menu_book Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII. A FROM THE DEEP WOODS TO CIVILIZATION by Charles A. Eastman, O'Hiesa. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER VII. THE GHOST DANCE WAR A religious craze such as that of 1890-91 was a thing foreign to the Indian philosophy. I recall that a hundred years before, on the overthrow of the Algonquin nations,

a somewhat similar faith was evolved by the astute Delaware prophet, brother to Tecumseh. It meant that the last hope of race entity had departed, and my people were groping blindly after spiritual relief in their bewilderment and misery. I believe that the first prophets of the Red Christ were innocent enough, and that the people generally were sincere. But there were doubtless some who went into it for self-advertisement, and who introduced

new and fantastic features to attract the crowd. The Ghost Dancers had gradually concentrated on the Medicine Root Creek and the edge of the Badlands, and they were still further isolated by a new order from the agent, calling in all those who had not adhered to the new religion.

Several thousand of these friendlies were soon encamped on the White Clay Creek, close by the agency. It was near the middle of December, with weather unusually mild for that season. The dancers held that there would be no snow so long as their rites continued. An Indian called Little had been guilty of some minor offense on the reservation and had hitherto evaded arrest.

Suddenly, he appeared at the agency on an issue day for the express purpose, as it seemed, of defying the authorities. The assembly room of the Indian police, used also as a council room, opened out of my dispensary, and on this particular morning a council was in progress. I heard some loud talking, but was too busy to pay particular attention, though my assistant had gone in to listen to the speeches. Suddenly the place was in an uproar, and George burst into the inner office, crying excitedly, Look out for yourself, friend. They are going to fight.

I went around to see what was going on. A crowd had gathered just outside the council room, and the police were surrounded by wild Indians with guns and drawn knives in their hands. Hurry up with them, one shouted, while another held his stone war club over a policeman's head. The attempt to arrest Little had met with a stubborn resistance.

At this critical moment, a fine-looking Indian in citizens' clothes faced the excited throng and spoke in a clear, steady, almost sarcastic voice. Stop. Think. What are you going to do? Kill these men of our own race? Then what? Kill all these helpless white men, women, and children? And what then? What will these brave words, brave deeds lead to in the end? How long can you hold out? Your country is surrounded with a network of railroads.

Thousands of white soldiers will be here within three days. What ammunition have you? What provisions? What will become of your families? Think, think, my brothers.

This is a child's madness. It was the friendly chief, American Horse, and it seems to me as I recall the incident that this man's voice had almost magic power. It is likely that he saved us all from massacre, for the murder of the police, who represented the authority of the government,

would surely have been followed by a general massacre. It is a fact that those Indians who upheld the agent were in quite as much danger from their wilder brethren as were the whites. Indeed, it was said that the feeling against them was even stronger. jack red cloud son of the chief thrust the muzzle of a cocked revolver almost into the face of american horse it is you and your kind he shouted who have brought us to this pass that brave man never flinched ignoring his rash accuser he quietly re-entered the office the door closed behind him the mob dispersed and for the moment the danger seemed over

That evening I was surprised by a late call from American Horse, the hero of the day. His wife entered close behind him. Scarcely were they seated when my door again opened softly and Captain Sword came in, followed by Lieutenant Thunderbear and most of the Indian police. My little room was crowded.

I handed them some tobacco, which I had always at hand for my guests, although I did not smoke myself. After a silence, the chief got up and shook hands with me ceremoniously. In a short speech, he asked my advice in the difficult situation that confronted them between the ghost dancers, men of their own blood, and the government to which they had pledged their loyalty.

Thanks to Indian etiquette, I could allow myself two or three minutes to weigh my words before replying. I finally said, in substance, There is only one thing for us to do and be just to both sides. We must use every means for a peaceful settlement of this difficulty. Let us be patient.

Let us continue to reason with the wilder element, even though some hotheads may threaten our lives. If the worst happens, however, it is our solemn duty to serve the United States government. Let no man ever say that we were disloyal. Following such a policy, dead or alive, we shall have no apology to make. After the others had withdrawn, Sword informed me confidentially that certain young men had

threatened to kill American Horse while asleep in his tent, and that his friends had prevailed upon him and his wife to ask my hospitality for a few days. I showed Mrs. American Horse to a small room that I had vacant, and soon afterward came three strokes of the office bell, the signal for me to report at the agent's office. I found there the agent, his chief clerk, and a visiting inspector, all of whom obviously

regarded the situation as serious. You see, doctor, said the agent, the occurrence of today was planned with remarkable accuracy, so that even our alert police were taken entirely by surprise and readily overpowered. What would be the sequel? We cannot tell.

but we must be prepared for anything. I shall be glad to have your views, he added. I told him that I still did not believe there was any widespread plot or deliberate intention to make war upon the whites. In my own mind, I felt sure that the arrival of troops would be construed by the ghost dancers as a threat or a challenge, and would put them at once on the defensive. I was not in favor of that step. Neither was Mr. Cook, who was also called into conference.

But the officials evidently feared a general uprising and argued that it was their duty to safeguard the lives of the employees and others by calling for the soldiers without more delay. Sword, Thunder Bear, and American Horse were sent for, and their opinions appeared to be fully in accord with those of the agent and inspector so the matter was given out as settled as a matter of fact the agent had telegraphed to Fort Robinson for troops before he made a pretense of consulting

us Indians and they were already on their way to Pine Ridge I scarcely knew at the time but gradually learned afterward that the Sioux had many grievances and causes for profound discontent which lay back up and were more or less closely related to the ghost dance craze and the prevailing restlessness and excitement. Rations had been cut from time to time.

The people were insufficiently fed, and their protests and appeals were disregarded. Never was more ruthless fraud and graft practiced upon a defenseless people than upon these poor natives by the politicians. never were there more worthless scraps of paper anywhere in the world than many of the indian treaties and government documents sickness was prevalent and the death rate alarming especially

among the children trouble from all these causes had for some time been developing but might have been checked by humane and conciliatory measures the messiah craze in itself was scarcely a source of danger, and one might almost as well call upon the army to suppress Billy Sunday and his hysterical followers. Other tribes than the Sioux who adopted the new religion were let alone, and the Craze died a natural death in the course of a few months.

Among the leaders of the malcontents at this time were Jack Red Cloud, No Water, He Dog, Four Bears, Yellow Bear, and Kicking Bear. Friendly leaders included American Horse, young man afraid of his horses, bad wound, three stars. There was still another set whose attitude was not clearly defined, and among these men was Red Cloud, the greatest of them all. He who had led his people so brilliantly and with such remarkable results, both in battle and diplomacy,

was now an old man of over seventy years, living in a frame house which had been built for him, within a mile of the agency. He would come to council, but said little or nothing. No one knew exactly where he stood, but it seemed that he was broken in spirit, as in body,

and convinced of the hopelessness of his people's cause. It was Red Cloud who asked the historic question at a great council held in the Black Hills region with a government commission, and after good Bishop Whipple had finished the invocation,

Which God is our brother praying to now? Is it the same God whom they have twice deceived when they made treaties with us which they afterward broke? Early in the morning after the attempted arrest of Little, George rushed into my quarters and awakened me.

Come quick, he shouted. The soldiers are here. I looked along the white clay creek toward the Little Railroad town of Rushville, Nebraska, twenty-five miles away.

and just as the sun rose above the knife-edged ridges, black with stunted pine, I perceived a moving cloud of dust that marked the trail of the 9th Cavalry. There was instant commotion among the camps of friendly Indians. Many women and children were coming into the agency for refuge, evidently fearing that the dreaded soldiers might attack their villages by mistake.

Some, who had not heard of their impending arrival, hurried to the offices to ask what it meant. I assured those who appealed to me that the troops were here only to preserve order, but their suspicions were not easily allayed. As the cavalry came nearer, we saw that they were colored troopers wearing buffalo overcoats and muskrat caps.

The Indians, with their quick wit, called them buffalo soldiers. They halted and established their temporary camp in the open space before the agency enclosure. The news had already gone out through the length and breadth of the reservation, and the wildest rumors were in circulation. Indian scouts might be seen upon every hilltop, closely watching the military encampment. At this juncture came the startling news from Fort Yates, some 250 miles to the north of us,

that Sitting Bull had been killed by Indian police while resisting arrest, and a number of his men with him as well as several of the police. We next heard that the remnant of his band had fled in our direction and soon afterward that they had been joined by Bigfoot's band from the western part of the Cheyenne River Agency,

which lay directly in their road. United States troops continued to gather at strategic points and, of course, the press seized upon the opportunity opportunity to enlarge upon the strained situation and predict an Indian uprising. The reporters were among us and managed to secure much news that no one else ever heard of.

Border towns were fortified, and cowboys and militia gathered in readiness to protect them against the Red Devils. Certain classes of the frontier population industriously fomented the excitement for what there was in it for them, since much money is apt to be spent at such times. As for the poor Indians, they were quite as badly scared as the whites, and perhaps with more reason. General Brooke undertook negotiations with the ghost dancers and finally induced them to come

within reach. They camped on a flat about a mile north of us and in full view, while the more retractable bands were still gathered on the south and west. The large boarding school had locked its doors and succeeded in holding its hundreds of Indian children, partly for their own sakes and partly as hostages for the good behavior of their fathers. At the agency were now gathered all the government employees and their families, except such as had taken flight,

together with traders, missionaries, and ranchmen, army officers, and newspaper men. It was a conglomerate population. During this time of grave anxiety and nervous tension, the cooler heads among us went about our business, and still refused to believe in the tragic possibility of an Indian war.

It may be imagined that I was more than busy, though I had not such long distances to cover, for since many Indians accustomed to comfortable log houses were compelled to pass the winter in tents, there was even more sickness than usual. I had access and welcome to the camps of all the various groups and factions, a privilege shared by my good friend Father Jutz, the Catholic missionary, who was completely trusted by his people. The Christmas season was fast approaching,

and this perhaps the brightest spot in the mission year. The children of the Sunday schools, and indeed all the people, look eagerly forward to the joyous feast. Barrels and boxes are received and opened, candy bags made and filled,

carols practiced, and churches decorated with ropes of spicy evergreen. Anxious to relieve the tension in every way within his power, Mr. Cook and his helpers went on with their preparations upon even a larger scale than usual. Since all of the branch stations had been closed and the people

called in, it was planned to keep the Christmas tree standing in the chapel for a week and to distribute gifts to a separate congregation each evening. I found myself pressed into the service and passed some happy hours in the rectory. For me, at that critical time, there was inward struggle as well as the threat of outward conflict, and I could not but recall what my white mother had said jokingly one day, referring to my pleasant friendships with many charming Boston girls.

I know one Sioux who has not been conquered, and I shall not rest till I hear of his capture. I had planned to enter upon my life work unhampered by any other ties, and declared that all my love should be vested in my people and my profession. At last, however, I had met a woman whose sincerity was convincing and whose ideals seemed to vary like my own. Her childhood had been spent almost as much out of doors as mine on a lonely estate high up in the Berkshire Hills,

her ancestry Puritan on one side, proud Tories on the other. She had been moved by the appeals of that wonderful man, General Armstrong, and had gone to Hampton as a young girl to teach the Indians there. After three years, she undertook pioneer work in the West as a teacher of a new camp school among the Wilder Sioux, and after much travel and study of their peculiar problems, had been offered the appointment she now held. She spoke the Sioux language

fluently and went among the people with the utmost freedom and confidence. Her methods of work were very simple and direct. I do not know what unseen hand had guided me to her side, but on Christmas Day of 1890, Elaine Goodell and I announced our engagement. Three days later, we learned that Bigfoot's band of ghost dancers from the Cheyenne River reservation north of us was approaching the agency, and that Major Whiteside was in command

of troops with orders to intercept them. Late that afternoon, the 7th Cavalry under Colonel Forsythe was called to the saddle and rode off toward Wounded Knee Creek, eighteen miles away. Father Craft, a Catholic priest with some Indian blood, who knew Sitting Bull and his people, followed an hour or so later, and I was much inclined to go too, but my fiancé pointed out that my duty lay rather at home with our Indians, and I stayed. The morning of December 29th was

sunny and pleasant. We were all straining our ears toward wounded knee, and about the middle of the forenoon we distinctly heard the reports of the Hotchkiss guns. Two hours later a rider was seen approaching at full speed, and in a few minutes he had dismounted from his exhausted horse and handed his message to General Brooks orderly. The Indians were watching their own messenger,

who ran on foot along the northern ridges and carried the news to the so-called hostile camp. It was said that he delivered his message at almost the same time as the mounted officer. The resulting confusion and excitement was unmistakable. The white teepees disappeared as if by magic, and soon the caravans were in motion,

going toward the natural fortress of the Badlands. In the friendly camp, there was almost as much turmoil, and crowds of frightened women and children poured into the agency. Bigfoot's band had been wiped out by the troops, and reprisals were naturally looked for.

The enclosure was not barricaded in any way, and we had but a small detachment of troops for our protection. Sentinels were placed, and machine guns trained on the various approaches. A few hot-headed young Braves fired on the Sentinels and wounded two of them. The Indian police began to answer by shooting at several Braves who were apparently about to set fire to some of the outlying buildings.

Every married employee was seeking a place of safety for his family, the interpreter among them. Just then, General Brooke ran out into the open, shouting at the top of his voice to the police, Stop! Stop! Doctor, tell them they must not fire until ordered. I did so, as the bullets whistled by us, and the General's coolness perhaps saved all our lives, for we were in no position to repel a large attacking force.

Since we did not reply, the scattered shots soon ceased, but the situation remained critical for several days and nights. My office was full of refugees. I called one of my good friends aside and asked him to saddle my two horses and stay by them. When general fighting begins, take them to Miss Goodale and see her to the railroad if you can, I told him.

Then I went over to the rectory. Mrs. Cook refused to go without her husband, and Miss Goodale would not leave while there was a chance of being of service. The house was crowded with terrified people, most of them Christian Indians, whom our friends were doing their best to pacify. At dusk, the 7th Cavalry returned with their 25 dead, and I believe 34 wounded, most of them by their own comrades, who had encircled the Indians while few of the latter had guns. A majority of the 30 or more Indian wounded were women and children, including babies in arms.

As they were not tents enough for all, Mr. Cook offered us the mission chapel, in which the Christmas tree still stood, for a temporary hospital. We tore out the pews and covered the floor with hay and quilts. There we laid the poor creatures side by side in rows, and the night was devoted to caring for them as best we could.

Many were frightfully torn by pieces of shells, and the suffering was terrible. General Brooke placed me in charge, and I had to do nearly all the work, for although the Army surgeons were more than ready to help as soon as their own men had been cared for, the tortured Indians would scarcely allow a man in uniform to touch them. Mrs. Cook, Miss Goodale, and several of Mr. Cook's Indian helpers acted as volunteer nurses.

In spite of all our efforts, we lost the greater part of them, but a few recovered, including several children who had lost all their relatives and who were adopted into kind Christian families. On the day following the Wounded Knee Massacre, there was a blizzard, in the midst of which I was ordered out with several Indian police

to look for a policeman who was reported to have been wounded and left some two miles from the agency. We did not find him. This was the only time during the whole affair that I carried a weapon. A friend lent me a revolver which I put in my overcoat pocket, and it was lost on the ride.

On the third day it cleared, and the ground was covered with an inch or two of fresh snow. We had feared that some of the Indian wounded might have been left on the field, and a number of us volunteered to go and see. I was placed in charge of the expedition of about a hundred civilians, ten or fifteen of whom were white men. We were supplied with wagons in which to convey any whom we might find still alive.

Of course, a photographer and several reporters were off the party. Fully three miles from the scene of the massacre, we found the body of a woman completely covered with a blanket of snow. And from this point on, we found them scattered along as they had been relentlessly hunted down and slaughtered while fleeing for their lives. some of our people discovered relatives or friends among the dead and there was much wailing and mourning when we reached the spot where the indian camp had stood among the fragments of burned tents

and other belongings we saw the frozen bodies lying close together or piled one upon another i counted 80 bodies of men who had been in the council and who were almost as helpless as the women and babes when the deadly fire began, for nearly all their guns had been taken from them. A reckless and desperate young Indian fired the first shot when the search for weapons was well underway, and immediately the troops opened fire from all sides, killing not only unarmed men,

women, and children, but their own comrades, who stood opposite them, for the camp was entirely surrounded. It took all of my nerve to keep my composure in the face of this spectacle, and of the excitement and grief of my Indian companions, nearly every one of whom was crying aloud or singing his death song. The white men became very nervous, but I set them to examining and uncovering every body to see if one were living. Although they had been lying unattended

in the snow and cold for two days and nights, a number had survived. Among them I found a baby of about a year old, warmly wrapped and entirely unhurt. I brought her in, and she was afterward adopted and educated by an army officer. One man, who was severely wounded, begged me to fill his pipe. When we brought him into the chapel, he was welcomed by his wife and daughters with cries of joy, but he died a day or two later. Under a wagon, I discovered an old woman, totally blind

and entirely helpless. A few had managed to crawl away to some place of shelter, and we found in a log store nearby several who were badly hurt, and others who had died after reaching there. After we had dispatched several wagon loads to the agency, we observed groups of warriors watching us from adjacent buttes, probably friends of the victims who had come there for the same purpose as ourselves. A majority of our party, fearing an attack, insisted that someone ride back to the

agency for an escort of soldiers, and as mine was the best horse, it fell to me to go. I covered the 18 miles in quick time and was not interfered with in any way, although if any of the Indians meant mischief, they could easily have picked me off from any of the ravines and gulches. All this was a severe ordeal for one who had so lately put all his faith in the Christian love and lofty ideals of the white man. Yet I passed no hasty judgment and was thankful that I might

be of some service and relieve even a small part of the suffering. An appeal published in a Boston paper brought us liberal supplies of much-needed clothing and linen for dressings. We worked on. Bishop Hare of South Dakota visited us and was overcome by faintness when he entered his mission chapel, thus transformed into a rude hospital. After some days of extreme tension and weeks of anxiety, the hostiles, so-called, were at last induced to come in and submit to a general

disarmament. Father Jutz, the Catholic missionary, had gone bravely among them and used all his influence toward a peaceful settlement. The troops were all recalled and took part in a grand review before General Miles, no doubt intended to impress the Indians with their superior force. In March, all being quiet, Miss Goodale decided to send in her resignation and go east to visit her relatives, and our wedding day was set for the following June. End of chapter 7