Bill Dugan_War Chiefs 03

by Sitting Bull

  News from the Powder River was sketchy, but late in December the Hunkpapas were cheered by word that nearly a hundred Long Knives had been killed by Oglala warriors under Red Cloud and Crazy Horse. Sitting Bull learned of the attack on Captain Fetterman and his troopers firsthand from his nephew, White Bull, who was there at Fort Kearny during the battle.

  As the winter settled in, Sitting Bull established a village ten miles up the Yellowstone, within easy striking distance of Fort Buford. His first assault enabled him to gain control of some outlying buildings, but when the soldiers rallied the following morning, the Hunkpapa were forced to surrender their modest gain. The troopers were supported by heavy artillery fire, and the exploding shells and grapeshot took a heavy toll on the besieged warriors. The Hunkpapas withdrew in defeat once more. They set fire to stacks of firewood work crews had been cutting for several months, but it was small satisfaction.

  The winter turned bitter-cold, but Sitting Bull kept up the pressure. Between the presence of his warriors and the terrible weather, he was able to cut the fort off completely from contact with the outside world. No one dared come out, and it was impossible for anyone to make it through the deep snow. No one was foolish enough to try, anyway, with the mountains full of Lakota warriors.

  But when the spring came, the Long Knives were still there. Sitting Bull kept sending messages to the fort through traders at nearby Fort Union that he intended to burn the fort to the ground and wipe every last trace of the stockade off the face of the earth. But all his bluster served only to galvanize support for the beleaguered soldiers, and as soon as the thaw permitted travel, Sully sent reinforcements and supplies, including a shipment of improved breechloaders, which made the Hunkpapa position even more difficult.

  To make matters worse, the soldiers began building yet another fort. It was beginning to look as if there would soon be more Long Knives than Lakota warriors in the Missouri Valley.

  Chapter 20

  Missouri River Valley

  1868

  WHILE THE FIGHTING CONTINUED, the Hunkpapa, including Sitting Bull and Gall, another chief prominent in the war faction, continued to barter with the white traders at Fort Berthold. Most of the trading posts were surrounded by Lakota villages, some of them virtually permanent, as many of the people became what the war faction referred to as “hang-about-the-forts.” But even those characterized by the government as hostiles were growing increasingly dependent on the forts for goods they could get nowhere else.

  The Lakota were developing a taste for coffee and processed sugar, which they could not get except in trade. But their primary dependence on the traders was for ammunition and weapons. The government was trying to regulate Lakota access to firearms, but there was a legitimate need for rifles, which were used with increasing frequency in hunting buffalo. In addition, many of the traders knew that the Lakota would get weapons and ammunition from wandering bands of Canadian Indians, the Red River Metis, itinerant traders who were called Slota by the Lakota.

  Rather than see the business for weapons go elsewhere, the traders tended to ignore regulations and make weapons, including some of the new breech-loading Spencer rifles and some Winchester and Springfield repeating rifles, available to the Lakota, without regard to whether the Indians in question followed Running Antelope or one of the other peace chiefs, or were adherents of the war faction under Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, or Gall. Business, after all, was business.

  Sitting Bull insisted on strict decorum whenever trading at one of the forts. He did not want to give the traders any cause for alarm, or the small army garrison reason to interfere. Rather than risk being cut off from access to Fort Berthold, it was better to swallow a little pride and get what was needed to pursue the war more effectively.

  There were times when the war seemed pointless—and possibly endless—to Sitting Bull. As always, he confided in Four Horns, the one man among the Hunkpapa with whom he felt he could be completely honest, now that Jumping Bull was gone.

  In early 1867, they were riding back from Fort Berthold to their village, twenty-five miles away. It was a beautiful evening in late spring, and the thick grass was already a brilliant green. The first flowers were beginning to bloom, and the rolling hills were draped in half a dozen different shades of purple, pink, and blue. It was so beautiful, and it made Sitting Bull’s heart ache to think that all that beauty might somehow be taken away from his people. But it was beginning to seem increasingly as if there was nothing that could prevent that from happening.

  “You know, uncle,” he said, his voice barely audible, “sometimes I think perhaps I should try to make peace with the white man.” He lapsed into a silence that seemed to hang in the air like a cloud, smothering all sound.

  Four Horns gazed at him questioningly, but didn’t press him, knowing that his nephew was trying to find the right words to say what was on his mind.

  They had ridden nearly a mile before Sitting Bull continued. “I have fought so hard for so long against the white man that I don’t think they would ever leave me alone now, even if we did make a treaty. I have killed so many whites. I think maybe it would be best if I died in battle. At least then I would die true to the old ways, the Lakota ways, that I have tried so hard to protect.”

  Four Horns tried to reassure him. “Other chiefs have killed whites, and they have managed to make peace.”

  “But not a good peace. And it is a peace on the white man’s terms, a peace which takes everything from the Indian, leaving him nothing but memories. His freedom is taken away. He is told where to live, told to become a farmer instead of hunting the buffalo. I could never do that. It would weigh too heavily on me. It would be like being crushed under a thousand rocks. That is no way to live. Even when I just think about what it would be like, I find it hard to breathe. It is not a good way for any Lakota. Certainly not for me.”

  “Perhaps you could try. You could send a messenger to General Sully telling him you wanted to talk about peace. After you hear what he has to say, you could make up your mind whether it is something you could live with.”

  Sitting Bull shook his head. “I don’t trust them. They tell us lies and when we tell them they have lied, they lie about that, too. You remember what Little Crow said about living on the reservation, how it was like being in a lodge that had no door, no way in or out.”

  “Little Crow is dead,” Four Horns reminded him.

  “True, but at least he died a free man, not a captive on a reservation.”

  “You have to decide whether it is better to die a free man, or live as one who is not quite so free but at least is alive.”

  “Crazy Horse and I have talked about this, and he thinks as I do. I think it would be worse than being dead—watching our lands ruined, watching our people give up the old ways, making themselves white on the outside. Soon they would be white on the inside, too. What would happen to them then?”

  “Each man has to decide for himself.”

  “But he has to know what he is deciding. If only I could truly know what it would be like. I think I believe what Little Crow said. And what Inkpaduta said. That the reservation is a terrible place.”

  “If you believe that in your heart, then you have to keep on fighting. If you stop, there will be no one among the Hunkpapa who will continue.”

  “Gall would.”

  “Gall is like you. He wants to protect the people, but he has the same doubts. I have spoken to him more than once, and we have had a conversation very much like this one. No one knows what to do. But maybe that is part of being free. If you have no uncertainty, you also have no control. Everything is already decided, no matter what you think or want to do.”

  “Then I cannot stop fighting.”

  “Then you shouldn’t. You know that I am with you, no matter what you decide. You have the respect of your people. You have the respect of the Strong Hearts and the Kit Foxes and the other warrior societies. They will follow wherever you lead. As I will.”

 
“If only I knew where.” Once more he lapsed into silence, and for the rest of the trip he said not another word. Four Horns looked at him once and thought he saw the silver rivulet of a tear on his cheek. He turned away. It was better not to talk about such things.

  When they reached home, Her Holy Door pulled him into her lodge to tell him that news had come from the west. A Black Robe was coming on a peace mission. “The one they call De Smet is coming,” she said. “He is coming to talk to us about peace with the white man.”

  Sitting Bull, like most plains Indians, knew of Pierre Jean De Smet. The Jesuit had been traveling across the plains for years, often going where no white man had ever been. And always, he treated the Indians he encountered with respect. He seemed to understand their ways as no other white man did, and he had a kind of courageous dignity the Indians respected. He did not talk down to them, and he did not lie to them.

  Maybe, Sitting Bull thought, there is a way out after all. He listened while Her Holy Door told him the rest of what she had heard, then sent runners westward to try to learn more details. And while he waited to learn more, he continued his war.

  A week later, messengers reached the Hunkpapa with news that the Great Father had established a peace commission, and that its members wanted to talk to Sitting Bull about settling the dispute over right-of-way for the railroads. But Sitting Bull was not interested in compromising just yet.

  Gradually, more information about Father De Smet’s visit was obtained from some of the peace chiefs, Running Antelope and Bear’s Rib in particular, who had been kept informed by Charles Galpin, one of the traders with whom the Lakota did business, and a man they respected. Galpin was married to a Lakota woman who was half Hunkpapa and half Two Kettle, and he was trusted to tell them the truth.

  A week after his latest raid, word reached Sitting Bull that De Smet was indeed on his way. While he waited for the priest, he tried to imagine why the Jesuit would want to talk to him, and what, if anything, the priest could do to ensure that this peace was somehow different from all those that had gone before—a fair one that would be upheld not just by the Lakota but by the white man, too.

  They were camped on the Yellowstone, not far from the Powder, and on the edge of Oglala territory. Already, Sitting Bull was hearing news that Red Cloud was beginning to waver in his determination to continue his war against the white army, although he also heard that Crazy Horse was as determined as ever to drive the whites out of Lakota land.

  The camp was a large one, including bands under the leadership of Black Moon, Four Horns, and Red Horn. Gall was there, and so was No Neck. At least, Sitting Bull thought, I will not be the only one who thinks as I do. And if I have doubts, I can talk to men who will understand.

  Runners announced the imminent arrival of the mission and carried information that Running Antelope, Bear’s Rib, and Two Bears were among the Lakota providing protection for De Smet and his followers. Sitting Bull also learned that Galpin was along, with his wife, and that they would serve as interpreters for the conference. At least he could feel confident that his words would be accurately explained to the Black Robe, and that he would know exactly what the missionary told him. But the presence of the peace chiefs was not reassuring.

  On June 19, Four Horns sent dozens of warriors in full paint and regalia out to meet the missionary. As the procession drew close to the village, the lodges emptied as almost every man, woman, and child in the nearly seven hundred tipis turned out to witness the arrival. Many of them had heard of De Smet, but few had ever seen him.

  Sitting Bull stood in the rear ranks, watching the approach of a fluttering banner, decorated with gold stars and the figure of a woman in a long, flowing robe. The vanguard headed straight for Sitting Bull’s lodge and stopped directly in front of it. Sitting Bull stepped forward, edging through the akicita who had been providing protection for the Jesuit, and greeted him with a raised hand.

  Orders were given to break up the crowd, and the akicita sent the people scurrying back to their lodges. The missionary was escorted into Sitting Bull’s tipi and food and water were brought in.

  The chiefs let the weary travelers rest and talked among themselves, trying to anticipate what he might have to say. “I think we should let him tell us, instead of trying to guess ourselves,” Sitting Bull suggested. “When he is rested, we will meet with him, and then we will learn what he has to say to us.”

  It was near sundown before De Smet was rested enough to greet his hosts. Sitting Bull, Black Moon, Four Horns, and No Neck comprised the official greeting party, and they entered Sitting Bull’s lodge to find the priest prepared to talk, and the Galpins ready to translate for them.

  Sitting Bull took the lead and told De Smet how the war between the Lakota and the white man was the white man’s doing. “I have killed many whites,” he began, “but not without provocation. They have taken our land, they have killed our women and children, they have come where they were not welcome and told those who have always lived there that they would have to leave. I am willing to listen to what you have to say, and I am prepared to be peaceful, but not if it means giving up everything my people need to live.”

  De Smet listened respectfully, occasionally asking a question or two, gathering information for the formal discussions scheduled to begin the following day.

  As usual, the next day’s ceremony began with a pipe. Four Horns lit it, raised it above his head, gestured toward the earth and the cardinal points, then handed it to Father De Smet, who smoked as if he had been doing it all his life. From the Jesuit, the pipe made its way around the council from chief to chief. They were meeting in a council lodge that had been built by combining several ordinary lodges into a single structure. Even so it was cramped, as there were so many participants.

  Four Horns then invited De Smet to speak. The Jesuit framed his remarks carefully and delivered them with deliberation, pausing periodically to allow Galpin to translate for the Lakota.

  “I am not here to make peace,” he said. “I cannot do this, but it is something I want to see happen. I think it would be a good thing if you were to meet with the peace commissioners at Fort Rice.”

  At the mention of the hated post, Sitting Bull grew tense, but he said nothing. De Smet continued, “This war is a terrible thing. It is terrible for the whites and it is terrible for the Lakota. The cruelty is causing pain to everyone involved, and it would be a good thing if it could be ended now.”

  He paused to wait for the translation, looking around at the assembled chiefs. He did not seem afraid, only concerned that he be understood clearly, and Sitting Bull was impressed.

  “I wish, I beg,” the Jesuit went on, “that you bury your hatred. Try to forgive the white man for the cruelty he has shown you, as he will forgive you.” He stopped then to look at the banner bearing the likeness of the Virgin Mary. Indicating it, he said, “I will leave this holy emblem of peace with you as a token of my sincere wish and a reminder that you must consider what is best for the Lakota people. And I think peace is what is best.”

  Black Moon took the pipe now, puffed it several times, then responded on behalf of all the chiefs. “I know you mean what you say. But you should know that there are many hatreds. There has been much suffering, and it is the white man who has caused it all. Every place we look, there are forts full of Long Knives. Our forest is destroyed, our buffalo slaughtered. The earth is stained red all across the plains, from both white and Indian blood. This is because we have been lied to again and again by the white man. If we could know for sure that we would be lied to no more, in time we might be able to forget what has gone before, and put it behind us. But I do not know if we can forget because I do not know if we can ever believe what the white man says.”

  Sitting Bull then took the pipe and made his speech. “I hope,” he said, “that you are successful.

  But I do not think so. We will send people to the council, and we will accept whatever is decided, so long as it is fair and the white ma
n means to honor his promises.”

  He paid his respects then to De Smet and the Galpins and resumed his seat, only to jump up again immediately. “I have forgotten a few things I wanted to say,” he told them. “I think the white man should know that we will not sell or surrender any part of our lands. The white man must stop destroying the trees along the Missouri River, and most of all, he must give up his forts and go back to his own territory. It is the forts, more than anything else, that insult us and provoke us.”

  The discussion went on for several more hours, but everything that mattered to either side had already been said. When the council session ended, De Smet once again slept in Sitting Bull’s lodge, and on the following morning, with the akicita once more providing security, De Smet prepared to return to Fort Rice.

  Sitting Bull rode in the procession only as far as the Powder River. De Smet paid his respects, and Sitting Bull reminded him of what had been said the day before. When the Jesuit continued on his way, he was not accompanied by any of the significant chiefs in the war faction.

  Whether De Smet realized it or not, it was a clear signal from Sitting Bull and the other war chiefs that they held little hope for the advancement of peace by the commissioners.

  Chapter 21

  Missouri River Valley

  1868

  GALL HAD BEEN SENT TO THE TREATY conference at Fort Rice and he had stated the Hunkpapa case. Then he had signed the treaty, without realizing that not a single one of his concerns, and those of the other Hunkpapa chiefs, had been addressed by the agreement.

  In effect, nothing changed. The forts remained in place on the Missouri, and plans were taking shape for a reservation for the Lakota people. The treaty was concerned primarily with resolving the Powder River war. The government agreed to abandon the forts in Oglala territory, including C. F. Smith, but that meant nothing to the Hunkpapa, whose lands were far to the east. Nevertheless, Crazy Horse led a war party which burned the fort to the ground while the whites who relinquished it were still close enough to see the pall of smoke from its ruin.