"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."
CONCLUSION.
Farewell to the Indian!
We have seen that, from the time of the very earliest European adventurers, to the great Sioux uprising of 1876, there has been but one result of the contact between the whites and those of another color. Powhatan, the diplomat, was as unable to keep his land from the Anglo-Saxon invader as was Sitting Bull, the tactician. For nearly four centuries the gradual conquest of the American continent went on apace, with frightful carnage, suffering and race hatred. The most fit survived; the people of lesser intelligence and thrift had to give way to those of superior attainments.
It has been a picturesque struggle. There has been the fierce battling against the Pamunkies of Virginia and Opechancanough, the ruthless Virginian. There has followed the strange warfare in the rude forests of Massachusetts with King Philip, and the neighboring contest with Sassacus, chief of the Pequots. Later, was the sanguinary struggle in the Mohawk Valley of New York; the wild fighting around the wooded slopes of the Hudson; the swift marches and vainglorious retreats in the dreamy forests near Lake George, and by the banks of the gray, glittering Champlain.