Our world began, at that moment, to fade away, for as the fort and agencies grew in power along the Missouri, as they put forth their will against my people, two great parties were formed. There were many who said: “The white man is the world conqueror; we must follow his trail,” but those who said, “We will die as we have lived—red men, free and without fear,” came naturally to the lodge of my chief and gladly submitted to his leadership. Go read in the records of the War Department, whether this is true or false. You do not need a red man’s accusation to prove the perfidy of Congress.
My chief’s policy remained as before. “Do not make war on the whites, but keep our territory clear of the Crows and Mandans.”
He had surrounded himself with a band of trusted warriors whom he used as a general uses the members of his staff. They were his far-reaching eyes and ears. They brought him news of distant expeditions. They kept order in the camp and protected him from the jealousy of subordinate chiefs—for you must know there had grown up in the hearts of lesser men a secret hate of our leader. This bodyguard of the chief was called “The Silent Eaters,” because they met in private feasts and talked quietly without songs or dancing, whereas all the others in the tribe danced and made merry. With these “Silent Eaters” the chief freely discussed all the great problems which arose.
My father was one of these and the chief loved him. To him The Sitting Bull spoke plainly. “Why should we go to a reservation and plow the hard ground,” he said, “when the buffalo are waiting for us in the wild lands? We owe the white man nothing. We can take care of ourselves. We buy our guns and ammunition; we pay well for them. We are on the earth which the Great Spirit gave to us in the beginning. Its fruit is ours, its wood and pasturage are ours. Let the white men keep to their own. Why do they trouble us? Do they think the Great Spirit a fool, that he creates people without reason?”
He knew all that went on at the agency. He heard that leaders in opposition to his ways, the ways of our fathers, were rising among the renegades who preferred to camp in idleness beside the white man’s storehouse. He knew that they were denouncing him, but he did not retaliate upon them. “I do not shed blood out of choice, but of necessity,” he said. “I ask only leave to live as my father lived. The white man is cunning in the making of weapons, but we are the better hunters. We will trade our skins for knives and powder. So far all is well.”
But you know how it is, the white men would not keep to their own. They came into our lands, and when our young warriors drove them out all white men cursed The Sitting Bull. This the chief did not seek; it was forced upon him.
I will tell you how this came about.
In 1873 the government, being moved by those who seek gold, sent a commission to meet with my chief, saying, “We desire to buy the Black Hills.”
“I do not care to sell,” he replied, and they went away chagrined. Soon after this our scouts came upon a regiment of cavalry spying round the hills. They came from the west, and Black Wolf, the leader of the scouts, asked, “What are you doing here?”
The captain laughed and mocked him and said, “We ride because our horses are fat and need exercise.”