Sons Recall Father's Tales of Indian Fights
Valentine Miller, Who Dies Tuesday Rembered West as Series of Forts and Tribal Villages
Valentine Miller, 84, who died Tuesday at the home of his son, John F. Miller, 582 North Main Street, city, had many stories to tell, while living, of blood-curdling experiences on the prairies of the Far West and hardships met on the march in the campaign to subdue the warring Red Men.
He preferred not to tell his story to reporters though many times he had been asked. His sons, John and Raymond, the latter of Camden, recalled last night some of the stories told to them. Valentine was a fine figure of a man with straight forward features. . . . in death he looks like one of those dashing generals who in the period following the Civil War helped to win the West.
He was born "somewhere" in this city about the location of the present Public Square in 1851 and his sons remember that he used to speak of a "log cabin that stood at Market and River Streets. From his home here, he went to enlist in the army at the age of 21 and because he did not want his parents to know of his enlistment, he signed under the name of Walter. To the end of his life he received his pension check, a small one for the five years he spent fighting for the West, under the name of Walter Muller (Muller being the German form of Miller).
Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull, General Custer, Ponty Bill. . . . these were names that figured in his early life while he served as private, sergeant and hospital nurse for his country. The West then was no more than a series of forts and the Red Men, inflamed by the encroachment of white men on their hunting grounds, were ready and willing always to fight.
He served under Col. James Baker of the Sixth Cavalry and saw action in all parts of the West. His sons say he marched through every state and a diary, though incomplete, confirms the story. In it he speaks of the grandeur of Colorado's cliffs, the splendor of the Rio Grande and the heat of New Mexico.
That life, cavalryman, was one for heroes. The hardships were numerous, the chances for death numberless. Indians on the war path were a potent danger, he related to his sons, as he used to tell them how they crept along the ground hidden by branches and then suddenly without warning whooped down on their victims. They were pitiless in war and a scalp was a trophy. When Valentine Miller returned from the West in 1877 he brought a scalp back and the complete outfit of an Indian chief he had killed in battle. It was a telling symbol of the merciless campaign incited on the warpath. The scalp has shriveled up and disappeared somewhere, the sons aren't quite sure where.
Valentine Miller served with valor, and a slip signed by his commanding officer allowing him a furlough shows the truth of it. While at one of the forts the halyard on a flag was stuck and the flag could not be raised or lowered. Under fire he climbed up the pole and released the halyard after several others had failed.
Again with communications cut off, he was sent with a soldier of Polish descent for aid to Fort Tucson 100 miles away. His company was trapped and the lives of several hundred men depended on the success of the venture. One of the horses they were riding collapsed, and following instructions, they shot him, then together rode on the remaining horse to their destination.
He kept a diary of some of the events, but most of his recollections were transplanted to his children in bits. In his diary is recorded "December 25—four potatoes, a quart of bean soup and hard tack." It was something out of the ordinary to get that much to eat so he recorded it with a flourish.
On another date he tells of passing the "graves made for the dead who passed by the roads in 1848." On another occasion he recorded the song about Sitting Bull probably sung by his companions: "I am fresh from the conflict. I am drunk with the blood of the white man who chased me ore' prairies and flood. Till I trapped him at last and exultingly swore that my fearless red warriors should---"
And when it was learned by his company that Custer was dead and more than 350 soldiers with him, the deceased penned his impressions: "What, shall that sudden blade leap out no more? No more thy hand be laid upon the sword hilt smiting sore? 0! for another such."
(Wilkes-Barre Record, 24 Jan 1936)
Valentine Miller, Who Dies Tuesday Rembered West as Series of Forts and Tribal Villages
Valentine Miller, 84, who died Tuesday at the home of his son, John F. Miller, 582 North Main Street, city, had many stories to tell, while living, of blood-curdling experiences on the prairies of the Far West and hardships met on the march in the campaign to subdue the warring Red Men.
He preferred not to tell his story to reporters though many times he had been asked. His sons, John and Raymond, the latter of Camden, recalled last night some of the stories told to them. Valentine was a fine figure of a man with straight forward features. . . . in death he looks like one of those dashing generals who in the period following the Civil War helped to win the West.
He was born "somewhere" in this city about the location of the present Public Square in 1851 and his sons remember that he used to speak of a "log cabin that stood at Market and River Streets. From his home here, he went to enlist in the army at the age of 21 and because he did not want his parents to know of his enlistment, he signed under the name of Walter. To the end of his life he received his pension check, a small one for the five years he spent fighting for the West, under the name of Walter Muller (Muller being the German form of Miller).
Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull, General Custer, Ponty Bill. . . . these were names that figured in his early life while he served as private, sergeant and hospital nurse for his country. The West then was no more than a series of forts and the Red Men, inflamed by the encroachment of white men on their hunting grounds, were ready and willing always to fight.
He served under Col. James Baker of the Sixth Cavalry and saw action in all parts of the West. His sons say he marched through every state and a diary, though incomplete, confirms the story. In it he speaks of the grandeur of Colorado's cliffs, the splendor of the Rio Grande and the heat of New Mexico.
That life, cavalryman, was one for heroes. The hardships were numerous, the chances for death numberless. Indians on the war path were a potent danger, he related to his sons, as he used to tell them how they crept along the ground hidden by branches and then suddenly without warning whooped down on their victims. They were pitiless in war and a scalp was a trophy. When Valentine Miller returned from the West in 1877 he brought a scalp back and the complete outfit of an Indian chief he had killed in battle. It was a telling symbol of the merciless campaign incited on the warpath. The scalp has shriveled up and disappeared somewhere, the sons aren't quite sure where.
Valentine Miller served with valor, and a slip signed by his commanding officer allowing him a furlough shows the truth of it. While at one of the forts the halyard on a flag was stuck and the flag could not be raised or lowered. Under fire he climbed up the pole and released the halyard after several others had failed.
Again with communications cut off, he was sent with a soldier of Polish descent for aid to Fort Tucson 100 miles away. His company was trapped and the lives of several hundred men depended on the success of the venture. One of the horses they were riding collapsed, and following instructions, they shot him, then together rode on the remaining horse to their destination.
He kept a diary of some of the events, but most of his recollections were transplanted to his children in bits. In his diary is recorded "December 25—four potatoes, a quart of bean soup and hard tack." It was something out of the ordinary to get that much to eat so he recorded it with a flourish.
On another date he tells of passing the "graves made for the dead who passed by the roads in 1848." On another occasion he recorded the song about Sitting Bull probably sung by his companions: "I am fresh from the conflict. I am drunk with the blood of the white man who chased me ore' prairies and flood. Till I trapped him at last and exultingly swore that my fearless red warriors should---"
And when it was learned by his company that Custer was dead and more than 350 soldiers with him, the deceased penned his impressions: "What, shall that sudden blade leap out no more? No more thy hand be laid upon the sword hilt smiting sore? 0! for another such."
(Wilkes-Barre Record, 24 Jan 1936)
Sons Recall Father's Tales of Indian Fights
Valentine Miller, Who Dies Tuesday Rembered West as Series of Forts and Tribal Villages
Valentine Miller, 84, who died Tuesday at the home of his son, John F. Miller, 582 North Main Street, city, had many stories to tell, while living, of blood-curdling experiences on the prairies of the Far West and hardships met on the march in the campaign to subdue the warring Red Men.
He preferred not to tell his story to reporters though many times he had been asked. His sons, John and Raymond, the latter of Camden, recalled last night some of the stories told to them. Valentine was a fine figure of a man with straight forward features. . . . in death he looks like one of those dashing generals who in the period following the Civil War helped to win the West.
He was born "somewhere" in this city about the location of the present Public Square in 1851 and his sons remember that he used to speak of a "log cabin that stood at Market and River Streets. From his home here, he went to enlist in the army at the age of 21 and because he did not want his parents to know of his enlistment, he signed under the name of Walter. To the end of his life he received his pension check, a small one for the five years he spent fighting for the West, under the name of Walter Muller (Muller being the German form of Miller).
Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull, General Custer, Ponty Bill. . . . these were names that figured in his early life while he served as private, sergeant and hospital nurse for his country. The West then was no more than a series of forts and the Red Men, inflamed by the encroachment of white men on their hunting grounds, were ready and willing always to fight.
He served under Col. James Baker of the Sixth Cavalry and saw action in all parts of the West. His sons say he marched through every state and a diary, though incomplete, confirms the story. In it he speaks of the grandeur of Colorado's cliffs, the splendor of the Rio Grande and the heat of New Mexico.
That life, cavalryman, was one for heroes. The hardships were numerous, the chances for death numberless. Indians on the war path were a potent danger, he related to his sons, as he used to tell them how they crept along the ground hidden by branches and then suddenly without warning whooped down on their victims. They were pitiless in war and a scalp was a trophy. When Valentine Miller returned from the West in 1877 he brought a scalp back and the complete outfit of an Indian chief he had killed in battle. It was a telling symbol of the merciless campaign incited on the warpath. The scalp has shriveled up and disappeared somewhere, the sons aren't quite sure where.
Valentine Miller served with valor, and a slip signed by his commanding officer allowing him a furlough shows the truth of it. While at one of the forts the halyard on a flag was stuck and the flag could not be raised or lowered. Under fire he climbed up the pole and released the halyard after several others had failed.
Again with communications cut off, he was sent with a soldier of Polish descent for aid to Fort Tucson 100 miles away. His company was trapped and the lives of several hundred men depended on the success of the venture. One of the horses they were riding collapsed, and following instructions, they shot him, then together rode on the remaining horse to their destination.
He kept a diary of some of the events, but most of his recollections were transplanted to his children in bits. In his diary is recorded "December 25—four potatoes, a quart of bean soup and hard tack." It was something out of the ordinary to get that much to eat so he recorded it with a flourish.
On another date he tells of passing the "graves made for the dead who passed by the roads in 1848." On another occasion he recorded the song about Sitting Bull probably sung by his companions: "I am fresh from the conflict. I am drunk with the blood of the white man who chased me ore' prairies and flood. Till I trapped him at last and exultingly swore that my fearless red warriors should---"
And when it was learned by his company that Custer was dead and more than 350 soldiers with him, the deceased penned his impressions: "What, shall that sudden blade leap out no more? No more thy hand be laid upon the sword hilt smiting sore? 0! for another such."
(Wilkes-Barre Record, 24 Jan 1936)
Valentine Miller, Who Dies Tuesday Rembered West as Series of Forts and Tribal Villages
Valentine Miller, 84, who died Tuesday at the home of his son, John F. Miller, 582 North Main Street, city, had many stories to tell, while living, of blood-curdling experiences on the prairies of the Far West and hardships met on the march in the campaign to subdue the warring Red Men.
He preferred not to tell his story to reporters though many times he had been asked. His sons, John and Raymond, the latter of Camden, recalled last night some of the stories told to them. Valentine was a fine figure of a man with straight forward features. . . . in death he looks like one of those dashing generals who in the period following the Civil War helped to win the West.
He was born "somewhere" in this city about the location of the present Public Square in 1851 and his sons remember that he used to speak of a "log cabin that stood at Market and River Streets. From his home here, he went to enlist in the army at the age of 21 and because he did not want his parents to know of his enlistment, he signed under the name of Walter. To the end of his life he received his pension check, a small one for the five years he spent fighting for the West, under the name of Walter Muller (Muller being the German form of Miller).
Buffalo Bill, Sitting Bull, General Custer, Ponty Bill. . . . these were names that figured in his early life while he served as private, sergeant and hospital nurse for his country. The West then was no more than a series of forts and the Red Men, inflamed by the encroachment of white men on their hunting grounds, were ready and willing always to fight.
He served under Col. James Baker of the Sixth Cavalry and saw action in all parts of the West. His sons say he marched through every state and a diary, though incomplete, confirms the story. In it he speaks of the grandeur of Colorado's cliffs, the splendor of the Rio Grande and the heat of New Mexico.
That life, cavalryman, was one for heroes. The hardships were numerous, the chances for death numberless. Indians on the war path were a potent danger, he related to his sons, as he used to tell them how they crept along the ground hidden by branches and then suddenly without warning whooped down on their victims. They were pitiless in war and a scalp was a trophy. When Valentine Miller returned from the West in 1877 he brought a scalp back and the complete outfit of an Indian chief he had killed in battle. It was a telling symbol of the merciless campaign incited on the warpath. The scalp has shriveled up and disappeared somewhere, the sons aren't quite sure where.
Valentine Miller served with valor, and a slip signed by his commanding officer allowing him a furlough shows the truth of it. While at one of the forts the halyard on a flag was stuck and the flag could not be raised or lowered. Under fire he climbed up the pole and released the halyard after several others had failed.
Again with communications cut off, he was sent with a soldier of Polish descent for aid to Fort Tucson 100 miles away. His company was trapped and the lives of several hundred men depended on the success of the venture. One of the horses they were riding collapsed, and following instructions, they shot him, then together rode on the remaining horse to their destination.
He kept a diary of some of the events, but most of his recollections were transplanted to his children in bits. In his diary is recorded "December 25—four potatoes, a quart of bean soup and hard tack." It was something out of the ordinary to get that much to eat so he recorded it with a flourish.
On another date he tells of passing the "graves made for the dead who passed by the roads in 1848." On another occasion he recorded the song about Sitting Bull probably sung by his companions: "I am fresh from the conflict. I am drunk with the blood of the white man who chased me ore' prairies and flood. Till I trapped him at last and exultingly swore that my fearless red warriors should---"
And when it was learned by his company that Custer was dead and more than 350 soldiers with him, the deceased penned his impressions: "What, shall that sudden blade leap out no more? No more thy hand be laid upon the sword hilt smiting sore? 0! for another such."
(Wilkes-Barre Record, 24 Jan 1936)
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