CHAPTER XVIII. RED CLOUD’S LATER YEARS
It is no secret that Red Cloud’s ponies were looked upon as legitimate prey by the Whites living near the reservation. One man told me he had seen a bunch of cattle driven around the beef corral twice in order to figure in a double count, and corn and provisions had been passed twice through a certain building in order that some one might make just 100 per cent off the Indians. During the early ’70’s horse-stealing was carried on to a surprising extent, and Indian ponies were openly sold in frontier towns. A deputy United States marshal, who had twenty years’ experience on the reservation of the Sioux, told me that some detectives and trailers employed by the Government were in league with the thieves and received two compensations—one from the Government and the other from their confederates. Stolen stock was seldom recovered. The warriors, becoming desperate, would steal stock from some ranchman in retaliation. Another method of getting even was to complain to the officers at Fort Robinson, who would give the Sioux an escort of troops. Along the trail of the robbers the combined forces traveled as rapidly as possible, and, upon reaching any ranch or town where ponies were assembled in large numbers, the warriors would claim, and apparently identify as their property, a number of horses. Protests on the part of the Whites were of no avail, and the triumphant party would return with some of the stolen stock, and, perhaps, some which had never been on their pastures. I asked an old Indian about this and he said it seldom happened, but as they lost thousands of horses which were never recovered, and as nearly all white men living near the reservation were there to rob the Indians, and as every white man (whether he had or had not Sioux ponies on hand) would deny knowledge of the location of stolen stock, he thought it was fair and just to seize everything in sight!
In spite of suffering, privation and thefts of every description, the Red Cloud tribe kept their faith. Would that white men had been as faithful to their treaty promises. They complained to the Great Father that they had been moved eight times since 1863. Exclaimed Red Cloud: “How can you expect us to take the white man’s road when you move us before we have time to plant and grow corn, to clear the ground and raise cattle?” In 1874 the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail reservations were in Western Nebraska, the nearest railroad point being Sidney, on the Union Pacific. Except in spots the land was barren—absolutely worthless. Red Cloud said that the Whites gave it to his people because they could not use it themselves. A delegation of Indians went to Washington, were talked to in the usual patronizing manner, flattered, promised, and returned to their agency. Some one suggested to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs to remove the Indians to the Missouri River, where some good soil assured corn and wheat. Red Cloud and Spotted Tail begged that they be not sent there, for whisky was brought up the river and sold to their young men, to the injury of the entire tribe. Being assured that their supplies had all been sent to the old Ponca reservation, they consented to go there provided they would be sent to a new reservation in the spring.
THE HIDE HUNTER’S WORK. 40,000 BUFFALO HIDES AT DODGE CITY, KANSAS, 1876
Drawn from a print owned by R. M. Wright.
I can best describe what ensued by use of Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson’s words:[[31]] “In the spring no orders came for the removal. March passed, April passed—no orders. The chiefs sent word to their friend, General Crook, who replied to them with messages sent by swift runner, begging them not to break away, but to wait a little longer. Finally, in May, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs went himself to hold a council with them. When he rose to speak, Chief Spotted Tail sprang up, walked toward him, waving in his hand the paper containing the promise of the Government to return them to White Clay creek, and exclaimed: ‘All the men who come from Washington are liars, and the bald-headed ones are the worst of all! I don’t want to hear one word from you—you are a bald-headed old liar! You have but one thing to do here, and that is to give an order for us to return to White Clay Creek. Here are your written words, and if you don’t give this order, and everything here is not on wheels inside of ten days, I’ll order my young men to tear down and burn everything in this part of the country! I don’t want to hear anything more from you, and I’ve got nothing more to say to you,’ and he turned his back on the Commissioner and walked away. Such language would not have been borne from unarmed and helpless Indians; but when it came from a chief with 4000 armed warriors at his back, it was another affair altogether. The order was written. In less than ten days everything was ‘on wheels’ and the whole body of these Sioux on the move to the country they had indicated, and the Secretary of the Interior says, naively, in his report: ‘The Indians were found to be quite determined to move westward, and the promise of the Government in that respect was faithfully kept’.” It had been decided in council that Spotted Tail would do the talking, while Red Cloud and his followers held themselves in readiness for any emergency which might arise.
Crazy Horse as war chief, and Sitting Bull as the most prominent of the shamans, engage our attention during 1875–’76. A continual warfare was kept up against the Whites. Gold was discovered in the Black Hills, and settlers and miners flocked into the new territory, committing en route depredations against the Sioux. They promptly retaliated, and our Government sent General Custer to remove the miners from the new gold-fields, and history records that he successfully scattered the obnoxious invaders. During his famous march not one shot was fired at Indians. Red Cloud had kept his treaty promise, but peace was not long to be maintained. The frontier towns began to fill up with outcasts of civilization. Breeders of mischief, they instilled into the minds of the Oglalas love of gain. “You should have more money, more rations,” said they. “These lands to the north (Black Hills) are full of valuable mines which are yours. Drive out the miners and we will show you how to develop the country.” Custer had returned from his expedition and the miners flocked back to the gulches about Deadwood. Buffalo-hunters were fast destroying the great north and south herds, and Red Cloud beheld the encroachments with a heavy heart. The death-knell of his people’s freedom and prosperity on the Plains was sounded in the noise of the train, the blast in the mine, and the hum in the town. Civilization was advancing, savagery must die! He could not go to war himself, he must look after his people on the reservations; but he sent many of his best warriors to join Crazy Horse and American Horse. Murders and robberies followed in rapid succession. Custer was ordered to the Little Big Horn to destroy the villages of the hostiles.
As to the battle which followed, the Bureau of Ethnology Report, 1888–’89, gives a series of pictographic paintings made by Chief Red Horse, which are considered the most accurate we possess of the Sioux side of that unfortunate affair. I can only refer to it briefly. People digging wild turnips saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Supposing it to be made by a herd of buffalo, they informed the end of the village (scattered for three miles along the river) nearest them. Before any persons were armed a runner came up in great excitement and said, “Soldiers are coming.” There was no time to hold a council. The chiefs shouted their orders. At first it seemed as if the whites would take the whole village, but as warriors hastened up from the main body of the camp, the flanks as well as the front were attacked, and the troops forced across the river. Red Horse says there were two men with long yellow hair. One wore a buckskin coat.
Captain French was the bravest man the Sioux ever fought. Red Horse says he repeatedly covered the retreat of his men. Finally the soldiers gained the top of the hill and began to throw up little earthworks, but were all killed. Red Horse said some of the soldiers became demoralized and begged the Sioux to take them prisoners but not to kill them.
At Pine Ridge agency I was told that Flat Hip, an Uncapapa Sioux, claimed to have killed Custer. Flat Hip died of consumption a few years after the battle. No one knew positively as to Custer’s manner of death, but two men, dressed alike, were noticed for their bravery. Oglalas at Pine Ridge said Sitting Bull was not in the fight, but made medicine while it was in progress. Eastman’s account is probably more correct.
Many Sioux surrendered after the summer of 1876, and were returned to their respective agencies. Sitting Bull and his most faithful followers fled to Canada, where he remained some time. General MacKenzie took nearly all of Red Cloud’s horses shortly after the Custer battle, thus effectively preventing further hostilities.
September 3, 1877, a soldier ran a bayonet into Crazy Horse while the latter was confined as a prisoner of war in the guard-house of Fort Robinson. The murder occasioned much talk among the Sioux, and, but for the interference of Red Cloud, who counseled peace, would have resulted in a war of revenge. Crazy Horse was a desperate but withal, a brave Indian.
During the latter part of 1876 and 1877, Red Cloud gave General Crook a party of young men to help him fight the Cheyennes, which was greatly to his credit, considering his treatment at the hands of the Whites.
After the removal of his people to Pine Ridge agency he was somewhat dissatisfied because of the poor land given him as a reservation. He also appealed to Washington for reimbursement for the ponies stolen by lawless men. There are voluminous reports, Congressional and Interior Department, filled with speeches of Red Cloud and his people, and all more or less pathetic. They ask for fulfillment of treaty stipulations, for money due, and for cattle and goods. At the time of the visit of the Congressional Committee in 1883 he had 8000 people under him. The flag from Fort Robinson agency was there, and, by the way, there is an incident regarding that flag. Their Agent had cut and hauled a long pole, upon which he proposed to raise a flag. Red Cloud said he wanted no flag over his reservation, and so his men cut to pieces the flagstaff, but the Agent saved the colors and sent them to Pine Ridge.
Red Cloud last achieved prominence in the Messiah craze of 1890.[[32]] Whether he believed in the coming of an Indian Savior is uncertain, but I know that he used his influence to preserve peace.
When the news of the Wounded Knee massacre reached Pine Ridge, a few miles distant, most of the friendlies “stampeded,” tore down their lodges and fled north. Red Cloud and his daughter and son, in spite of protests, were compelled to accompany them. Jack Red Cloud, his son, smuggled him out of camp, and his daughter led him eighteen miles through a severe blizzard, back to Pine Ridge. I mention this incident to show the faithfulness of the man.
Red Cloud was nearly blind and aged rapidly after 1890. Eighty-seven years is a long time for an Indian to live. Continual exposure, uncertain food supply, and frail habitation, break down the constitution, and one rarely sees an Indian more than sixty years of age. During the last years of his life Red Cloud enjoyed the comforts of a two-story frame-house. It was given him by the Government as a special mark of honor. During the presence of the troops he kept a little American flag and a white peace flag constantly floating above it. He bemoaned the fate of his race, and from his conversation one could easily discern that he had done his duty, had defended the claims of the Dakotas in adversity as in prosperity. Over twenty years ago I had several conversations with him through the interpreter. He dwelt upon the happy “buffalo days”, and the free life of the Plains sixty years ago. We stepped outside the house and he told me to look about over the valley, for his eyes were dim; but he knew its character. I cannot give the exact words of his speech, but it was somewhat as follows: “You see this barren waste. We have a little land along the creek which affords good grazing, but we must use some of it for corn and wheat. There are other creeks which have bottoms like this, but most of the land is poor and worthless. Think of it! I, who used to own rich soil in a well-watered country so extensive that I could not ride through it in a week on my fastest pony, am put down here! Why, I have to go five miles for wood for my fire. Washington took our lands and promised to feed and support us. Now I, who used to control 5000 warriors, must tell Washington when I am hungry. I must beg for that which I own. If I beg hard, they put me in the guard-house. We have trouble. Our girls are getting bad. Coughing sickness every winter (consumption) carries away our best people. My heart is heavy, I am old, I cannot do much more. Young man, I wish there was some one to help my poor people when I am gone.”
It is a singular anomaly that the character of an Indian should not be gauged by the same standards employed in measuring the virtues and worth of a white man. To my mind Red Cloud’s high character places him on an equality with prominent men of America, irrespective of color.
In considering the Indian, while most persons recognize the disadvantages under which he has labored, yet I am persuaded that very few realize the great, almost overwhelming difficulty, which must be overcome before a truly strong and high character can be developed. With but few exceptions, nearly every white man who went on the frontier as a scout, miner, trader, hunter or explorer, exhibited the worst side of his character when among Indians. It is natural that when a man is in a new and wild country, far from restraint, untrammeled by laws, unchecked by society or the refining influence of women, all that is bad in him comes to the surface. Many men died in defense of a woman or child, underwent great hardship to succor a comrade in danger, exhibited personal bravery in the defense of claims, wagon-trains, ranches, etc., but, admitting all this in their favor, most of them were destitute of a regard for the rights of Indians. Such men inspired hatred in their dealings with the Sioux.
The Indian became acquainted with all that was bad, and saw but little of the real good of civilization. He heard more oaths than prayers, saw more saloons than churches or schools. The men whom he met were not calculated, by their acts, to inspire him with any confidence or respect for the white race. If the Plains tribes had associated with a better class of citizens before they had learned the vices of civilization, I am satisfied that the historian would not be compelled to write so dark and tragic a narrative; nor would he feel constrained to hold them up as fit subjects for pity and compassion.
Considering that Red Cloud came in contact with a class of white men whose presence would not be tolerated in a respectable community; his high character, his forbearance, his submission to the unjust acts of his conquerors, places him, in my opinion, among the great men of America, regardless of color, birth or ancestry. His career exhibits a degree of mental capacity, a knowledge of human nature and an acquaintance with the affairs of men which we would not expect in the mind of a savage. Red Cloud’s bearing towards the Government in the Leavenworth and Fort Robinson treaties, in having secured his end in both instances, indicates a knowledge of diplomacy of no mean order.
His people were suddenly confronted with a high civilization which they could neither understand nor follow. For centuries they had been schooled in the simple life of the Plains (and it ranked below the culture of the bronze age of man in Europe), unmolested by any extensive or exterminating war, content with their lot. To be suddenly brought face to face with a question, the issue of which was not a matter of temporary supremacy, but involved the very existence of themselves as a nation—to have bravely met it, mustered every available young man and fought their superior forces for a period of nearly thirty years, and then to have ceased only when resistance was no longer possible—presents an heroic spectacle. All through this stormy period, Red Cloud figures as a brave warrior, dignified counselor, and staunch advocate of the welfare of his people.
After the treaty, he and his immediate followers, or those directly under his control, observed their part of the agreement, although the white people gave them every pretext for violation. A weaker man, one of less character, would have taken his warriors, as Sitting Bull did, and have fought until there was not a man left.
Red Cloud possessed more human kindness than any of his red contemporaries. It has been affirmed that after the Fetterman fight, he assisted the young men in scalping and mutilating the bodies of the dead. There is no direct evidence as to this. Red Cloud himself says he never tortured a living person nor mutilated a dead body, and that those under his control were no more cruel than the Colorado citizens at the Sand Creek massacre, the soldiers in the battle of Washita, or the Seventh Cavalry at Wounded Knee. He cites the murder of Crazy Horse and several subchiefs after they had surrendered and were held as hostages in one of the forts. He also says that some Whites, many years ago, visited the camps of the Sioux under the guise of friendship, and presented the Indians with whiskey which contained strychnine. Nineteen who partook of it died in terrible agony. He claims that in all his fights and raids he never perpetrated cruelties like these; that he was either a staunch friend or a bitter enemy.
In his later years he rather inclined towards the faith of the Catholics, but when younger he was reported to have said that he believed in no white man’s God, but held to the Great Spirit, Wakantanka, and propitiated the evil spirit also; that, if he tried to do his duty, help his people and was a good man, he should not fear to meet the Great Spirit in the hereafter. That so far he agreed with the missionaries of different denominations, but because they were in discord among themselves as to just how the Great Spirit should be worshipped, he considered that not one of them was better than another; that his religion was as good as theirs, and that he would do as his heart prompted him.
He has always been a little vainglorious, but not more so than other prominent men. His twenty years’ residence at Pine Ridge exhibited a quiet and gentle demeanor. He ever lamented the fate of his people, but there was no bitterness, and his bearing was such as one might expect in a man who has faced death upon the field of battle.
After his removal to Pine Ridge, a petty Agent arrested this great man, on a trivial charge, and confined him in the guardhouse. Immediately his warriors armed, and a great number of Indians prepared to attack the agency.
When some of the subchiefs after his release said, “Let us kill our women and children and fight until we are gone, that is preferable to starvation here on the reservation,” he is reported to have made a dignified and manly speech, in which he maintained that the Almighty had decreed that they should continue on the reservation, virtually as prisoners of their conquerors, and resistance would only result in suffering and bloodshed, and could accomplish no good.
An intelligent savage, reared upon the Plains amidst surroundings not calculated to develop other than the lowest desires, and possessing a primitive idea of the true type of manhood, he has presented us with a career which shall endure in American history long after the frontiersmen shall have been forgotten.
War Dance
Sung by a party of Warm Spring Indians (Oregon) about 1889. A few of these Indians traveled in the East and gave entertainments. This song is repeated many times, rapidly.
I have no Sioux war-dance music, but the above is the most weird Indian song ever brought to my attention.