Part 30

The Sioux leader lived to be nearly ninety years of age, and, when questioned upon his feelings about the defeat by Powell's men, would say: "It was a big fight. The long swords fought as I had never seen them before. My warriors were as thick as blades of grass. I went in with many. I lost over half. The long swords shot true to the mark. My warriors never fought again."

SITTING BULL AND CRAZY HORSE: GENERAL AND ABLE LIEUTENANT OF THE GREAT SIOUX REBELLION

A troop of United States cavalrymen wound, like a great worm, up the dry bed of a tortuous creek. It was in March, 1876, and the weather was bitterly cold. Sharp, biting gusts blew the dry alkali dust into the faces of the bronzed troopers. But with determined manner they pressed on towards the purling waters of the Powder River.

As the weather-beaten commander of this expedition trotted quietly in the front of the line, a horseman suddenly appeared upon the horizon, and, galloping hard for the travel-stained column, drew rein before the leading officer.

"General Reynolds," said he, "the village of Crazy Horse is not more than five miles away. You must approach with caution, but, as you outnumber them, I feel sure that there can be but one outcome of the fight."

The officer in command smiled grimly.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said he. "You have scouted well. We will be all prepared for a brush with my old friend Crazy Horse within an hour."

Then, turning about, he called:

"Close column, men! Tighten saddlegirths, and look to it that your ammunition is all ready. We are about to have a warm affair."

As the men busied themselves with their arms and accoutrements, a lean timber wolf sneaked from behind a small bunch of cottonwood trees. Sitting on his haunches, he howled dismally. It was the song of death.

What did this alkali-covered column mean--there upon the bleak, unpopulated Wyoming plains? Why these grim-visaged warriors: these munitions of war: these scouts and vigilant-eyed officers of the Government? It meant that the last great Indian campaign had begun; and that within the course of a year the power of the native Americans would be irrevocably broken. The country of the Sioux was encircled by the forts and agencies of the white men. A railroad now crossed the continent and ran through the land of the elk and the buffalo. Surrounded by their civilized enemies, the Indians determined to make one last desperate stand against the whites.

Sitting Bull, an Unkpapa chief and medicine man, was the real leader of the Sioux. His were the brains which conceived and executed the movements of the warriors. But Crazy Horse, an Oglala, was the true leader in time of battle. Sitting Bull was the Grant, and Crazy Horse the Sheridan, of the Sioux army. One conceived and the other executed.

There was plenty of ammunition among the savages, and they were as well armed as the soldiers. There were still many buffalo in the country of the red men, and of food and clothing they had abundance. Their women and children were with them. Their ponies were many. Their warriors numbered several thousand. And, realizing that they were now encircled and enveloped by their hated enemies, they determined to make a last, desperate resistance to the power of the Government, which had determined, late in 1876, that thereafter all Indians in the Northwest must live upon the reservations.

"God made me an Indian, but not a Reservation Indian," Sitting Bull had said.

"The Great Spirit has told me that I shall defeat the whites," Crazy Horse had added.

Thus, stimulated with a just pride in their own strength and resources, the Sioux retreated to the region of the Big Horn mountains, determined to retain their independence, and to drive off the whites. They were patriots fighting for the soil which they had been born upon. They fought gamely, desperately, mercilessly; until beaten in detail by the superior ability of the whites, they at last were forced to a peaceable life upon the Government reservations.

General Reynolds soon found the Indians. Under fire from a band of warriors upon the hills, his men charged upon the camp of Crazy Horse and drove the redskins to a high bluff. While shot at very heavily by the warriors, the soldiers began to destroy the tepees. The fire from the followers of Crazy Horse grew more and more accurate. In spite of a stout resistance by the troopers, the redskins began to push them very hard. They soon had found the range of the camp, and many of the cavalrymen went down before their accurate aim. Suddenly Reynolds ordered a retreat--so suddenly that the bodies of several of his men were left behind to the fury of the Sioux, while one wounded man, it is said, was abandoned to an awful fate among the hostiles.

As is always the case when white men move back before red, the followers of Crazy Horse grew more and more bold as the whites withdrew. It was bitterly cold--so cold that the soldiers suffered intensely from the zero weather. Following the example of Crazy Horse, the red men made a vigorous attack upon Reynolds' force, and, by a bold and impetuous advance, succeeded in recapturing seven hundred of their own ponies which the troopers were driving before them. After this they seemed to be satisfied with their actions, and, apparently unmindful of the freezing temperature, rode quietly and joyously back to their own camp. All the honors were with Crazy Horse, and he was the hero of the western plains.

What General Crook said when Reynolds returned is not worthy of repetition, for he was the commanding officer of this expedition against the Sioux and was hastening to the assistance of that officer with his infantry and wagons. It was a disgraceful affair from the viewpoint of the Americans, but in the camp of the Sioux there was dancing and song. "The Great Spirit is upon our side," chanted the warriors. "We shall drive the palefaces into the land of the setting sun. We shall again sleep in peace upon the prairie." But they could not read the signs aright.

At Fort Fetterman, Wyoming, nine hundred cavalrymen and three hundred infantry were soon in motion against the Indians. Crook was in command of this, the most efficient force which had ever been sent against the Sioux. He was an officer of large experience, and so, on May 29th., 1876, began the advance, before the weather was too hot for campaigning. Past the ruins of old Fort Phil Kearney marched the dusty column; past the beetling cliffs of the mountains; the great stretches of glorious prairie covered with variegated wild flowers and the bleaching skulls of buffalo; on through the deep defiles and coulies of the numerous crystal streams which rippled through this glorious plateau, until, on June 9th., the army encamped upon the south side of the Tongue River. Here a message was received from Crazy Horse, which said:

"If you cross my river, my warriors will take your scalps. Go back into your own country and leave me and my children alone."

But Crook had no intention of going back. Instead of that, he remained where he was and laughed at the threats of Crazy Horse: the vainglorious.

At half-past six the cry of "Indians! Indians!" roused the weary troopers from their preparations. _Crash! Crash!_ came two rattling volleys, and from the bluffs across the river arose the wild war whoops of the followers of the great Sioux leader, who had begun to make good his threat.

Springing to their feet, the soldiers immediately formed in line of battle and replied to the shots of the redskin braves. Imagining that the canvas tents of the white men were full of soldiers, the Sioux directed their fire upon them, and the camp was swept with bullets. Fortunately the troops had run out into the open, and, forming in a long skirmish line, vigorously replied to the fire of the warlike followers of Crazy Horse. The mess chests in camp were split with bullets; several horses were struck; the wagons were splintered by the leaden balls; a few tent ropes were cut; and the shelters toppled to the ground. "Cross the river with your battalion and charge the enemy!" shouted General Crook to Captain Mills, and, as the troopers splashed through the water with bugles blaring and pennons fluttering, he turned to a young lieutenant, and said: "Now watch them retreat! Nothing can stand this advance!"

With fierce war whoops the Indians greeted the charge of the troopers, and, aiming at them, endeavored to keep them away. They did not realize that the men under Mills were old-time fighters, and, not at all frightened at their rifle fire, charged upon them vigorously. Meanwhile the long-range rifles of the other troopers began to find them; so, waiting until the whites had reached the very top of the bluffs, they suddenly broke and fled. Few of their numbers had been wounded, and they had not killed a single United States soldier.

Leaving a portion of his men to guard the baggage and wagons, Crook now pushed on after the retreating Crazy Horse. In a few days he had reached a large, rolling bit of prairie, surrounded by high bluffs, near the Rosebud River. He camped here, while some of his Crow and Shoshone Indian scouts went on a buffalo hunt. Crazy Horse had his own scouts out watching the movements of the oncoming column, and when he saw them in such a favorable position for attack, he, himself, began the battle. In this he showed a confidence that few Indians had ever exhibited.

It was half-past eight upon a gloriously bright morning, when rifle shots sounded from the bluffs over which the Indian scouts had disappeared. A cloud of dust soon arose upon the skyline, and galloping into camp came a few of the Crow and Shoshone scouts. They were yelping with fright.

"Sioux! Sioux! Heap Sioux!" they shouted. "They are coming! Get ready!"

The bugle blared the call to arms, and immediately the troopers fell in. They were none too soon, for, suddenly, out on the plain before them came hundreds of painted warriors. Crazy Horse had joined forces with Sitting Bull. Their combined commands were determined to crush Crook's column, as Red Cloud had annihilated Fetterman. Gay with paint and war bonnets, they streamed out upon the plain, yelling their savage war songs, and firing their rifles at long range. The feathers from their head-dresses floated out in the wind; their war ponies were grotesquely painted; their entire bodies were bright with brilliant buckskin or yellow ochre. They circled around like blackbirds upon a field of grain. Thousands seemed to be in sight, and they were apparently little afraid of the resolute-looking forces before them.

It did not take Crook long to give his orders. "Charge, with your troop, in front," he shouted to Mills. "Van Vliet, take your squadron to the rear and keep the Indians from circling round us. To the left Royall and Henry's battalion will charge. The infantry and part of the Second cavalry will hold the centre!"

The fight was now on in earnest. Mills' troopers struggled through a bog; raced across a long stretch of prairie, and rushed up the bluffs upon which the Sioux were riding around in a circular motion. They dashed upon the Indians with revolvers drawn. Firing them in the very faces of the red men, they nearly reached the hostile line, when the Sioux broke and fled to a second ridge. Charging them here was quick work for the cavalrymen. But the savages would not stand and galloped off to a safe distance. As the troopers dismounted to form a skirmish line, the redskins circled about them, kicking up clouds of alkali dust, yelping like mad men, and firing at intervals. They only wounded one or two of their assailants.

The soldiers under Royal, Henry and Van Vliet had equal success in driving back the Sioux, until Henry was severely injured by a bullet which struck him in the face. The friendly Crows and Shoshones fell upon the flanks of the followers of Crazy Horse, about this time, but did little damage. The numbers of Sioux seemed to increase every moment, and, when Henry fell, they attacked with some spirit. Twice the redskins galloped across his prostrate form, but luckily he was not hit by the ponies' hoofs. His men rallied and rushed to his rescue. There was fierce fighting over the body of the gallant cavalryman--such fighting as at Cressy, Agincourt and Poitiers, when men fought hand-to-hand. Clouds of dust arose from the feet of the plunging horses; the air resounded with the fierce wails of the Indians; while the _crack, crack_ of rifles spat their slogans of death above the tumult of the fray. Mills was withdrawn to gallop down a cañon in order to attack the village of Crazy Horse, and, as his troopers disappeared, the Indians seemed to grow less eager to advance. Gradually their rifle fire slackened; they turned their ponies' heads towards their village; and soon went off down the sides of a deep cañon. For two hours this conflict had lasted, and the honors had been about even.

When Mills dashed down the cañon with eight troops of cavalry, he confidently expected to gallop into the Indian village and annihilate what reserve Crazy Horse had left behind him. His men moved rapidly and had come within a short distance of the tepees, when firing was heard in front.

"Halt!" shouted Mills. "Cinch up saddlegirths! load revolvers, and see that your ammunition in your guns is properly adjusted!"

No sooner had he halted than an aide came galloping up from the rear.

"Mills," said Nickerson, the courier, "Royall has been badly handled; there are many wounded. Henry is severely hurt, and Vroom's troop is all cut up. The General orders that you and Noyes defile by your left flank out of the cañon and return, at once, to the field. He cannot move out to support you and the rest, on account of the wounded."

"I will not obey," said Mills at first, so anxious was he to reach the village; but, thinking better of his resolution, he ordered his men to turn to the left and defile out of the cañon. It was well that he had done so, for just below was a great dam, covered with logs and broken timber. It was a trap laid by Crazy Horse. Here he had massed a great body of Indians, and had the eight troops of cavalry advanced, they would have been annihilated.

This ended the operations for the day. Crook camped upon the battlefield. Ten of his soldiers had been killed, and twenty-seven had been seriously wounded. It is true that he had driven the followers of Crazy Horse from the scene of conflict, but, as he himself had exhausted all his ammunition and a larger part of his supplies, he was forced to retreat to his base. Crazy Horse had protected his own village, crippled his adversary, and had withdrawn in peace and security. He had stopped the further progress of the expedition and had fought a drawn battle with one of the ablest of Indian fighters. His reputation and prowess among his own people was thus increased tenfold, and he was the idol of his nation.

The great numbers of savages under Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull soon camped further north in the valley of the Little Big Horn. Here on June the 25th., 1876, they were attacked by General Custer. In "Famous Cavalry Leaders," I have fully described the great fight which there took place, so it is useless to speak further of this famous affair. Custer, and the greater portion of his command, were annihilated. The Indians escaped towards the Northeast, and, eluding the vigilance of Gibbon and Terry, were soon hastening towards the Canadian border.

After the defeat of General Custer, the Government realized that the Sioux war was a more serious affair than they had at first considered. Reinforcements were hurried into the country of the hostiles, and Crook and Terry were ordered to press after the Sioux with the utmost celerity. As Terry's forces were in bad condition, and were soon withdrawn from the field, Crook alone was left in active pursuit of the retreating bands of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. He chased them through the burning solitudes of that vast Northern wasteland like a veritable bloodhound. Through rain, snow and drought his weary troopers kept after the Indians. During the heated summer months there was no forage for the horses, and the rations of the men became wellnigh exhausted. The savages had swept the country free of game. They, too, were suffering from lack of subsistence, but their condition was never as bad as that of the troopers under Crook.

On, on, went this indefatigable column; now subsisting upon mule and horse meat; now thankful for a few raw onions which grew in the hollows unbaked by the blinding sun. Finally, when the supply of rations was reduced to two and one-half days', Crook realized that his men would all die of starvation if forage and food were not at once secured. It was either food, or death in the wilderness.

One hundred and fifty of the best men, with the last of the mules and the best horses, were formed into an advance party under Captain Anson Mills, of the Third Cavalry, and sent to Deadwood City in the Black Hills to get provisions. They pushed on, little expecting to see Indians. But at a place called Slim Buttes, in the northwest corner of South Dakota, the scouts discovered a large village of forty or fifty lodges of the Sioux, pitched upon the banks of a small stream called Rabbit Creek. American Horse--a prominent chief--was here in command, and he was a good fighter. But Mills determined to attack the camp at once and made his dispositions with care.

The attack was a complete success, and the village was taken with but little loss. Some of the Sioux were killed and others were captured. Many escaped through the ravines to a plateau surrounding the valley, and, throwing up rifle pits, determined to sell their lives dear rather than to surrender. Several took refuge in a cave, and, when commanded to come out, replied with jeers and taunts, saying: "Crazy Horse will soon be here, and he will rescue us." American Horse was with these warriors, and he fought like an ancient Greek.

Mills promptly dispatched a courier to Crook, on the fleetest horse in his command, to ask for reinforcements at once. Then he vigorously assaulted the cave. The little band inside sold their lives dearly, and even the women used guns with good effect. But no one could have stood up against the rain of bullets that was showered into the cavern. American Horse surrendered, and when Crazy Horse--with some six hundred warriors--came galloping up to the ridge, where some of his followers had hidden, he was too late. Crook had joined with Mills. Imagining that only a few men were there before him, Crazy Horse charged upon the troopers, yelling his war song with all the fervor that had rung at the battles of the Rosebud and Little Big Horn. He was greatly astonished at the numbers of his antagonists, and, realizing his mistake, retired to the tops of some tall buttes with the soldiers after him.

Now occurred one of the most picturesque battles of the West. The Sioux were all around upon the buttes and were silhouetted against the sky. Steadily the soldiers advanced against them up the sides of the cliff. They scaled it under fire and reached the level plateau upon which Crazy Horse and his men were scattered. With a loud cheer they charged the redskins upon the run. The Sioux divided; fled; and left the field and camp to the troopers. In their camp were found many letters belonging to Custer's men which had been sealed, ready for mailing, when they had been annihilated at the Little Big Horn. There were also books, saddles and equipment of the "Fighting Seventh." Thus, that which had been lost came back to the men of the army and brought many tearful recollections of the gallant men who had been killed with Custer.

Sitting Bull was in Montana and still unfriendly. Troops were put in motion to bring him to terms, under General Nelson A. Miles. It was the winter of 1876-7 and a severe one, but the soldiers had fur boots, fur caps and clothing of the thickest texture. With such provision they could easily move and fight in the zero temperature of that northern land.

On October 18th., a wagon load of supplies from Glendive, Montana, was attacked by the Sioux, and, after the hostiles had been driven off, the troops who escorted the train moved to a place called Clear Creek. The Indians followed, and, during a lull in the hostilities, a messenger rode out from their lines, waving a paper, which he left upon a hill, stuck between two forks of a stick. When it was picked up, it read:

"YELLOWSTONE.

I want to know what you are doing travelling on this road. You scare all the buffalo away. I want to hunt in this place. I want you to turn back from here. If you don't, I'll fight you again. I want you to leave what you have got here, and turn back from here. I am your friend, SITTING BULL.

I mean all the rations you have got and some powder. Wish you would write me as soon as you can."

Several days later General Miles, with nearly four hundred troopers, overtook Sitting Bull on Clear Creek. There were one thousand warriors with him of the Miniconjous, San Arcs, Brulés and Unkpapas, together with their wives and children. A meeting was arranged with the old chief, but the wily Sioux refused to come into the Reservation. He became engaged, as he talked, and his manner seemed more that of a wild beast than a human being. "He finally gave an exhibition of wild frenzy. His face assumed a furious expression. His jaws were tightly closed, his lips were compressed, and you could see his eyes glisten with the fire of savage hatred."

A young warrior stole out of the Indian lines, as the conversation progressed, and slipped a carbine beneath his blanket. Several others followed him, and gathered around Sitting Bull as if they meant treachery. Miles, who had only a revolver, ordered these savages to retire, and, obeying reluctantly, they withdrew. Sitting Bull argued like a conqueror; he would not come into the reservation; he wanted the troops to leave the country. He spoke this way in two conferences, and, seeing that nothing could be accomplished by further parley, Miles told the chief to prepare for fighting, for he intended to attack immediately--in five minutes. Taking his watch in his hand, he counted off the time; while the savages, shouting defiance, galloped back to their own lines.

Suddenly, smoke ascended from the Indian camp. The Sioux had fired the prairie grass. In the midst of clouds of flame and smoke the troops pressed home the attack upon the hostiles. Although Sitting Bull's warriors far outnumbered the whites, they were driven away from their camp. Under the leadership of Gall and other warriors, they charged wildly upon the Government troops. Sitting Bull--as at the Custer massacre--did not appear upon the firing line, but remained in the rear, giving directions. He was a better talker than fighter and believed in allowing the young bloods to do the actual campaigning. They fought hard, too, and at one time pressed the whites so closely that--like Wellington's men at Waterloo--they were forced to form in hollow squares. The Indians were driven for forty miles.