During the last days of the month of May, 1827, Flat Mouth, chief of the Sandy Lake band of Chippewa Indians was encamped near Fort Snelling. A number of men, women, and children were with him, bringing maple sugar, which they had gathered in the northern woods during the winter, and other articles to sell to the garrison. Major Taliaferro was away at the time, but on May 24th the steamboat “Pilot” landed him safely at Fort Snelling. To welcome their “Father” home, and perchance to see if he had any presents or promises for them, a large number of Sioux came from their villages to the fort, as was usual on such occasions. The agent took the opportunity presented by the presence of both Sioux and Chippewas to deliberate with them in regard to peace, and also to request the Chippewas not to visit Fort Snelling again, in accordance with instructions which he had received from the Indian Department. To this Flat Mouth replied sorrowfully: “I feel myself now like a Dog driven away from your door to find another—I am ashamed of this—but I know you are doing this not by your wish.”[324]
The twenty-eighth day of the month proved the value of the advice Major Taliaferro had given. Several Sioux came to visit at a Chippewa lodge pitched directly under and in front of the agency house on the flats that border the Minnesota River. The guns of the fort could easily have been trained upon the spot. There was feasting and friendly revelry at the lodge that afternoon and evening. Meat, corn, and sugar were served in wooden platters; a dog was roasted and eaten. The peace pipe was smoked, and the conversation was peaceful regarding exploits in the hunt and the chase.
At nine o'clock when the party broke up, as the Chippewas were calling friendly good-byes to the departing Sioux who had advanced a few steps, the latter turned and fired into the midst of the unsuspecting inhabitants of the tepee. There was instant confusion. With a shout of triumph the Sioux ran off. The sentinel on the hill above heard the shots and cries and called for the guard. In a few moments there was at the gate of the fort a crowd of panic-stricken Chippewas carrying their wounded and crying for protection. Six men, one woman, and a girl about eight years old were handed over to the surgeon of the post, Doctor McMahon.
Immediately Major Taliaferro notified the Sioux that they had insulted the flag that waved over the land, and that ample satisfaction must be made to the Chippewas who had been treated in such a cowardly manner. In council with the agent, Strong Earth, a chief of the Chippewas, complained of the lack of protection: “Father: You know that two Summers ago we attended a Great Council at Prairie du Chien, when by the advice of Our White Friends, we made Peace with the Sioux—We were then told, that the Americans would Guarantee our Safety under their Flags—We have Come here under that Assurance. But Father, look at Your Floor it is stained with the blood of our people shed while under Your Walls. If you are great and powerful why do You not protect us? If Not, of what use are Your Soldiers?”[325]
On the morning following the massacre a large body of Sioux—estimated at about three hundred and fifty—appeared on the prairie west of the fort. Brevet Major Fowle was ordered to march against them with two companies. Upon his appearance they fled, but he followed and was successful in capturing some of them. Nine Sioux—one of whom Major Taliaferro reports was given up voluntarily—were delivered up to the Chippewas. Identifying two of these as being among the murderers, they requested permission to execute them immediately.
Upon the broad prairie the two prisoners were given their freedom. They were told to run, and when a few paces away the Chippewa warriors fired, and the Sioux fell dead. Then followed a hideous scene which a spectator described many years later. “The bodies, all warm and limp, are dragged to the brow of the hill. Men who at the sight of blood, become almost fiends, tear off the reeking scalps and hand them to the chief, who hangs them around his neck. Women and children with tomahawks and knives cut deep gashes in the poor dead bodies, and scooping up the hot blood with their hands, eagerly drink it; then, grown frantic, they dance, and yell, and sing their horrid scalp songs, recounting deeds of valor on the part of their brave men, and telling off the Sioux scalps, taken in different battles, until tired and satiated at last with their horrid feast, they leave the mutilated bodies—festering in the sun.”[326] At evening the bodies were thrown over the cliff into the river below.
On the morning of the thirty-first the Sioux delivered up to the Chippewas two others who, they claimed, had been the principal men in the affair. If the Chippewas did not shoot them, they said, they would do it themselves, as trouble had come to their nation on their account. But the Chippewas were willing.
About this second execution there has grown up an interesting story. One of the offenders, Toopunkah Zeze, was a favorite among the children of the fort. Tall and handsome and athletic and brave, he was the ideal of Indian manhood. The other, called the Split Upper Lip, was well known as a thief, and was as much detested as his companion was respected. He cried and begged for his life, saying that his gun had missed fire—he had killed no one. The other calmly distributed his clothes among his friends, upbraiding his companion for his cowardice. “You lie, dog. Coward, old woman, you know that you lie. You know that you are as guilty as I am. Hold your peace and die like a man—die like me.”
The two were brought out upon the prairie. Again the thirty yards were allowed; again the Chippewa guns were fired. For once it seemed that this Indian punishment of “running the gantlet” would lose a victim. For Toopunkah Zeze was still running. The bullet had cut the rope that bound him to his falling companion. With new hope he leaped forward. There was a shout of triumph from a group of Sioux hidden in the bushes; and the children of the fort, who had climbed upon the buildings to view the bloody scene from afar, clapped their hands. But the Chippewas were cool in their vengeance. Guns were reloaded and deliberate aim taken. The flints struck, and Toopunkah Zeze, now a hundred and fifty yards away and a second's distance from a place where the straggling groves of the prairie offered life, fell dead. Two more bodies were thrown over the precipice into the river.[327]
For ten years the hostility continued, but the environs of the fort were sacred places. An effective lesson had been taught in 1827. But on August 2, 1838, Hole-in-the-Day, a Chippewa chief, and five of his band came to Fort Snelling on a visit. That spring there had been a treacherous massacre by Hole-in-the-Day at a Sioux camp. It was true, as he said in the poetic simplicity of Indian style: “You See I cannot keep my face Clean—as fast as it is Washed—I am Compelled to black it Again.—but My heart towards you is the Same.—My Fathers Bones Sleep by your house—My Daughter at the Falls Near the Grave of my Uncle—My Wife lies at the Mouth of Sauk River—and a few days past I buried My Son.”[328]