The book of the American Indian

by Hamlin Garland

The chief was very sorrowful, for he realized the weight of this battle. Foolish ones rode about exulting, but he rebuked them. “This is all bad. The Great Father at Washington will now be very angry, for we have killed his soldiers. The war chief will come against us with greater fury than ever. We cannot remain here.”

I was told that he did not visit the field of the dead. I do not know the truth of this, but he sat in his lodge, pondering, while Gall and his men held Reno prisoner on the hill. It was only a matter of wearing them out and then the whole army would be defeated, so the foolish ones said.

All the chiefs met in council at sunset, and The Sitting Bull said: “We cannot afford to make war on the white soldiers. They are too many and too brave. My heart is heavy with this day’s work. It is our first battle with the bluecoats and I now look to see all their war chiefs assemble against us. We must leave this place. There is no refuge for us here. We must go farther into the unknown world to the west. In ancient days our people migrated and now our turn has come.”

There was little sleep that night. All through the long hours the wail of the grief-stricken ones went on, and over the field of the dead the “war women” ran frenzied with grief, mutilating the bodies of their enemies. It was a night to make a boy grow old. My father said: “All hope of ever seeing our ancient home is gone. Henceforth we must dwell in the lands of our enemies.” And his face filled one with despair. I wept with my mother.

Early next day the mass of our warriors swept out against Reno, and he, too, would have perished like Custer but that the chief’s ever-watchful spies from a distant butte caught and flashed forward these terrifying signs.

“More soldiers are coming up the river—a mighty host in steamboats.”

Then the chief sent forth his camp soldiers among the lodges with this news and with orders to get ready to move instantly. Couriers rushed away to the hills to recall those who were besieging Reno. The women and old men again hurriedly packed the lodges, whilst we lads gathered up the ponies, and at last, following the old chiefs and The Sitting Bull, we streamed away up the river toward the mountains, leaving the field to our enemy’s scouts, but on every hill stood a “Silent Eater,” and through them we had knowledge of each movement of those who rescued Reno and buried the dead.

We camped that night in the hills far toward some great shining, snowy peaks, the like of which we had never seen.

The troops which were under command of General Terry did not stay long. They did not even look about very closely. They were afraid they might find us, I think. They hurriedly buried the dead and retreated quickly down the Big Horn to the Yellowstone, followed by our scouts, who reported every movement to The Sitting Bull.

This retreat of Terry made many of our leaders bold, and some of them, like The Gall, wished to pursue and strike again, but my chief opposed that. It is true he gave orders to return to the mouth of what is now Reno Creek, but he did this because in our haste we had left many ropes and saddles and other things lying scattered on the grass, and we needed them. This was the third day after the battle and no enemy was in sight.