Chapter 4

A _council of Indians_ was held previous to the "Chivington massacre," which stamped the character of Black Kettle, the Cheyenne chief, as noble and brave. It seems that he had purchased from an Arapahoe band two girls named Laura Roper, aged eighteen, and Belle Ewbanks, aged six years, who were captured by the Indians, after attacking Roper's ranch, on the Little Blue River, in July, 1864. Two little boys were also captured at the same time. They were carried off to the Republican River, and Black Kettle bought them for five or six ponies, to give them to their parents. Certainly a generous act. He gave them up, and met the Commissioners in council, together with several Arapahoe chiefs of small bands, all of whom were confederate together to kill the Commissioners and bring on a general war.

Black Kettle knew it, and was determined to expose the plot and break it up. But the party of white officials, with Colonel E. W. Wynkoop, were in the dark about their evil intentions. The Indians called Colonel W. "The Tall Chief that don't lie."

"Black Kettle"--Mo-ke-ta-va-ta--Colonel Tappan says, "was the most remarkable man of the age for magnanimity, generosity, courage, and integrity. His hospitality to destitute emigrants and travelers on the plains for years, had no limit within the utmost extent of his means; giving liberally of his stores of provisions, clothing, and horses. His fame as an orator was widely known. He was great in council, and his word was law. Hundreds of whites are indebted to him for their lives.... He held Colonel Chivington's men at bay for seven hours, and carried to a place of safety three hundred of his women and children,--twenty of his braves and his own wife pierced with a dozen bullets.

"Previous to the conflict, after his two brothers had been shot down and cut to pieces before his eyes (while approaching the troops to notify them of the friendly character of the Indians), he aided three white men to escape from the village, one of them a soldier. They were his guests, whom he suspected of being spies, 'but did not know it,' and they are now living to the eternal fame and honor of the chieftain. From Sand Creek he fled to the Sioux camp, where it was determined to make war upon the whites in retaliation. He protested against interfering with women and children, and insisted upon fighting the men. He was overruled. Thereupon he resigned his office as chief, and assumed the garb of a brave. He soon after made peace for his tribe, which was faithfully kept until the burning of their village two years afterward. A war again ensued, in which he took no part, having promised never again to raise his hands against the whites. He was the first to meet the Peace Commissioners at Medicine Lodge Creek. His many services and virtues plead like angels trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation of his taking off."

Well, when the council assembled, among them were about a dozen chiefs of Arapahoes, Cheyennes, etc.; the worst of whom was Neva,--Long-nose,--an Arapahoe with one eye, and that a very ugly one. He was an outlaw, commanding twenty or thirty warriors. All were seated in a tent, and this fellow became boisterous, and wrangled, clamoring for a general war against all whites. It was a most exciting time. The chiefs stripped almost naked, and worked themselves up into a great excitement. At last, Black Kettle rose up, and pointing his finger at Neva, thus addressed him:

"You, you call yourself brave! I know what you mean. You come here to kill these white friends whom I have invited to come and have a talk with us. They don't know what you mean, but I do. You brave! (sneeringly.) I'll tell you what you are: your mouth is wide, so (measuring a foot with his hands),--your tongue so long (with his forefinger marking six inches on his arm),--_and it hangs in the middle, going both ways_. You're a coward, and dare not fight me." Here all the Indians gave a grunt of approbation. "Now, go," said he, "and begone! This council is broken up; I have said it; you hear my words; begone!" And they slunk off, completely cowed down.

Dog-soldiers were with them, well equipped for a big fight, and these white men beguiled, would all have been slain only for Mo-ke-ta-va-ta. A "dog-soldier" is a youth who has won, gradually, by successful use of the bow and arrow, a position to use the gun, and stand to the warriors just as our police force do to us, in guarding property, etc. These boys have a stick, called a "coo," on which they make a notch for everything they kill,--a kind of tally,--and when the coo is of a certain length, they are promoted to the rank of a "dog-soldier."

INDIANS DON'T BELIEVE HALF THEY HEAR.

When several chiefs are allowed to visit Washington on errands for their tribes, to get more given them, they tell their people how numerous are the children of their Great Father they have met on their way, and what big guns they saw, etc. But those at home believe it is a lie, gotten up by the "white man's medicine," as they call it. All have heard of a young chief whose father gave a stick, on which he should cut a notch for every white man he met. But it soon got full, and he threw it away.

The most amusing experience is told of a lot of Indians having been induced to go into a photographer's and have their likenesses taken. The operator asked a chief to look at his squaw (sitting for her phiz) through the camera. It looks as though one was sitting, or rather standing on his head,--reversing one's position. The chief was very angry at seeing his squaw in such an uncomely attitude, and he walked over and beat her. She denied it, but he saw it. He looked again, and again she was turned upside down. He said it was the white man's medicine, and would have nothing to do with it!

An Indian boy was asked some questions by one of the Peace Commissioners about some trouble, and he said to a chief, "Does the boy tell the truth?"

"Yes," replied the chief, "you may believe what he says; he never saw a white man before!"

ARMY OFFICERS.

The army officers are generally friends of the Indians. They are certainly, as a rule, just to the well-behaved Indians, and ready to sacrifice their lives in punishing bad ones.

General W. S. Harney, a retired army officer, is among the most noted. His life will be a most interesting one, full of adventure with the red men. General Harney graduated at West Point when nineteen years old, was sent out to the frontier, where he has lived fifty years. Grown gray in their companionship, and cradled in experience with the Indian tribes, says "I never knew an Indian chief to break his word!"

Major-General George H. Thomas, who commanded at Camp Cooper, Texas, some ten years ago, made a forced march of a hundred miles, with one hundred and twenty cavalry, to protect a village of Comanches from Baylor and three thousand rangers that were marching to destroy them. General Thomas was successful. He then marched in rear of the Indians hundreds of miles to shield them from the Texans. This gallant and chivalric officer died with a reputation dear to our country.

Major-General John Sedgwick, who fell during the war of the rebellion, rendered similar services on the plains, in defense of the Arapahoes, at about the same time; and Colonel Edward W. Wynkoop, five years later, in behalf of the Cheyennes.

Other officers might be mentioned for similar services, among them Generals Z. Taylor, W. S. Harney, and Alfred H. Terry. The last mentioned, two years ago, with a strong head, heart, and hand, squelched a conspiracy in Montana to exterminate the Crow Indians. Again, the next summer, flying across the plains, and up the Missouri river as fast as steam could carry him, to rescue a Sioux village from the border settlers. This splendid officer was removed from the command of the Department of Dakota, to make room for Hancock.

Captain Silas S. Soule, in Colorado, a few years ago, and Lieutenant Philip Sheridan, in Oregon, ten years since, might also be referred to in this connection, as drawing their swords in defense of the Indians and the right.

WHAT SHALL BE DONE?

The question is, How can the problem be solved, so as to best protect and secure the rights of the Indians, and at the same time promote the welfare of both races?

Within the memory of the writer, the tomahawk once reflected the light of burning cabins along the Tennessee, Ohio, Illinois, and Missouri Rivers, and the scalping-knives dripped with the blood of our border settlers, as we have driven the Indians back, back, to the setting sun!

But behold the change to-day, where the church has missions, and the red men are treated like immortal beings, with souls to be saved.

Mr. Wm. Welsh says of what he saw in Nebraska: "The blanket and bow discarded; the spear is broken, and the hatchet and war-club lie buried. The skin-lodge (tepee) has given place to the cottage and the mansion. Among the Santee Sioux, on Niobrara River, in Nebraska, the Episcopal Church has a mission, where one can see the murderous weapons and the conjuror's charms, by aid of which the medicine-man wrought his fiendish arts.

"That is the _pipe-stem_,--never smoked except on the war-path,--always blackened, being associated with deeds of darkness.

"These," he says, "are laid at the feet of our Christian missionaries, such as Bishops Whipple and Clarkson, and Rev. Mr. Hinman; where school-houses abound, and the feet of many thousand little children, thirsting after knowledge, are seen entering those vestibules of science; while churches, consecrated to the Christian's God, reflect for miles the sun's rays, tokens of a brighter light to their darkened heathen souls!

"Dear children, thanks to our holy religion, a few faithful men, taking their lives in their hands, have gone forth at the church's call,--bearing precious seed,--struggled and toiled, endured severe privations, afflictions, and trials, and saved in tears the germs of light, truth, and hope, which to-day have ripened into a glorious harvest of intelligence and Christian civilization! Christ said, 'It must needs be that offenses come, but woe unto that man by whom the offense cometh.'"

Now, if the wrongs accumulated, done to the poor, ignorant pagan Indians for years and years since the Mayflower landed her pilgrims on these shores, are to be redressed in this world (for there is no repentance for nations after), and if a God of justice so require that we atone to them, or suffer greater torments from their children, who shall say it is not a righteous retribution?

If we find them fierce, hostile, and revengeful, if they are cruel, and sometimes perpetrate atrocities that sicken the soul, and almost paralyze us with horror,--burning and pillaging,--let us remember that two hundred and fifty years of injustice, oppression, and wrong, heaped upon them by _our_ race, with cold, calculating, and relentless perseverance, have filled them with the passion of revenge and made them desperate. If you and I, boys, were Indians, we would do just as Indians do. _Their tender mercies are cruel, but there is a reason why it is so._

The former Indian agents, on a salary of eighteen hundred dollars a year, got very rich in a short time. How could they do so but by swindling the poor Indians, who have no idea of the relative value of money, or the cost of goods?

Not long since a tribe just above us was paid off their annuities in shoddy blankets; they were bought back again with whisky, and another tribe was paid with the same blankets; and one agent took out several thousand "elastics" (girls know what I mean) to pay the Indians (among other things), and yet no wild Indian ever wore a stocking!

Again, as the Indian is crowded back beyond the tide of emigration, and hanging like the froth of the billows upon the very edge is generally a host of law-defying whites, who introduce among the Indians every form of demoralization and disease with which depraved humanity in its most degraded form is afflicted. These the Indian see more of than anybody else (except the military, whom they look upon mostly as protectors), as good people come along, the Indian must _push on_, still farther toward the setting sun!

A GOOD JOKE BY LITTLE RAVEN.

Little Raven, an Arapahoe chief, laughed heartily when we told him something about heaven and hell; remarking, "All good men--white and red men--would go to heaven; all bad men, white or red, would go to hell." Inquiring the cause of his merriment when he had recovered his breath, he said, "I was much pleased with what you say of those two places, and the kind of people that will go to each when they come to die. It is a good notion,--heap good,--for if all the whites are like the ones I know, when Indian gets to heaven but few whites will trouble him there; pretty much all go to t'other place!"

HOW THE INDIAN IS CHEATED.

It is true, as General Harney remarked, "Better to board and lodge them at the Fifth Avenue Hotel than to fight them, as a matter of economy." Besides depleting the Indian appropriation fund, voted annually by Congress, of millions of dollars, but which was used to carry on elections, and the Indian got what was left; which may be compared to cheese-parings and cheese, or skim-milk and cream. The Indian gets the parings and the skim-milk!

The Quaker agents, as they are called, are doing a good work, because they see that honest dealings are had with the annuities paid them. If the President had done little else, this feature of reform will redound to his credit forever.

BURIAL OF A CHIEF'S DAUGHTER.

Spotted Tail, the head chief of the Brule Sioux, sent a request to the commanding officer at Fort Laramie, saying "his daughter had died in Powder River country (fifteen days' journey), and had begged her father to have her grave made among the whites." Consent was given, she having been known to the officers for several years, and her death was brought on by exposure to the hardships of wild Indian life, and also from grief, that her tribe would go to war.

He was met outside the "Post" by the officers, with the honors due his station. The officer in command spoke in words of comfort, saying, "he sympathized with him, and was pleased at this mark of confidence in committing to his care the remains of his loved child. The Great Spirit had taken her, and he never did anything except for some good purpose. Everything should be prepared for the funeral at sunset, and as the sun went down, it might remind him of the darkness left in his lodge when his daughter was taken away; but as the sun would surely rise again, so she would rise, and some day we would all meet in the land of the Great Spirit."

The chief exhibited great emotion at these words, and shed tears; a thing quite unusual in an Indian. He took the hand of the officer and said, "This must be a dream for me to be in such a fine room, and surrounded by such as you. Have I been asleep during the last four years of hardship and trial, dreaming that all is to be well again? or is this real? Yes, I see that it is,--the beautiful day, the sky blue, without a cloud; the wind calm and still, to suit the errand I came on, and remind me that you offer me peace! We think we have been much wronged, and entitled to compensation for damage done and distress caused by making so many roads through our country, driving and destroying the buffalo and game. My heart is very sad, and I cannot talk on business. I will wait and see the counselors the Great Father will send."

The scene, it is added, was the most impressive I ever saw, and all the Indians were awed into silence. A scaffold was erected (see print) at the cemetery, and a coffin was made. Just before sunset, the body was carried, followed by the father and other relatives, with chaplain,[2] officers, soldiers, and Indians. The chaplain read the beautiful burial-service, interpreted by another to them.

[2] Rev. A. Wright, post-chaplain, U. S. A.

One said, "I can hardly describe my feelings at witnessing here this first Christian burial of an Indian, and one of such consideration among her tribe. The hour, the place, the solemnity, even the restrained weeping of the mother and other relatives, all combined to affect me deeply."

It is added: the officers, to gratify Monica's father, each placed an offering in her coffin. Colonel Maynadier, a pair of gauntlets, to keep her hands warm (it was winter), Mr. Bullock gave a handsome piece of red cassimere to cover the coffin. To complete the Indian ceremony, her two milk-white ponies were killed and their heads and tails nailed on the coffin. These ponies the Indians supposed she would ride again in the hunting-grounds whither she had gone.

AN INDIAN RAID ON SIDNEY STATION, UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD.

In the month of April, 1868, while returning from the East, we took dinner at Sidney Station, on the railroad, four hundred and fourteen miles west of Omaha, at noon. While we were there, two freight conductors brought in their trains and dined at the same time we did, and when we started they were on the platform and said good-by to us. They concluded to go out a fishing, a mile or two from the settlement, behind one of the bluffs. We had not left on our way to Cheyenne more than about an hour, when we learned by telegraph at "Antelope Station" (thirty-seven miles), that a band of twenty or thirty Sioux Indians had come suddenly upon the two conductors, named Cahoone and Kinney, and, after a severe conflict, had shot both through with arrows, and scalped one of them (Cahoone), besides killing some of the railroad hands at work repairing the road near by the scene of conflict. Presently we met a special train, consisting of engine and caboose-car, coming with tremendous speed,--one mile a minute,--containing Dr. Latham, surgeon of the railroad from Cheyenne. It seems that the soldiers--a small company--were completely surprised, and not being mounted, could only protect the station, but could not follow up the Indians to punish them for their audacity.

There were nearly two hundred and fifty people, including one hundred infantry soldiers, at the station; and the alarm of "Indians" being given, the whole population turned out with such arms as they could lay hold of. The sight of so many persons disconcerted the Indians, and they checked their horses within a respectable distance of the station. About two hundred shots were fired,--many of them in the wildest manner, and mostly hurting nobody.

The Indians rode round the upper side of Sidney--_i.e._ west--after the affray with the conductors, and attacked the section-men, circling round and round (as usual in their mode of Indian warfare, to draw out the fire of their enemies, till they exhaust their ammunition), till they had killed several of the poor Irishmen at work. These men had with them a hand-car, and the boss had a rifle with him, and only one charge or cartridge in his gun. He did the best he could, however, by jumping on the car and taking aim at his enemies, and keeping the gun pointed towards them, while the men worked the hand-car safe into Sidney Station. He escaped with his life, and several of his comrades.

These two conductors had about seven arrows shot into each of them, several going right through their bodies, and which had to be broken off to draw them out. One--Thomas Cahoone--was scalped twice, on the top and back of his head. The other--William Kinney--kept his captor at bay by a pistol he had, and thus aiming at the Indian, saved his hair. Both were brought up carefully in the caboose-car to Cheyenne, and next day I saw them under Dr. Latham's treatment. All thought that both would surely die, but both got well; and the one who was scalped is now living at a station on the Union Pacific Railroad. It is a terrible operation to be scalped, and few survive it. But, thanks to the surgeon's skill, these men are living, and feel very much like taking vengeance on their tormentors,--_if they ever catch them_!

WHY DO INDIANS SCALP THEIR ENEMIES?

I have been a good deal puzzled to know the origin of this custom, of always scalping a foe in battle, both among themselves and in fighting white people. A negro is never scalped by the Indians. In conversing with Major A. S. Burt, of 9th United States Infantry, at our post, who has had much experience among the Indians on the plains, I learn some things which give a clue to the matter, which agree with all I can hear. He says that each Indian wears a "scalp-lock" (see engraving), which is a long tuft of hair, into which the Indian inserts his medicine, which consists generally of a few quills of eagle's feathers. This "_medicine_" is simply a "_charm_," as we call it, gotten by purchase of the medicine-man of the tribe. The medicine-man is the most influential man in each tribe. He professes to be able to conjure, by his arts and influence with the Great Spirit, certain articles, which he sells to the Indians of his tribe. This "medicine" the superstitious believe will cure diseases, and help him against his enemy in battle. Hence, in scalping a fallen foe, the victor deprives him of his charm, and shows it in triumph, as a token of his skill in battle. If you visit an Indian in his tent, and ask him to show you his "medicine," he will do so, if you pay him in such things as he needs to make therewith a feast, both for himself and an offering to his medicine idol; but as the idol can't eat, it goes of course into the stomach of the live Indian![3]

[3] The Indian keeps his "medicine" hung up in his tent, and prays to it,--dreams about it,--and if his dream is of good luck, he acts accordingly. This applies to hunting, going on war expeditions, etc.; in short, it is his sort of saint, to which he pays idolatrous worship.

Another idea: the Indian believes that the spirit of the enemy he slays enters into himself, and he is thereby made the stronger; hence _he slays all that he can_. I have seen young warriors in the streets of Cheyenne, with their hair reaching down almost to their heels; and all along it you'd see strung round pieces of silver, from the size of a silver dollar to a tea-saucer; each one of which was a tell-tale of the number of the scalps the young fellow had taken. It was what the ladies would call a "waterfall!"

Speaking of this, as revealing the pride of Indians in showing their prowess, I learned of a _young buck_, coming into a post and walking round, dressed in the top of Indian fashion,--_i.e._ with paint on his face, feathers in his hair, and brass ornaments on his leggins. These young fellows put on all the gewgaws they can to make a show of importance. Well, he finally walked into the post-trader's store, and asked Mr. Bullock if he didn't think it made the officers _faint_ when they saw him? "Yes," said he, "I think you'd better take off some of your things (pointing to his trappings), they will scare somebody."

INDIAN BOY'S EDUCATION.

When an Indian gets to be eighteen years old, it is expected that he will strike out for himself, and do some act to show his bravery; and that begins in striking somebody to kill them (a white or Indian of a hostile tribe), and to steal stock, a horse, or mule, or cattle.