Killing Crazy Horse

by Bill O'Reilly

  “On the morning of November 17th,” writes Burnett, who traveled alongside the Cherokee to enforce their removal, “we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures. And from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March 26, 1839, the sufferings of the Cherokee were awful. The trail of exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire.”

  Private Burnett adds: “The long painful journey to the west ended … with 4,000 silent graves reaching from the foothills of the Smoky Mountains to what is known as Indian Territory in the west.”

  Among the dead are the parents of Samuel Cloud, a nine-year-old Cherokee. He will never forget this journey, passing his emotions down from generation to generation, until his great-great-grandson will finally put the words onto the page.

  Cherokee Indians are forced from their homelands during the 1830s

  “I know what it is to hate,” Cloud states. “I hate those white soldiers who took us from our home. I hate the soldiers who made us keep walking through the snow and ice toward this new home that none of us ever wanted. I hate the people who killed my mother and father. I hate the white people who lined the roads in their woolen clothes that kept them warm, watching us pass. None of these white people are here to say they are sorry that I am alone. None of them care about me or my people. All they ever saw was the color of our skin.

  “All I see is the color of theirs.

  “And I hate them.”

  Chapter Eight

  MARCH 11, 1846

  CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS

  7:00 A.M.

  Lieutenant Hiram Ulysses “Sam” Grant is homesick.

  A soft morning breeze wafts in from the Gulf of Mexico as the five hundred men of the U.S. Fourth Infantry assemble. The future president is twenty-three, a five-foot-eight, clean-shaven graduate of the U.S. Military Academy, Class of 1843. Surrounded by swarms of black flies, the enlisted men and officers divide into lines by company. The Mexican border is just 130 miles south. After seven horrendous months on these Texas sands, buffeted by a winter of torrential rains, this fighting force is just days away from becoming the first army in U.S. history to invade another nation.

  Silently, Sam Grant wishes the Fourth Infantry was marching in the other direction. He is lonely and afraid. Last year, just before shipping out from the Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis, Grant swam his horse “Fashion” through a river at flood stage to say farewell to Julia Boggs Dent, the nineteen-year-old daughter of a Missouri plantation owner. The young officer soon proposed marriage, offering his West Point ring as a symbol of love. The brown-eyed Julia is pretty—though one of her eyes does not align with the other, a condition known as “walleye.” She has plenty of suitors and has already refused to marry Grant once. But this time her answer was yes. As a reminder that she would wait for him, Julia gave Sam Grant a lock of her hair.

  General Ulysses S. Grant at his Cold Harbor, Virginia, headquarters, June, 1864. Photograph by Egbert Guy Fowx.

  The young Ohioan carries it with him now. Grant pines to be at Julia’s side and writes love letter after love letter. He is so desperate to be with his fiancée that Grant has seriously contemplated resigning his commission. But that would be an act of cowardice, a shame he would carry the rest of his life. So U. S. Grant soldiers on.

  One year ago, Texas ceased being a sovereign nation and became America’s twenty-eighth state. The border between Texas and Mexico is still in dispute, so the Fourth Infantry has occupied Corpus Christi to keep the peace. But an enraged Mexican government has sent troops into these borderlands, providing an excuse for President James K. Polk to order the army south under the command of General Zachary Taylor.

  Victory is hardly assured. The decade since the U.S. Army battled Blackhawk and his Sauk Indians has been mostly a time of peace. There is grave concern within the ranks that the Americans are not as battle ready as the Mexican forces. But in truth, Mexico’s army has been equally absent from combat. The Comanche and Apache tribes have become increasingly bold in their raids on Mexican settlements, stealing thousands of cattle and murdering and kidnapping hundreds of homesteaders. But the Indians have become so fierce in this region that Mexico’s federal government does not want to fight them. Citizens have been urged not to set foot outside their settlements unless accompanied by at least thirty armed men. The Comanche’s dominance of Texas and northern Mexico is so profound that between July 1845 and June 1846—the same period of time in which American and Mexican troops are saber rattling along the Rio Grande border—Comanche raids into Mexico will account for more than 650 deaths. Farther to the west, Apache tribes steal and murder with the same impunity.

  And no one can stop them.

  Though Lieutenant Sam Grant and his fellow soldiers don’t know it, protecting the border will not be enough to satisfy President James K. Polk. He quietly covets not just Texas but also the territories of New Mexico and California to the west. For the former Tennessee governor and protégé of Andrew Jackson fervently believes in an expansionist vision known as “Manifest Destiny.”1

  Oregon Trail reenactment

  This philosophy, dreamed up far from the dusty plains of Texas in the cozy confines of a Washington salon, by a young idealist born into privilege and deeply smitten with the philosophies of Andrew Jackson, will soon lead to fifty years of war and death.

  In an 1839 article for the United States Magazine and Democratic Review, political writer John L. Sullivan first argues that America is “the great nation of futurity.” Expanding upon the theme in an 1845 essay entitled “Annexation,” Sullivan writes that it is “our manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions.”

  President Polk is on board with that. The United States is already taking advantage of a new route west known as the “Oregon Trail”: settlers on horseback and in covered wagons are traveling to establish farms and towns in territory on the Pacific Coast jointly occupied by the United States and Great Britain.

  There is no concept of intruding on Indian land because, according to the U.S. Supreme Court, Native American tribes are not sovereign nations, therefore not entitled to any protections at all.

  So even though the Comanche and Apache have total control of the Mexican-American border and much of the land in Texas, New Mexico, and California, no consideration is given to negotiating with either tribe.

  Lieutenant Sam Grant does not give the Comanche a second thought. Not once does he mention the Indians in his many letters home. Grant’s only worry is the Mexican Army—and making it home safely to Julia. “Fight or no fight,” he writes her, “everyone rejoices in leaving Corpus Christi.”

  But Sam Grant will not have the luxury of ignoring Native Americans and the lands they own much longer. For the Mexican-American War and the concept of Manifest Destiny will set into motion a horrible chain of events. During Grant’s lifetime, the simmering conflict between whites and the many Indian nations across the American West will erupt into a powerful confrontation. Among those who will perish is a fellow native of Ohio, a man who presently is just a seven-year-old boy. It will be left to the future president Grant to break the news to the country about this man’s massacre at a place called Little Bighorn.

  But that is thirty years into the future.

  After the gold rush.

  Chapter Nine

  DECEMBER 5, 1848

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  1:00 P.M.

  President Polk is satisfied.

  He makes that clear in his Annual Message to Congress, in which he presents his view: “Peace, plenty, and contentment reign throughout our borders, and our beloved country presents a sublime moral spectacle to the world.”

  After a two-year fight, James K. Polk forced the Mexican government to sign a peace treaty ten months ago, on February 2. U.S. forces under the command of General Zachary Taylor and then General Winfield Scott routed the enemy, ev
entually occupying the capital of Mexico City. Sam Grant started the war as a quartermaster, responsible for the logistics of feeding and supplying the army. But then he became a hero at the Battle of Monterey when he rode his horse through sniper-filled streets to deliver an urgent message. He did not sit upright in the saddle but “adjusted [him]self on the side of the horse furthest from the enemy, and with only one foot holding to the cantle of the saddle, and an arm over the neck of the horse exposed,” he galloped through the city.

  “It was only at street crossings that my horse was under fire, but these I crossed at such a flying rate that generally I was past and under cover of the next block of houses before the enemy fired.”

  Grant’s heroics, however, were in vain. The advance position he had been sent to warn was overrun.

  On August 18, 1847, the Mexican War offered Sam Grant yet another encounter. He had just returned to General Scott’s headquarters after a day of foraging for food to feed the troops. His uniform was unbuttoned, and his face was covered in dust and grime. A colonel approached, his uniform spotless, and he sharply scolded Grant for his slovenly appearance. The man spoke with a Virginia drawl and insulted Grant so completely that the memory would never fade.

  In this way, Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee met for the first time. They will not speak again until 1865, at a remote farmhouse in the Virginia village of Appomattox Court House, where Grant will accept the surrender of Lee’s Confederate troops, bringing the American Civil War to an end.1

  President Polk was the direct beneficiary of the American army’s effectiveness—and he knew it: “Within less than four years, the annexation of Texas to the Union has been consummated; all conflicting title to the Oregon Territory south of the forty-ninth degree of north latitude, being all that was insisted on by any of my predecessors, has been adjusted, and New Mexico and Upper California have been acquired by treaty.”

  Polk then adds: “The Mississippi, so lately the frontier of our country, is now only its center. With the addition of the late acquisitions, the United States is now estimated to be nearly as large as the whole of Europe.”

  * * *

  For the Apache and Comanche tribes, the Mexican War allows them an unchallenged opportunity to raid, steal, and kill. The Indians took advantage of white men fighting each other to grow even stronger. In fact, one provision of the war-ending Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo is that the United States will be responsible for policing the border, protecting the country of Mexico from future Indian incursions.

  Obviously, Mexico City wants no part of the Comanche and Apache.

  * * *

  President Polk’s Manifest Destiny policy quickly pays off in another area. Shortly after the Mexicans capitulate to the United States, gold is discovered in Northern California. Had Mexico still controlled that area, the giant strike would have been theirs.

  Polk quickly encourages Americans to head west to seek their fortune. Within months, thousands of young men answer his call. They travel overland by horse or even sail around South America in tall ships. Men flood into Northern California through a small fishing village known as San Francisco. They then proceed to the Sierra Nevada, which is home to a variety of Indian tribes. But President Polk does not care about the Native Americans. And the millions in gold soon extracted by the so-called 49ers does not benefit the tribes at all. In fact, the opposite is true. Indian land is being destroyed. More than twelve billion tons of earth will be moved in the gold exploration—reducing the depth of San Francisco Bay by three feet after rivers wash silt into that body of water.2

  But as with the Georgia gold rush of 1829, the influx of white speculators will soon lead to tragedy. Fearful of Indian attacks while searching for gold, the prospectors take brutal measures to completely rid California of Native Americans.

  Prior to Polk’s announcement, more than 150,000 Indians are estimated to live in California. These are not warring nomads like the Comanche; they are fishermen and hunters who maintain a peaceful existence along the ocean and in the mountains. But rather than move these tribes to reservations, or negotiate a treaty that might benefit the Indians, the gold miners simply attack.

  A shocking policy of extermination, land theft, and enslavement soon decimates the Native American population in California. Local militias are paid a cash bounty for murdering and scalping Native Americans.

  On May 15, 1850, at a place north of San Francisco known as Clear Lake, the federal government under the new president Zachary Taylor unofficially sanctions genocide. More than two hundred old men, women, and children of the Pomo tribe are surrounded and massacred by a regiment of federal troops called dragoons. In all, an estimated one hundred thousand Indians will die in the first two years of the California Gold Rush.3

  “A war of extermination will continue to be waged between the two races until the Indian race becomes extinct,” California governor Peter Hardeman Burnett tells the legislature in 1851, soon after the region is granted statehood. The newest addition to the Union has been admitted as a “free” state, but this protection does not extend to Native Americans. Thus, Indian children are commonly sold into slavery, forced to work on California farms and in the mines.

  “While we cannot anticipate this result but with painful regret,” Governor Hardeman concludes, “the inevitable destiny of the race is beyond the power or wisdom of man to avert.”

  But while the Indians of California are easily defeated, that will not be the case for other Native American tribes.

  Especially the seething warriors of Cochise.

  Chapter Ten

  APRIL 26, 1854

  APACHE PASS, NEW MEXICO TERRITORY

  MORNING

  The most feared man in Mexico is home.

  Cochise, the Chiricahua Apache chief, stoops low to exit the doorway of the small domed structure where he and his principal wife, Dos-teh-seh, have shared the night. The morning air is cool, and Cochise wears a cotton shirt with long pants. As the day becomes warmer, the chief will strip down to a simple loincloth. Sitting near the breakfast fire, he pulls on buckskin moccasins that come up to his knees to protect his legs from thorns and snakebite. A thick, durable sole curled up at the toe makes it easier to walk over rocky terrain.

  Now in his forties, the strikingly handsome Cochise has spent the winter raiding for cattle and horses deep into Mexico. He has presided over months of plunder and murder, with few eyewitnesses left behind. Almost everyone in Mexico who encounters Cochise dies. The Apache speaks little Spanish but well understands the screams of his victims until the moment they are murdered.

  This mountain stronghold is an oasis from all that, its lush meadows and oak forests a stark contrast to the barren mesquite and grasses of the surrounding desert. While the Apache are often spoken of as synonymous with desert living, they are in truth mountain dwellers. The “lost” mountains of this region, so called by American surveyor William H. Emory because they rise dramatically from the desert floor and seem to have no apparent connection to one another, not only allow a wide vista for Apache sentinels to see the dust of approaching enemies but also feature clear skies, fresh air, and plenty of timber for firewood.

  Apache Pass is also a place for family. Cochise and Dos-teh-seh, like most Apache, make camp and share food with several generations of their clan—perhaps up to forty people. But Cochise’s time here will be short, for he and a band of two hundred warriors are riding south again in one week. Cochise is a product of the harsh desert environment in which he was raised, possessing cruelty in abundance and pity not at all. Such harsh behavior is considered virtuous among the Apache. But here at the pass, where no outsiders are present, the chief is a different man. Cochise has a keen sense of humor, enjoys laughter, and is known for being cheerful. He can relax because he knows most Mexicans are terrified of entering Apache Pass, calling it el Puerto del Dado—“the Pass of Fate”—as entering will almost surely result in death. Thus, safe in this Chiricahua stronghold, Cochise can spend the next
few days at leisure.

  The Chiricahua have been coming to Apache Pass for centuries. A map of the region shows that this land belongs to Mexico, but in truth the Apache are in complete control. They are a tribe in name only, preferring to live and travel in bands composed of several family groups, which come together with other clans to raid and fight. The Chiricahua Apache domain extends well north into New Mexico and hundreds of miles south to the Sierra Madre range in the Mexican state of Sonora. Using a strategy of surprise attacks and unrelenting cruelty toward enemies, the Chiricahua have established themselves as the most feared of all Indian bands in this region. Their reign of terror is so absolute that no new American or Mexican settlements are established within Apache lands. The growing cities of Tucson, Albuquerque, and El Paso are purposely located on the outermost fringes of Apache territory, to avoid citizens having cattle stolen, homes burned, and their very lives snuffed without warning.

  * * *

  While Cochise has been away these past months, Dos-teh-seh has raised their teenage son, Taza. In time, Dos-teh-seh will give birth to a second boy, both of whom will be raised to succeed their father as a chief. Cochise also has a second wife, whose name has been lost to history, who will bear him two daughters.

  The man is the head of every Apache household, but in truth the women make most decisions. Like Cochise, Dos-teh-seh wears knee-high buckskin moccasins as she prepares the morning meal, very often an acorn stew. She is clad in a skirt and cotton shirt but, like other Apache women, prefers to wear no top at all when the day gets warm.

  It is Dos-teh-seh who builds the traditional wickiup shelter from tree branches and grass. It is a task she undertakes every time the family moves, and the process can be accomplished in less than two hours. The ceiling is always low, and there is no furniture because objects are a hindrance when it comes time to move. In the winter, animal hides are placed atop the small roof structure to keep out the snow, wind, and rain that so often buffet Apache Pass and other mountainous camping areas within the Chiricahua domain. The floors of the shelter are covered with animal-hide blankets, but the space is so cramped that there is just room enough for Cochise, his wife, and his son.