SITTING BULL AND CRAZY HORSE: GENERAL AND ABLE LIEUTENANT OF THE GREAT SIOUX REBELLION
A troop of United States cavalrymen wound, like a great worm, up the dry bed of a tortuous creek. It was in March, 1876, and the weather was bitterly cold. Sharp, biting gusts blew the dry alkali dust into the faces of the bronzed troopers. But with determined manner they pressed on towards the purling waters of the Powder River.
As the weather-beaten commander of this expedition trotted quietly in the front of the line, a horseman suddenly appeared upon the horizon, and, galloping hard for the travel-stained column, drew rein before the leading officer.
"General Reynolds," said he, "the village of Crazy Horse is not more than five miles away. You must approach with caution, but, as you outnumber them, I feel sure that there can be but one outcome of the fight."
The officer in command smiled grimly.
"Thank you, Lieutenant," said he. "You have scouted well. We will be all prepared for a brush with my old friend Crazy Horse within an hour."
Then, turning about, he called:
"Close column, men! Tighten saddlegirths, and look to it that your ammunition is all ready. We are about to have a warm affair."
As the men busied themselves with their arms and accoutrements, a lean timber wolf sneaked from behind a small bunch of cottonwood trees. Sitting on his haunches, he howled dismally. It was the song of death.
What did this alkali-covered column mean—there upon the bleak, unpopulated Wyoming plains? Why these grim-visaged warriors: these munitions of war: these scouts and vigilant-eyed officers of the Government? It meant that the last great Indian campaign had begun; and that within the course of a year the power of the native Americans would be irrevocably broken. The country of the Sioux was encircled by the forts and agencies of the white men. A railroad now crossed the continent and ran through the land of the elk and the buffalo. Surrounded by their civilized enemies, the Indians determined to make one last desperate stand against the whites.
Sitting Bull, an Unkpapa chief and medicine man, was the real leader of the Sioux. His were the brains which conceived and executed the movements of the warriors. But Crazy Horse, an Oglala, was the true leader in time of battle. Sitting Bull was the Grant, and Crazy Horse the Sheridan, of the Sioux army. One conceived and the other executed.
There was plenty of ammunition among the savages, and they were as well armed as the soldiers. There were still many buffalo in the country of the red men, and of food and clothing they had abundance. Their women and children were with them. Their ponies were many. Their warriors numbered several thousand. And, realizing that they were now encircled and enveloped by their hated enemies, they determined to make a last, desperate resistance to the power of the Government, which had determined, late in 1876, that thereafter all Indians in the Northwest must live upon the reservations.
"God made me an Indian, but not a Reservation Indian," Sitting Bull had said.
"The Great Spirit has told me that I shall defeat the whites," Crazy Horse had added.
Thus, stimulated with a just pride in their own strength and resources, the Sioux retreated to the region of the Big Horn mountains, determined to retain their independence, and to drive off the whites. They were patriots fighting for the soil which they had been born upon. They fought gamely, desperately, mercilessly; until beaten in detail by the superior ability of the whites, they at last were forced to a peaceable life upon the Government reservations.
General Reynolds soon found the Indians. Under fire from a band of warriors upon the hills, his men charged upon the camp of Crazy Horse and drove the redskins to a high bluff. While shot at very heavily by the warriors, the soldiers began to destroy the tepees. The fire from the followers of Crazy Horse grew more and more accurate. In spite of a stout resistance by the troopers, the redskins began to push them very hard. They soon had found the range of the camp, and many of the cavalrymen went down before their accurate aim. Suddenly Reynolds ordered a retreat—so suddenly that the bodies of several of his men were left behind to the fury of the Sioux, while one wounded man, it is said, was abandoned to an awful fate among the hostiles.
As is always the case when white men move back before red, the followers of Crazy Horse grew more and more bold as the whites withdrew. It was bitterly cold—so cold that the soldiers suffered intensely from the zero weather. Following the example of Crazy Horse, the red men made a vigorous attack upon Reynolds' force, and, by a bold and impetuous advance, succeeded in recapturing seven hundred of their own ponies which the troopers were driving before them. After this they seemed to be satisfied with their actions, and, apparently unmindful of the freezing temperature, rode quietly and joyously back to their own camp. All the honors were with Crazy Horse, and he was the hero of the western plains.
What General Crook said when Reynolds returned is not worthy of repetition, for he was the commanding officer of this expedition against the Sioux and was hastening to the assistance of that officer with his infantry and wagons. It was a disgraceful affair from the viewpoint of the Americans, but in the camp of the Sioux there was dancing and song. "The Great Spirit is upon our side," chanted the warriors. "We shall drive the palefaces into the land of the setting sun. We shall again sleep in peace upon the prairie." But they could not read the signs aright.
At Fort Fetterman, Wyoming, nine hundred cavalrymen and three hundred infantry were soon in motion against the Indians. Crook was in command of this, the most efficient force which had ever been sent against the Sioux. He was an officer of large experience, and so, on May 29th., 1876, began the advance, before the weather was too hot for campaigning. Past the ruins of old Fort Phil Kearney marched the dusty column; past the beetling cliffs of the mountains; the great stretches of glorious prairie covered with variegated wild flowers and the bleaching skulls of buffalo; on through the deep defiles and coulies of the numerous crystal streams which rippled through this glorious plateau, until, on June 9th., the army encamped upon the south side of the Tongue River. Here a message was received from Crazy Horse, which said:
"If you cross my river, my warriors will take your scalps. Go back into your own country and leave me and my children alone."
But Crook had no intention of going back. Instead of that, he remained where he was and laughed at the threats of Crazy Horse: the vainglorious.
At half-past six the cry of "Indians! Indians!" roused the weary troopers from their preparations. Crash! Crash! came two rattling volleys, and from the bluffs across the river arose the wild war whoops of the followers of the great Sioux leader, who had begun to make good his threat.
Springing to their feet, the soldiers immediately formed in line of battle and replied to the shots of the redskin braves. Imagining that the canvas tents of the white men were full of soldiers, the Sioux directed their fire upon them, and the camp was swept with bullets. Fortunately the troops had run out into the open, and, forming in a long skirmish line, vigorously replied to the fire of the warlike followers of Crazy Horse. The mess chests in camp were split with bullets; several horses were struck; the wagons were splintered by the leaden balls; a few tent ropes were cut; and the shelters toppled to the ground. "Cross the river with your battalion and charge the enemy!" shouted General Crook to Captain Mills, and, as the troopers splashed through the water with bugles blaring and pennons fluttering, he turned to a young lieutenant, and said: "Now watch them retreat! Nothing can stand this advance!"
With fierce war whoops the Indians greeted the charge of the troopers, and, aiming at them, endeavored to keep them away. They did not realize that the men under Mills were old-time fighters, and, not at all frightened at their rifle fire, charged upon them vigorously. Meanwhile the long-range rifles of the other troopers began to find them; so, waiting until the whites had reached the very top of the bluffs, they suddenly broke and fled. Few of their numbers had been wounded, and they had not killed a single United States soldier.
Leaving a portion of his men to guard the baggage and wagons, Crook now pushed on after the retreating Crazy Horse. In a few days he had reached a large, rolling bit of prairie, surrounded by high bluffs, near the Rosebud River. He camped here, while some of his Crow and Shoshone Indian scouts went on a buffalo hunt. Crazy Horse had his own scouts out watching the movements of the oncoming column, and when he saw them in such a favorable position for attack, he, himself, began the battle. In this he showed a confidence that few Indians had ever exhibited.
It was half-past eight upon a gloriously bright morning, when rifle shots sounded from the bluffs over which the Indian scouts had disappeared. A cloud of dust soon arose upon the skyline, and galloping into camp came a few of the Crow and Shoshone scouts. They were yelping with fright.
"Sioux! Sioux! Heap Sioux!" they shouted. "They are coming! Get ready!"
The bugle blared the call to arms, and immediately the troopers fell in. They were none too soon, for, suddenly, out on the plain before them came hundreds of painted warriors. Crazy Horse had joined forces with Sitting Bull. Their combined commands were determined to crush Crook's column, as Red Cloud had annihilated Fetterman. Gay with paint and war bonnets, they streamed out upon the plain, yelling their savage war songs, and firing their rifles at long range. The feathers from their head-dresses floated out in the wind; their war ponies were grotesquely painted; their entire bodies were bright with brilliant buckskin or yellow ochre. They circled around like blackbirds upon a field of grain. Thousands seemed to be in sight, and they were apparently little afraid of the resolute-looking forces before them.
It did not take Crook long to give his orders. "Charge, with your troop, in front," he shouted to Mills. "Van Vliet, take your squadron to the rear and keep the Indians from circling round us. To the left Royall and Henry's battalion will charge. The infantry and part of the Second cavalry will hold the centre!"
The fight was now on in earnest. Mills' troopers struggled through a bog; raced across a long stretch of prairie, and rushed up the bluffs upon which the Sioux were riding around in a circular motion. They dashed upon the Indians with revolvers drawn. Firing them in the very faces of the red men, they nearly reached the hostile line, when the Sioux broke and fled to a second ridge. Charging them here was quick work for the cavalrymen. But the savages would not stand and galloped off to a safe distance. As the troopers dismounted to form a skirmish line, the redskins circled about them, kicking up clouds of alkali dust, yelping like mad men, and firing at intervals. They only wounded one or two of their assailants.
The soldiers under Royal, Henry and Van Vliet had equal success in driving back the Sioux, until Henry was severely injured by a bullet which struck him in the face. The friendly Crows and Shoshones fell upon the flanks of the followers of Crazy Horse, about this time, but did little damage. The numbers of Sioux seemed to increase every moment, and, when Henry fell, they attacked with some spirit. Twice the redskins galloped across his prostrate form, but luckily he was not hit by the ponies' hoofs. His men rallied and rushed to his rescue. There was fierce fighting over the body of the gallant cavalryman—such fighting as at Cressy, Agincourt and Poitiers, when men fought hand-to-hand. Clouds of dust arose from the feet of the plunging horses; the air resounded with the fierce wails of the Indians; while the crack, crack of rifles spat their slogans of death above the tumult of the fray. Mills was withdrawn to gallop down a cañon in order to attack the village of Crazy Horse, and, as his troopers disappeared, the Indians seemed to grow less eager to advance. Gradually their rifle fire slackened; they turned their ponies' heads towards their village; and soon went off down the sides of a deep cañon. For two hours this conflict had lasted, and the honors had been about even.
When Mills dashed down the cañon with eight troops of cavalry, he confidently expected to gallop into the Indian village and annihilate what reserve Crazy Horse had left behind him. His men moved rapidly and had come within a short distance of the tepees, when firing was heard in front.
"Halt!" shouted Mills. "Cinch up saddlegirths! load revolvers, and see that your ammunition in your guns is properly adjusted!"
No sooner had he halted than an aide came galloping up from the rear.
"Mills," said Nickerson, the courier, "Royall has been badly handled; there are many wounded. Henry is severely hurt, and Vroom's troop is all cut up. The General orders that you and Noyes defile by your left flank out of the cañon and return, at once, to the field. He cannot move out to support you and the rest, on account of the wounded."
"I will not obey," said Mills at first, so anxious was he to reach the village; but, thinking better of his resolution, he ordered his men to turn to the left and defile out of the cañon. It was well that he had done so, for just below was a great dam, covered with logs and broken timber. It was a trap laid by Crazy Horse. Here he had massed a great body of Indians, and had the eight troops of cavalry advanced, they would have been annihilated.
This ended the operations for the day. Crook camped upon the battlefield. Ten of his soldiers had been killed, and twenty-seven had been seriously wounded. It is true that he had driven the followers of Crazy Horse from the scene of conflict, but, as he himself had exhausted all his ammunition and a larger part of his supplies, he was forced to retreat to his base. Crazy Horse had protected his own village, crippled his adversary, and had withdrawn in peace and security. He had stopped the further progress of the expedition and had fought a drawn battle with one of the ablest of Indian fighters. His reputation and prowess among his own people was thus increased tenfold, and he was the idol of his nation.
The great numbers of savages under Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull soon camped further north in the valley of the Little Big Horn. Here on June the 25th., 1876, they were attacked by General Custer. In "Famous Cavalry Leaders," I have fully described the great fight which there took place, so it is useless to speak further of this famous affair. Custer, and the greater portion of his command, were annihilated. The Indians escaped towards the Northeast, and, eluding the vigilance of Gibbon and Terry, were soon hastening towards the Canadian border.
After the defeat of General Custer, the Government realized that the Sioux war was a more serious affair than they had at first considered. Reinforcements were hurried into the country of the hostiles, and Crook and Terry were ordered to press after the Sioux with the utmost celerity. As Terry's forces were in bad condition, and were soon withdrawn from the field, Crook alone was left in active pursuit of the retreating bands of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. He chased them through the burning solitudes of that vast Northern wasteland like a veritable bloodhound. Through rain, snow and drought his weary troopers kept after the Indians. During the heated summer months there was no forage for the horses, and the rations of the men became wellnigh exhausted. The savages had swept the country free of game. They, too, were suffering from lack of subsistence, but their condition was never as bad as that of the troopers under Crook.
On, on, went this indefatigable column; now subsisting upon mule and horse meat; now thankful for a few raw onions which grew in the hollows unbaked by the blinding sun. Finally, when the supply of rations was reduced to two and one-half days', Crook realized that his men would all die of starvation if forage and food were not at once secured. It was either food, or death in the wilderness.
One hundred and fifty of the best men, with the last of the mules and the best horses, were formed into an advance party under Captain Anson Mills, of the Third Cavalry, and sent to Deadwood City in the Black Hills to get provisions. They pushed on, little expecting to see Indians. But at a place called Slim Buttes, in the northwest corner of South Dakota, the scouts discovered a large village of forty or fifty lodges of the Sioux, pitched upon the banks of a small stream called Rabbit Creek. American Horse—a prominent chief—was here in command, and he was a good fighter. But Mills determined to attack the camp at once and made his dispositions with care.
The attack was a complete success, and the village was taken with but little loss. Some of the Sioux were killed and others were captured. Many escaped through the ravines to a plateau surrounding the valley, and, throwing up rifle pits, determined to sell their lives dear rather than to surrender. Several took refuge in a cave, and, when commanded to come out, replied with jeers and taunts, saying: "Crazy Horse will soon be here, and he will rescue us." American Horse was with these warriors, and he fought like an ancient Greek.
Courtesy of the Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian Institute.
AMERICAN HORSE.
Mills promptly dispatched a courier to Crook, on the fleetest horse in his command, to ask for reinforcements at once. Then he vigorously assaulted the cave. The little band inside sold their lives dearly, and even the women used guns with good effect. But no one could have stood up against the rain of bullets that was showered into the cavern. American Horse surrendered, and when Crazy Horse—with some six hundred warriors—came galloping up to the ridge, where some of his followers had hidden, he was too late. Crook had joined with Mills. Imagining that only a few men were there before him, Crazy Horse charged upon the troopers, yelling his war song with all the fervor that had rung at the battles of the Rosebud and Little Big Horn. He was greatly astonished at the numbers of his antagonists, and, realizing his mistake, retired to the tops of some tall buttes with the soldiers after him.
Now occurred one of the most picturesque battles of the West. The Sioux were all around upon the buttes and were silhouetted against the sky. Steadily the soldiers advanced against them up the sides of the cliff. They scaled it under fire and reached the level plateau upon which Crazy Horse and his men were scattered. With a loud cheer they charged the redskins upon the run. The Sioux divided; fled; and left the field and camp to the troopers. In their camp were found many letters belonging to Custer's men which had been sealed, ready for mailing, when they had been annihilated at the Little Big Horn. There were also books, saddles and equipment of the "Fighting Seventh." Thus, that which had been lost came back to the men of the army and brought many tearful recollections of the gallant men who had been killed with Custer.
Sitting Bull was in Montana and still unfriendly. Troops were put in motion to bring him to terms, under General Nelson A. Miles. It was the winter of 1876-7 and a severe one, but the soldiers had fur boots, fur caps and clothing of the thickest texture. With such provision they could easily move and fight in the zero temperature of that northern land.
On October 18th., a wagon load of supplies from Glendive, Montana, was attacked by the Sioux, and, after the hostiles had been driven off, the troops who escorted the train moved to a place called Clear Creek. The Indians followed, and, during a lull in the hostilities, a messenger rode out from their lines, waving a paper, which he left upon a hill, stuck between two forks of a stick. When it was picked up, it read:
"Yellowstone.
I want to know what you are doing travelling on this road. You scare all the buffalo away. I want to hunt in this place. I want you to turn back from here. If you don't, I'll fight you again. I want you to leave what you have got here, and turn back from here.
I am your friend,
Sitting Bull.
I mean all the rations you have got and some powder. Wish you would write me as soon as you can."
Several days later General Miles, with nearly four hundred troopers, overtook Sitting Bull on Clear Creek. There were one thousand warriors with him of the Miniconjous, San Arcs, Brulés and Unkpapas, together with their wives and children. A meeting was arranged with the old chief, but the wily Sioux refused to come into the Reservation. He became engaged, as he talked, and his manner seemed more that of a wild beast than a human being. "He finally gave an exhibition of wild frenzy. His face assumed a furious expression. His jaws were tightly closed, his lips were compressed, and you could see his eyes glisten with the fire of savage hatred."
A young warrior stole out of the Indian lines, as the conversation progressed, and slipped a carbine beneath his blanket. Several others followed him, and gathered around Sitting Bull as if they meant treachery. Miles, who had only a revolver, ordered these savages to retire, and, obeying reluctantly, they withdrew. Sitting Bull argued like a conqueror; he would not come into the reservation; he wanted the troops to leave the country. He spoke this way in two conferences, and, seeing that nothing could be accomplished by further parley, Miles told the chief to prepare for fighting, for he intended to attack immediately—in five minutes. Taking his watch in his hand, he counted off the time; while the savages, shouting defiance, galloped back to their own lines.
Suddenly, smoke ascended from the Indian camp. The Sioux had fired the prairie grass. In the midst of clouds of flame and smoke the troops pressed home the attack upon the hostiles. Although Sitting Bull's warriors far outnumbered the whites, they were driven away from their camp. Under the leadership of Gall and other warriors, they charged wildly upon the Government troops. Sitting Bull—as at the Custer massacre—did not appear upon the firing line, but remained in the rear, giving directions. He was a better talker than fighter and believed in allowing the young bloods to do the actual campaigning. They fought hard, too, and at one time pressed the whites so closely that—like Wellington's men at Waterloo—they were forced to form in hollow squares. The Indians were driven for forty miles.
Seeing that they could do nothing with the troops, many of the Sioux broke into small bands and scattered. Two thousand of them, however, came in on the third day and surrendered. Sitting Bull refused to think of such a measure, and, making for the Canadian boundary line, rode off into British territory. His depleted and starving camp was subsequently attacked, in mid-winter, by a detachment under Lieutenant Baldwin, and was still further crippled. Game to the last, he threw himself upon the protection of England, crossed the Canadian line, and lived for some years in peaceful security.
At last, realizing that he would be better off in his old hunting grounds, he returned to the United States and surrendered to the army. A large territory was assigned to the Sioux as a reservation, and an Indian agency established at Pine Ridge, in South Dakota. This place became the rallying point for the scattered bands of Sioux who still looked to Sitting Bull for counsel. Supported in idleness by the Government, and occasionally exhibiting himself with Buffalo Bill's "Wild West Show," the noted chief lived for some time in great contentment. But within him slumbered a deep dislike and distrust of the whites. He was one of the prime movers of the Ghost Dance uprising in 1890, and, while resisting arrest, was killed by an Indian policeman. Peace to the aged counsellor and sachem of the Sioux!
Crazy Horse had still one more fight in him before he, too, was forced to capitulate.
By permission of Kurz and Allison.
DEATH OF SITTING BULL.
Late in December of 1876, Miles started after this gallant fighter, who was supposed to be in the valley of the Tongue River, south of the Yellowstone. He found his village not far from the place where Crook had battled on the Rosebud. There were between eight and nine hundred warriors posted on the cliffs surrounding a valley of the Wolf Mountains,—a spur of the Big Horn Range. The position was a good one, because the soldiers had to scale some bristling heights to get at the savages, but they were equal to the emergency.
"You have had your last breakfast," shouted the red warriors as the soldiers began to climb up to their position. "You will not eat again." But they did not know with whom they were dealing. Undaunted by the superior position of the red men, and unfrightened by their jeers, the soldiers crept up the face of the cliffs, as the shells from their artillery exploded among the followers of the gallant Crazy Horse. The bluffs were icy and snow-covered. It was rough work to scale them; it was only accomplished after slow, dogged, determined crawling, with a halt every moment or so to fire at some Indian above. The plunging shots of the savages did little damage, for their aim was unsteady. The red men clung to their post tenaciously, but they were routed—driven off—and forced back upon the plateau in the rear. Snow was now falling, and the combatants fired at each other in a blinding blizzard.
This was the last stand of Crazy Horse and his band, for their ammunition was about gone, and, not possessing the knowledge necessary to manufacture more, they were unable to prolong their resistance. Their confederates were nearly all captured. Sitting Bull was miles away and could not be reached. The Brulé Sioux and Unkpapas had surrendered. Their supplies were in the hands of General Miles and his men. Their fate was sealed.
In the early spring Crazy Horse surrendered, with the remnant of his once formidable band of frontier fighters. He was placed in a reservation of the Brulé Sioux at the Red Cloud Agency. "He did not surrender with the humility of a defeated, broken-spirited chief," Major-General Jesse W. Lee has written me. "He was an unsubdued warrior; a great soldier chief; and had come in to make such terms as would bring peace and rest to his people, who had scarcely known defeat under his valiant leadership. To his mind there was no unconditional surrender about it. He was willing, for a time, to give up the uncertain buffalo for the certain Agency beef; to exchange the old, worn-out skin lodges for new and handsome army duck."
But Crazy Horse chafed under the restraints of the agency. He was restless, uneasy and unsatisfied with the tame conditions which he found. He was watched by detectives and was closely guarded, but one day escaped and came to Spotted Tail: another rendezvous of the Sioux, forty miles away. Trouble was feared from him, and what subsequently occurred is best told in the language of General Lee, who was there at the time, in charge of the Brulé Sioux at Spotted Tail Agency in Northwestern Nebraska. He says:
"We soon called the chiefs together and told them that probably some trouble might occur at Red Cloud, but it must not affect them, and for all to remain perfectly quiet and have no fear. We then had only to wait! Imagine, if you please, being compelled to sit down over a powder magazine, with sparks flying around, and wondering how long it would be until the blow-up comes. We felt certain an explosion would occur, but uncertain as to the hurt it might do. Well, we had not long to wait! About 4 P.M. an Indian courier arrived in the Northern camp—not to us!—his quivering horse all white with foam,—with the startling news that their friends were fighting at Red Cloud, and that the troops were coming to Spotted Tail Agency.
"The old scout, Joe Merivale, well known and respected by the Northern Indians, had been sent to their camp with some reliable Agency chiefs, to meet just this contingency and allay excitement. By dint of hard effort they were succeeding fairly well, when Black Crow came to us and said, "Crazy Horse is in the Northern camp!" This came like a clap of thunder from a clear sky. Could it be possible, after all the precautions, spies, detectives, and the large force of troops and Indian allies, that the one man of all others they wished to secure had made good his escape and had come to our Agency?
"The arrival of the Indian courier from the Indians had produced intense excitement, but when he was soon followed by Crazy Horse, there was a wild scene, beggaring description. The bold warrior, the venerated hero of his band, who had ever led them to victory, was in the midst of devoted friends, and to them a hunted victim of rank injustice and cruel persecution.
"All the tepees in that camp came down with magic swiftness, and had it not been for White Thunder, and other loyal Brulés, a stampede would have resulted at once; merciless slaughter of unsuspecting whites on the line of flight would probably have followed, and another Indian war inaugurated.
"The 'reliables' surrounded and harangued the camp and restored some degree of quiet. Word was sent to the Indians under Touch the Clouds, to bring Crazy Horse to the Post. Major Burke, Dr. Koerper and myself, with an interpreter, started for the Northern camp, about three miles from the Post. When over half way out, we met over three hundred armed Indians in good line of battle, not so much guarding as escorting Crazy Horse, in the direction of the Post. There were war bonnets and war shirts in profusion, and had it not been for a score or more of 'reliables,' intermingled with the three hundred, we might have had serious trouble. Touch the Clouds was on one side of the great warrior and the brave, handsome White Thunder on the other, with the austere and desperate Black Crow just in the rear. Just here I would add that White Thunder and Black Crow had determined to shoot Crazy Horse, should he make a break.
"We took Crazy Horse to the Post, or I would better say, he and his three hundred friends were taking us there. Just as we reached the little parade ground of Camp Sheridan, Spotted Tail, able planner that he was, arrived from another direction, with not less than three hundred of his trusty Brulé soldiers, all armed with good breech loaders, principally Winchesters. This number, with more who joined soon after, gave good solid backing, and, with our ninety soldiers at quarters, ready to aid at a moment's notice,—turned the scale and kept it safely in our favor. As if by intuition, these forces of Indians formed on either side of a walk, leaving a small space, about 6' × 8', in the center. It was a wild, weird scene; and had the spectacle been for display, it would have been grand beyond compare, but, as it meant most serious business, and was fraught with danger, every nerve was under the severest strain. For once, Crazy Horse realized that his prestige had forsaken him; for once he was in the presence of one whose mastery he dare not, then and there, dispute. Spotted Tail, the coolest man of all the assembled hundreds, in the plain, Indian blanket garb, without any insignia of chieftainship, stepped into the little arena, and in a few words, delivered in a clear, ringing voice, with dignity and eloquence, addressed Crazy Horse, who was almost within touch: 'We never have trouble here; the sky is clear; the air is still and free from dust! You have come here and you must listen to me and my people! I am chief here. We keep the peace. We, the Brulés, do this! They obey me! and every Indian who comes here must listen to me! You say you want to come to this Agency and live peaceably. If you stay here, you must listen to me. That is all!'
"It is hard to justly render an Indian speech, especially on such an occasion; but had you heard its telling points and pauses, emphasized and punctuated by the click of loaded rifles, you would have thought it one of the most effective speeches ever delivered. Its conclusion was greeted with four hundred vociferous 'hows.' One frenzied Northern Indian, believing his friend Crazy Horse was to be harmed, wanted to sacrifice himself in his place. He caught hold of Major Burke's arm and excitedly exclaimed: 'Crazy Horse is brave, but he feels too weak to die today. Kill me! Kill me!' The Brulé guns were already loaded, and had a shot been fired, serious trouble would have begun.
"After a few more words, and as night was coming on, the crowds dispersed, and we got Crazy Horse into Major Burke's quarters to have a talk. He seemed like a frightened, trembling, wild animal, brought to bay, hoping for confidence one moment and fearing treachery the next. He had been under a severe nervous strain all day, and it plainly showed.
"Before proceeding with what was the last talk or council, let me go back a little. Soon after we heard Crazy Horse had reached our Agency, a courier arrived from Red Cloud with the following message from Clark: 'Dear Lee:—There has been no fight. Crazy Horse's band is just going into camp and will give up their guns without trouble, in all probability. Crazy Horse has skipped out for your place. Have sent after him. Should he reach your Agency, have "Spot" arrest him, and I will give any Indian who does this, $200.' Soon thereafter, a squad of fifteen or twenty Indian scouts arrived from Red Cloud, having been sent after Crazy Horse to arrest and take him back. It was understood then, and afterwards known to be a fact, that they overtook Crazy Horse as he was riding along quite leisurely with his sick wife, and when they asked him to go back with them, the prestige of his name and warlike deeds overawed them when he said: 'I am Crazy Horse. Don't touch me! I'm not running away!'
"At our talk in Major Burke's quarters, Crazy Horse seemed to realize his helplessness. We assured him we had no reason to do him any hurt; and he promised, almost at the outset, to go with me next day to Camp Robinson.
"The best solution of the matter was to get Crazy Horse back to Red Cloud safely and quietly; let him make his talk there with the authorities, who could decide what should be done as to granting or refusing his desire for transfer to our Agency. He said he wanted to get away from trouble, that he had brought his sick wife to be treated and came for that purpose only. I told him I would remember what he said and repeat his words to the authorities at Robinson. Several of the chiefs were held responsible, under a binding Indian pledge, for Crazy Horse's safe keeping during the night and his reporting to Major Burke next morning at nine o'clock.
"Crazy Horse reported at the appointed time next morning and said he had changed his mind about going back to Red Cloud, because he 'was afraid something would happen.' He asked us to go down without him and fix up the matter for him and his people. We assured him we had no thought of harming him in any way; that he owed it to his people at Red Cloud to return, and we insisted upon his return peaceably and quietly, to which he agreed upon the following express conditions, which, under the circumstances, Major Burke and I felt we had a perfect right to make: first, that neither Crazy Horse nor myself should take any arms; second, that I would state to the Soldier Chief at Red Cloud all that had occurred at Spotted Tail Agency, and that if Crazy Horse had made a statement of the facts, I would say to the Soldier Chief that Major Burke, Spotted Tail and I were willing to receive him by transfer from Red Cloud, if the District Commander so authorized; that Crazy Horse should make his statement to the Soldier Chief as to what occurred, how 'he had been misunderstood and misinterpreted; that he wanted peace and quiet, and did not want any trouble whatever.'
"We made Crazy Horse no promise that he would be transferred to Spotted Tail Agency, because we knew and he knew that could be settled only by the higher authority at Red Cloud. Boiled down to a simple statement, our promise to Crazy Horse was that he should be heard on his own behalf, upon arrival at Red Cloud. On this condition, he was willing to return peaceably, and with Major Burke's express consent, I guaranteed its fulfillment.
"Crazy Horse asked to ride horseback, which request was granted. We started from the Northern camp about 10.30 on the morning of September 5th. In the ambulance with me were Louis Bordeau, the interpreter, Black Crow and Swift Bear, two reliable Agency chiefs, and High Bear and Touch the Clouds, Crazy Horse's friends. By consent, seven Northern Indians went along to see fair play, but Good Voice and Horned Antelope, two 'reliables,' rode with Crazy Horse, to take care of him and prevent his escape.
"When about fifteen miles out, small parties of Spotted Tail's Indian soldiers began to arrive, and when half way, about twenty miles, I had over forty reliable Indian soldiers. Crazy Horse then realized that he was practically a prisoner.
"At one time, Crazy Horse dashed ahead and disappeared for a moment over the brow of a hill one hundred yards away. 'Twas here he probably obtained a knife of an Indian family stampeding to Spotted Tail. He was soon overhauled and said he went ahead only to water his horse. He was then directed to ride immediately in the rear of my ambulance, and he saw at once he was closely guarded. He seemed nervous and bewildered, and his serious expression showed clearly he was doubtful of the outcome. He said but little, but his appealing looks seemed to ask, 'Is this treachery?' Ignorant of what was in store for him, I tried to reassure his friends by telling them not to worry, that I would do exactly as had been promised, present his case, and he could be heard also.
"When within fifteen miles of Red Cloud, I sent a note to Clark by a swift Indian courier, asking whether I should take Crazy Horse to Post or Agency. I also stated briefly and explicitly that we had to use tact and discretion in securing Crazy Horse without precipitating serious trouble, and that we had promised him that he should be heard by the Commanding Officer, or the 'Soldier Chief,' when we reached Red Cloud, and I requested that arrangements be made accordingly.
"When within four miles of Red Cloud, I received this answer, in writing: 'Dear Lee:—General Bradley wishes you to drive direct to his office with Crazy Horse. Yours, Clark.'
"I had built the post and knew that the C. O.'s office was next the guard house. This brief note, being silent as to the important parts of my request, signified to my mind that Crazy Horse was to be put in the guard house, but still I hoped that he would be allowed to say a few words, at least, which would redeem the promise we had made in good faith.
"We proceeded to the post, my Indians on either side of the ambulance, with pieces ready for instant use, and Crazy Horse in the center. Upon arriving at the C. O.'s office, I was met by the Adjutant, who informed me that General Bradley directed that Crazy Horse be turned over to the officer of the day. I said: 'No, not yet!' and asked if Crazy Horse could say a few words to the C. O. before this was done. I was referred to the General. I had Crazy Horse dismount, go into the office and sit down, and Swift Bear, Touch the Clouds, High Bear, Black Crow and Good Voice went in with him. I stationed an Indian soldier at the door with orders to admit no one while I was away. I then went to the General's quarters, some 200 yards distant, and in earnest and respectful language preferred my request, and he informed me, in no doubtful terms, that ''twas no use! The orders were peremptory; he could not change them; General Crook himself could not change them, and nothing further need be said, and the sooner I turned over Crazy Horse the better!' I tried to explain what had been done; just what had been promised in securing Crazy Horse, to all of which the General said: 'It's too late to have any talk.' I replied: 'Can he be heard in the morning?' The General looked at me steadily for an instant, but did not answer. I was again ordered to deliver Crazy Horse to the officer of the day, and 'tell him to go with the officer of the day and not a hair of his head should be harmed."
"General Bradley was every inch a soldier. An order to him was law and gospel and met with prompt, undeviating obedience, and woe betide the one who dared question, evade or fail in obeying his orders. I knew the General too well to attempt to prolong the interview. I felt that as it must be done, ''twere well 'twere quickly done,' yet, as I retraced my steps to the office, I had a glimmering hope that on the morrow Crazy Horse might be heard and the promise thus redeemed. I told Crazy Horse 'the night was coming on and the Soldier Chief said it was too late for a talk; that he said for him to go with the officer of the day and he would be taken care of and not a hair of his head would be harmed.'
"At the conclusion of my message, the chiefs uttered a joyous 'how!' Crazy Horse's face lighted up hopefully, and he stepped quickly across the room to the door and took the officer of the day, Captain Kennington, warmly by the hand. My duty, my military duty, was done, but I took Touch the Clouds and High Bear, Crazy Horse's friends, to one side to explain to them, as best I could, the unexpected turn affairs had taken, and how it was I had nothing more to do with the matter and that I was entirely subject to higher authorities there.
"Crazy Horse willingly went along with Captain Kennington, closely followed by two soldiers of the guard with side arms, straight to the guard house and into the main door. When he reached the prison room, he saw the dungeon cells, the small grated window, and some prisoners in irons, it was said. Across the puzzled brain of this Indian leader, whose life had been free as the wind, there no doubt flitted the terrible thought of prison chains and ignominious death. He was, then and there, at last brought face to face with what the white man had in store for him. To his mind, abandoned by his friends, alone, betrayed, and surrounded by a score or more of his armed enemies, he sprang, with the desperation of an infuriated tiger, into the main guard room, and drawing from his clothing a long, glittering knife, attempted to plunge it into Captain Kennington, but the Captain's drawn sword diverted this purpose; he then sprang outside, striking right and left and struggling to make his way to where his seven friends were.
"At this juncture, Little Big Man, an erstwhile friend and comrade of Crazy Horse, appeared on the scene. He seized Crazy Horse by the arm and attempted to force him to the ground. The great chief, even in his frenzy, was too magnanimous to plunge the knife into the heart of Little Big Man, but merely punctured his arm to free himself from his treacherous grasp. He then tried hard to kill a soldier of the guard who blocked his way. Swift Bear, Black Crow and Fast Thunder caught him, and in the struggle Captain Kennington called out: 'Kill him! Kill him!' and just then an Infantry soldier of the guard made a successful lunge and Crazy Horse fell, mortally wounded, with a deep bayonet thrust in his right side.
"The friendly Indians prevented Crazy Horse's friends from firing on the guard. All the Indians were taken by surprise, and upon the pressing appeal and earnest demand of his friends, Crazy Horse was carried into the office from whence he came.
"Confusion followed; troops turned out, and pandemonium seemed to have broken loose in the Indian camps. Even the friendlies, though they disliked Crazy Horse, were not pleased with the result, and there was not much that could then be explained to their satisfaction.
"Crazy Horse's uncle at once sought to take revenge, but two friendlies caught and led him away. Touch the Clouds asked permission to take Crazy Horse to an Indian lodge and let him die there, but it was refused. He then asked to remain in the office with him, and that was granted on condition that he give up his gun. I recall his remarkable reply: 'You are many. I am only one. You may not trust me, but I will trust you! You can take my gun!'
"Crazy Horse's old father and mother were also allowed to remain with him. About 10 P.M. Touch the Clouds sent word that Crazy Horse wished to see me before he died. I went to the office. Crazy Horse was lying on the floor, as he desired. He took my proffered hand and said between his dying moans, 'My friend, I don't blame you for this; had I listened to you, this trouble would not have happened to me.' He died at midnight, and thus passed away the restless, untamed spirit of as brave an Indian chief as ever drew a bow or wore a moccasin.
"After his death I was informed, and the statement is, I believe, in the official reports, that he had threatened to kill General Crook, should the General scold or speak roughly to him, at a proposed council to be held at Crazy Horse's camp, some days prior to this trouble. General Crook was on his way in an ambulance to the camp for the talk, when one of the scouts, or some one who was watching Crazy Horse, met him with news of this impending danger, and the General returned to the post without meeting Crazy Horse. This may have all been true, but whether it was merely an idle threat, announced in a spirit of bravado, or if made and meant, he would have sought an excuse to carry it into execution can never be known.
"A field officer of Cavalry, then a Captain, informed me that his troop was detailed to take Crazy Horse from the guard house that night at midnight and push on rapidly to the railroad, and from there he was to be sent as a prisoner to the Dry Tortugas.
"When he died, Touch the Clouds shook hands with all present, thus showing he had no bad heart toward anyone.
"Crazy Horse's father made some pathetic remarks as to the life and character of his son. He asked that he might take the body away and give it an Indian burial, and consent was given—the lifeless form was harmless then! The offer of an ambulance was declined, and at daylight, September 6th., the gray, bareheaded, wailing, wretched, old father and mother, followed on foot out of the post the travois on which was lashed the body of their only son and protector. Their pitiable condition appealed to the sympathy of everyone, and as they passed Major Burrowes' quarters, they were kindly offered something to eat, which they accepted with apparent gratitude, and then resumed their mournful journey.
"With respect to Crazy Horse, I neither eulogize nor condemn. I have merely stated the facts as they occurred, mainly under my own observation, or as told to me by reliable eye-witnesses. There is no Indian journalist, author or reporter, to present the warlike chief's side of the sad story of his tragic fate. With the lapse of time, his name and fame may linger for a while in the traditions of his tribe, and then fade away forever."