CHAPTER SEVEN
The Personal Story of Rain-in-the-Face
BY
W. Kent Thomas
Note.—It is rare, indeed, to get the Indian side of a story in so clear, so connected, and so dramatic a form as is the following account of the Battle of the Little Big Horn from one who played a great part in it and in the events that led up to it. This is a unique document in our records, and is inserted here by kind permission of Mr. Thomas. It originally appeared in Outdoor Life, Vol. XI., No. 3, for March, 1903. Its accuracy and fidelity to fact are so attested as to be beyond question.—C. T. B.
The writer saw much of the “Custer Indians” at the World’s Fair and afterward at Coney Island, and had a good chance to know some of them well. The following leaves from a diary kept at that time show how the Indians regarded the Custer fight; they considered that the white men were simply outgeneraled by Sitting Bull:
Coney Island, N. Y., Aug. 12, 1894.
Rain-in-the-Face (Itiomagaju) hobbled into the tent to-night, as McFadden and I were discussing the events of the day, and seating himself, unbidden, with true Indian stoicism, he grunted out that one word of all words so dear to a Lakota, “Minnewaukan!” which, literally translated, means “Water of God,” but which by usage has been interpreted as “fire-water.” Since the other Indians were all away from camp on a visit to their friends, the Oglalas at Buffalo Bill’s camp, I decided to yield for once to Rain’s oft-repeated demand, which had been hitherto as regularly denied.
He took my flask, and with a guttural “How!” drained it at one gulp, without straining a muscle of his face. “Ugh! good! like Rain’s heart,” he remarked, as he handed the empty bottle to “Mac” with a self-satisfied look. Then, after a long pause, he joined in our hearty laughter, and added: “Wechasa Chischina (Little Man, as he always calls me) good! Potoshasha (Red Beard, his name for McFadden) good! Minnewaukan good! All heap good!”
“Something’s come over the old man,” laughed Mac. “His heart’s good to-night. Suppose we take advantage of it, as the boys are all over at the Oglala tepees, and get Rain to turn his heart inside out. Here, give me my hat and I’ll get the flask refilled and bring back Harry with me to interpret.” Off he went like a shot, leaving me to entertain Rain as best I could with my small knowledge of the Sioux lingo and signs.
McFadden soon returned, bringing Harry McLaughlin, our interpreter. It didn’t take long to get Rain started; after he had had another pull at the flask, he said: