a green grass horse, Kentucky Thoroughbred, a magnificent specimen of the breed-sleek, stout, well muscled, with extraordinary strength and stamina. The horse was Carrington's pride, with color of deepest black and three strikingly white socks. Col. Carrington knew that if any horse could make the journey, it would be his battle-proven, faithful horse "Dandy." Portugee Phillips' request was granted and Carrington ordered his horse saddled and made ready.

The journey was a dangerous one with hundreds of Sioux warriors camped in the surrounding hills and watching the trails leading from the fort. It was doubtful that Phillips would be able to get through the first few miles without being slaughtered by Indians, but matters were even worse given that a notorious Wyoming blizzard had swept down from the Arctic and temperatures had plummeted to minus 35 degrees with driving winds and blinding snow. Carrington was hopeful, but feared this desperate attempt would fail.

Phillips was bundled in a buffalo robe coat, scarf, gloves, head cover and boots and given a canvas bag of hardtack and a bag of grain for Dandy. A new Spencer rifle was jammed into the scabbard of the McClellan saddle and one hundred rounds of ammunition, in two separate cartridge belts, were wrapped around Phillips' ankles to help keep his feet in the stirrups. It was nearly midnight on the 22nd when Phillips swung astride Carrington's horse Dandy and prepared to leave.

Carrington reached upward and grasped Phillips hand, "May God be with you," he said solemnly.

Phillips managed to elude the Sioux who waited in the darkness near the fort, but was spotted at daybreak and narrowly escaped the attack from a small band of warriors. The blizzard continued to whip the snow into drifts of five to twenty-five feet high. There was no trail to be followed with all the country covered in white, and snow continuing in a constantly blinding whirl. Phillips pressed southward by dead reckoning, riding at night, hiding in coulees and taking shelter from the driving wind during the day. Rationing his meager supply of hardtack he struggled to maintain his strength and shivered violently as his body tried desperately to generate some heat.

Phillips knew his survival depended on his own sheer will and determination but more importantly, his life depended on the survival of Dandy. Cradling precious grain in his cupped hands, Phillips fed Dandy generous portions while the steaming breath from the horse's nostrils warmed his numbed fingers.

On the third night out, December 24th, Christmas Eve, Phillips was nearing Horseshoe Station where he would be able to send the urgent telegram to Ft. Laramie. The cold and fatigue was taking its toll on both horse and rider. The snow and wind had continued and the temperature had remained at a bone-rattling 25 below. Dandy's chest was caked with ice and bruised from constant battering against frozen drifts as he struggled to break through. Ice clung heavily from his muzzle and ears and sweat mixed with snow was packed and frozen from croup to withers. Pushing on, Phillips arrived at the station by 10 a.m. on Christmas.

In little more than three days, Dandy had covered 190 impossible miles.

After sending the telegram, Phillips feared that the telegraph lines might be down, either from the weather or hostile Indians in the area, and so he decided to ride on to Ft. Laramie and deliver the message in person. In fact, as it turned out, the telegram did not ever make it to Ft. Laramie.

With nearly 50 miles to go and the Wyoming plains still in the grip of the raging blizzard, Phillips wearily climbed back in the saddle and once more rode into the blinding whiteout.

Thirteen hours later, one hour before midnight on Christmas night, Dandy stumbled into Ft. Laramie where the officers' Christmas Ball was in progress. The final 50 miles and sub-zero conditions had drained the life from the remarkable steed. His once strong heart fluttered in a weak and unsteady cadence. His feet and legs no longer felt the pain where constant abrasion of frozen snow had stripped the hair from blackened flesh and the unbearable cold had ripped the tissue of his lungs to shreds as he gasped for breath with each grueling step.

Phillips struggled to dismount, his hands, face, knees and feet were frostbitten and complete exhaustion had reduced him to helplessness. The guards supported him as he shuffled into the ballroom and reported the desperate situation at Ft. Phil Kearny.

As Phillips made his report, Dandy crumpled to the frozen parade ground and died-the only casualty of the so-called Indian Wars on that bitterly cold winter day, Christmas 1866.

The tragic circumstances do not end there on that frozen parade ground at Ft. Laramie. The telegraph that Phillips sent from Horseshoe Station did not arrive at Ft. Laramie and so it would seem that the final 50 miles of that grueling ride was imperative. Unfortunately, that was not the case. As it turned out, because of the brutally cold weather, the Sioux and Cheyenne gathered at Ft. Phil Kearny did not attack and neither did they lay siege to the fort. Also due to the extreme weather conditions, the troops at Ft. Laramie were not able to depart until January 6, a full 12 days after Dandy carried Portugee Phillips through the gates of the fort. Had an attack on Ft. Phil Kearny been imminent, it would have long been over by the time the troops arrived.

But back to Dandy. I was surprised to learn that there is no confirmed burial site for this extraordinary horse that accomplished the near impossible and died getting it done. In the anticlimactic end of this piece of history, Dandy seems to have been forgotten except for the bronze plaque at Fort Laramie, dedicated in 1951, "In honor of the thoroughbred horse ridden by John 'Portugee' Phillips".

I have been unable to find any additional information about Dandy and can only surmise what likely happened. Given that the context of Phillips' message was of a fort under siege with women and children in peril, I'm sure that the priorities were the preparations of the troops for the rapid deployment to Ft. Phil Kearny. As for Portugee, the accounts that I found tell that Phillips was taken to the post hospital and was there for two full weeks until he had recovered enough to leave.

No doubt a detail was assembled to remove Dandy's frozen carcass from the snow-covered parade ground. With the raging blizzard and temperatures at 25 to 35 degrees below zero I'm pretty sure that no grave was dug in the iron-hard frozen ground. It's more likely that a wagon team was harnessed and hitched to the stiff, lifeless form that was Dandy and dragged, unceremoniously, to the edge of the Platte and left as a feast for hungry prairie wolves.

I don't believe that these actions were intended to be disrespectful. I'm sure that orders were followed and that under the circumstances the simplest and most expeditious disposal was required.

Dandy was only one of many heroic horses in history that have accomplished remarkable feats of sacrifice and endurance in their service to mankind. Since the horse was first domesticated, they have been used by men for work and play, in love and in war. Bred for strength, stamina, size and speed they have been used in dedicated service and humble servitude.

Most certainly, the thoroughbred horse that carried Portugee Phillips more than 200 miles in extreme winter conditions was a dandy.

M. Timothy Nolting is an award winning Nebraska columnist and freelance writer. To contact Tim, email; [email protected]