Some time afterward, in talking with the Indians about the events of the campaign, the warrior who had spoken with such admiration of Father Craft referred with the same affectionate enthusiasm to Father Jutz, and said that when the infuriated Indians attacked the agency on hearing of the slaughter at Wounded Knee they had sent word to the mission that no one there need be afraid. “We told him to stay where he was and no Indian would disturb him,” said the warrior. He told how the priest and the sisters had fed the starving refugees and bound up the wounds of the survivors who escaped the slaughter, and then after a pause he said: “He is a brave man; braver than any Indian.” Curious to know why this man had not joined the hostiles, among whom were several of his near relatives, I asked him the question. His reply was simple: “I had a little boy at the Drexel mission. He died and Father Jutz put a white stone over him. That is why I did not join the hostiles.”
While visiting Pine Ridge in 1891 I went out to see the Drexel school and found Father John Jutz, a simple, kindly old German from the Tyrol, with one or two other German lay brothers and five Franciscan sisters, Americans. Although but a recent establishment, the school was in flourishing condition, bearing in everything the evidences of orderly industry. Like a true German of the Alps, Father Jutz had already devised a way to make jelly from the wild plums and excellent wine from the chokecherry. While talking, the recess hour arrived and a bevy of small children came trooping in, pushing over one another in the effort to get hold of a finger of the good father, or at least to hold on to his robe while he led them into another room where one of the sisters gave to each a ginger cake, hot from the oven. The room was filled with the shouts and laughter of the children and the father explained, “Children get hungry, and we always have some cakes for the little ones at recess. I let the boys be noisy in the playroom as long as they don’t fight. It is good for them.” Looking at the happy, noisy crowd around the black-gowned missionary and sister, it was easy to see how they had felt safe in the affection of the Indians through all the days and nights when others were trembling behind breastworks and files of soldiers. Referring to what the Indians had told me, I asked Father Jutz if it was true that the hostiles had sent word to them not to be afraid. He replied, “Yes; they had sent word that no one in the mission need be alarmed,” and then, with a gentle smile, he added, “But it was never our intention to leave.” It was plain enough that beneath the quiet exterior there burned the old missionary fire of Jogues and Marquette.
PL. XCIX
BATTLEFIELD OF WOUNDED KNEE
The conflict at Wounded Knee bore speedy fruit. On the same day, as has been said, a part of the Indians under Two Strike attacked the agency and the whole body of nearly 4,000 who had come in to surrender started back again to intrench themselves in preparation for renewed hostilities. On the morning of December 30, the next day after the fight, the wagon train of the Ninth cavalry (colored) was attacked within 2 miles of the agency while coming in with supplies. One soldier was killed, but the Indians were repulsed with the loss of several of their number.
On the same day news came to the agency that the hostiles had attacked the Catholic mission 5 miles out, and Colonel Forsyth with eight troops of the Seventh cavalry and one piece of artillery was ordered by General Brooke to go out and drive them off. It proved that the hostiles had set fire to several houses between the mission and the agency, but the mission had not been disturbed. As the troops approached the hostiles fell back, but Forsyth failed to occupy the commanding hills and was consequently surrounded by the Indians, who endeavored to draw him into a canyon and pressed him so closely that he was obliged to send back three times for reinforcements. Major Henry had just arrived at the agency with a detachment of the Ninth cavalry, and on hearing the noise of the firing started at once to the relief of Forsyth with four troops of cavalry and a Hotchkiss gun. On arriving on the ground he occupied the hills and thus succeeded in driving off the hostiles without further casualty, and rescued the Seventh from its dangerous position. In this skirmish, known as the “mission fight,” the Seventh lost one officer, Lieutenant Mann, and a private, Dominic Francischetti, killed, and seven wounded. ([War], 20; [G. D.], 42.)
The conduct of the colored troops of the Ninth cavalry on this occasion deserves the highest commendation. At the time of the battle at Wounded Knee, the day before, they were in the Bad Lands, about 80 or 90 miles out from Pine Ridge, when the order was sent for them to come in to aid in repelling the attack on the agency. By riding all night they arrived at the agency at daylight, together with two Hotchkiss guns, in charge of Lieutenant John Hayden of the First artillery. Hardly had they dismounted when word arrived that their wagon train, coming on behind, was attacked, and they were obliged to go out again to its relief, as already described. On coming in again they lay down to rest after their long night ride, when they were once more called out to go to the aid of the Seventh at the mission. Jumping into the saddle they rode at full speed to the mission, 5 miles out, repelled the hostiles and saved the command, and returned to the agency, after having ridden over 100 miles and fought two engagements within thirty hours. Lieutenant Hayden, with his Hotchkiss, who had come in with them from the Bad Lands, took part also with them in the mission fight.
On the same evening Standing Soldier, an Indian scout, arrived at the agency with a party of 65 Indians, including 18 men. These were a part of Big Foot’s or Short Bull’s following, who had lost their way during the flight from Cheyenne river and were hunting for the rest of the band when captured by the scouts. They were not aware of the death of Big Foot and the extermination of his band, but after having been disarmed and put under guard they were informed of it, but only in a mild way, in order not to provoke undue excitement. ([G. D.], 43.)
Immediately after the battle of Wounded Knee, in consequence of the panic among the frontier settlers of Nebraska, the Nebraska state troops were called out under command of General L. W. Colby. They were stationed at the most exposed points between the settlements and the reservation and remained in the field until the surrender of the hostiles two weeks later. The only casualty among them was the death of private George Wilhauer, who was accidentally shot by a picket. ([Colby], 5.)