their village. We were now sitting in the lodge, where our things were,
and I got out the large envelope containing my letter. It was sealed
with wax, and had an eagle stamped on it as large as a dollar. All
this show had a moral effect on the Indians, and when they saw it they
believed that I was a messenger from the Great Father. After smoking
the medicine-pipe, as is customary before a council, I interpreted the
contents of the letter in condensed form, the substance of which I have
already given. I urged the Crows to go to Benton, telling them that it
would be to their advantage to do so. They would receive many presents,
and besides would make peace with their ancient enemies. They listened
to me attentively, and then gave reply in the negative, saying that
their ponies’ feet were getting tender and the animals thin in flesh,
that there were no buffalo between where we were and Fort Benton, and
that they must remain where they were in order to secure meat for their
families. All this was common sense from their point of view, and left
me no ground for argument. A Crow party had recently been to Fort
Union, and had been informed by the traders there that the next moon
some white chiefs would be there to meet the Crows in council. This
proved to be the fact, as we afterward learned. The Crows could go to
Fort Union by easy stages and be among buffalo all the way, provided
their enemies did not run the game out of the country.
Jack gave the Crows the two scalps, the guns, and other things that
he had taken, and they gave him a good mule and complimented him on
being a great warrior. We told them that another Blackfeet war party
was out, said to be looking for Crows, but that we did not know where
they were. We got the women to cut some bunch-grass for our stock, in
order that they might be in good condition to make an early start next
morning. During the night Jack and I stood guard turn about, and many
young Crows did the same. By daylight we had breakfasted. The chiefs
had assembled to see us off, and I asked them if they knew where we
might find the Gros Ventres. They replied that we would find them
either south or east of, and near to, the Bear Paw Mountains. I told
them that we should try to get them to go to Benton if we could do
so. It was amusing to Jack and to me to listen to the chiefs as they
gave us advice about travelling, just as if neither of us had had any
experience. Though it was not needed, we took their advice in good
part. We paid the women for the grass and started.
When we left the village, the war-dance was in progress in one
part, and in another persons who had lost relations were mutilating
themselves, cutting off their fingers or puncturing their legs and
heads with the point of a knife, making the blood flow freely, and, as
they did this, wailing and mourning the loss of friends and relatives
in the fight. Jack, whose horses were good to lead, had saddled his
mule. When we started on the back track, we kept east of our old trail.
We apprehended little danger of meeting Sioux, Cheyennes, or Arapahoes,
and we did not at all regard the other Blackfeet war parties.
We made a bee-line for the mouth of the Musselshell River, and got
there at 9 A. M. next day, for Jack knew every foot of the country.
No Indian signs were visible. We collected some dry poles, bound them
together with willow twigs, put all our property on the raft, tied
riatas to the end of it, and, mounting, drove the stock across the
river, keeping hold of the ends of the ropes. The horses were good
swimmers, and we soon had the raft across. After the horses had been
rubbed down, saddled, and packed, we mounted and were off. Not many
minutes were occupied in accomplishing the crossing. We had no time to
waste, for the Indians might be upon us at any moment.
We now made a bee-line for the Little Rocky Mountains, and when we came
to a creek called Poshett,[9] which rises on the south side of the
Rockies, we began to see carcasses of the buffalo in different places.
The meat had been taken off, and a careful inspection showed that the
buffalo had not been slain more than five or six days. As we followed
up the creek there were more signs that a run had recently been made.
[9] Fourchette Creek, southeast of Little Rocky Mountains.
We had travelled fast that day, and when we reached a cluster of
box-elder trees, with good grass, we determined to remain there that
night, unless some hostiles should come and veto our intention. Before
unpacking we looked over the surrounding country for signs of village
smoke, and, discovering nothing, we cooked, feasted, and kept our
live-stock on the best of grass, all the while keeping a good lookout.
We had breakfast before daylight next morning, packed up, and were
off. Following up the creek, we struck a lodge-pole trail going east,
between the two Little Rockies. After it had passed the buttes, the
trail bore to the left, going north, and now we saw fresh pony-tracks,
a sure sign that the village was not far off. Before us lay a plateau,
and beyond that was Beaver Creek, where we found the Gros Ventres
village. We had been discovered before we got near it, being met
outside the village by Famasi, the head chief, an old acquaintance, who
escorted us to his lodge.
After feasting and smoking, a council of all the chiefs was held,
and the object of our visit was stated to them. They consulted among
themselves for some time, the result of the council being that they
agreed to go to Benton, and they asked me when they would be wanted
there. I told them that the commissioners were now waiting for them,
and that they had better start the village for Benton to-morrow, for
it would take them two and a half or three days to get there. It was
sixty miles as the crow flies to Benton, but I expected to be there the
following night. I told the chief that he had better send two or three
of his men with us, and he agreed to do so.
I got six women to cut an abundance of grass for our stock. They also
built a small corral for us. Before daylight the Indians turned out
their ponies to graze, and by daylight breakfast was over, the lodges
were down, and the women were getting everything ready for packing. The
ponies were now brought in. Bear Wolf and Star Robe, two sub-chiefs,
were selected to accompany us. Here Jack traded his mule for eight fine
garnished robes. He wanted me to take seven of them, but I selected
four. He packed the robes on one of his horses, and by seven o’clock
we started, taking the best and most direct route to Benton, passing
on the south side of the Bear Paw Mountains. We nooned at Eagle Creek,
about half-way. Small bands of buffalo were seen, and we killed two
fat ones. Selecting the choicest parts, we feasted as no mortals ever
feasted, unless they have feasted on fat cow buffalo.
Our camp was about one and a half miles from the mountains. Star Robe,
with my glass, was looking the mountain over, and when he returned to
camp he said that seven Indians were coming down the stream afoot. Jack
said: “Blackfeet! I will stop them from coming here!” He stripped down
to his breech-clout, mounted his best horse, and took the ridge. I had
Dick ready for emergency, in case something should happen to Jack.
About half a mile up the stream Jack halted. Some two hundred yards
beyond him the seven Indians came up on the ridge. I was watching every
move made. One of the Indians approached Jack. After a short time he
returned to the other Indian, and they all went back to the mountain.
Jack informed us that he had told the Indians not to come nigh us, as
they would get shot, but to go to Benton, where all the Indians were
going to meet the white chiefs in council.
Those Indians did go to Benton, and Jack, knowing them, introduced me
to them. They laughed at the idea of the two of us being able to put
all of them to sleep; that nettled Jack, and he asked me to show them
what I could do with my “medicine gun,” as he called my Henry rifle.
At this place the Missouri River is about two hundred and fifty yards
wide, and on the farther, or south, side near the water there stood
a stone about one foot in diameter. There were about one hundred and
fifty Indians present at the time. I had practised at that rock more
than once. I fired seven shots at it in rapid succession, and each shot
would have hit an Indian. All the Indians put their hands over their
mouths--a sign of astonishment. They wished to examine the rifle, but
I refused to let them touch it, let alone examine it. I was determined
to keep them mystified about the Henry rifle as long as I could. I
was offered four times the price I paid for it--one hundred and six
dollars, as already stated.
When I reported to the commissioners, they were somewhat disappointed
that the Crows were not coming to the council. I notified the
commissioners that the Gros Ventres would be here in two days, and that
two of their chiefs had come here with us. The commissioners requested
me to take care of these chiefs until the village arrived. I did so,
charging the commissioners one dollar a meal for each Indian, the
same price that I charged the white men; but I ought to have had two
dollars, as one of these Indians could get away with as much grub as
two white men.
Some northern Indians were now beginning to come in. Three days after
our return the steamboat got to Benton. Two days after the arrival of
that boat fully thirty-five hundred Indians were in camp on Benton
Bottom. The Piegans and the Bloods had about three hundred and fifty
lodges. Father-of-all-Children,[10] the Blackfeet chief, had fifty
lodges, but doubled up; that is to say, two families in one lodge. The
total number of Indians, big and little, was about four thousand, and
more parties were constantly arriving, swelling the number. The other
Blackfeet Indians were too far away to attend the council, and besides
that, they had no right to be there to receive presents from the United
States, as they belonged to Canada. The people from the north pitched
their lodges mostly on the upper end of the Bottom, but the Gros
Ventres pitched theirs on the lower end, some three hundred yards east
of the old fort. Formerly they had been friends with the Piegans and
the Bloods, but for the last four years they had been at war, and there
was the bitterest hatred between them. Hence this wide separation of
their lodges. The council-chamber had been put in order. The American
flag was handsomely displayed, with other decorations. The steamboat
had been unloaded and the goods stored. This was about the 20th of
September, 1865.
[10] _Měn ěs tō´ kōs_, literally, All are his children, but
commonly spoken of as Father of all children.
As stated in the earlier part of this narrative, I had been appointed
deputy marshal, though I knew nothing about the duties of the office.
I asked General Meagher what was expected of me as marshal, and he
replied: “Keep order, see that the chiefs are seated in their allotted
places, and that the interpreters are ordered to bring all chiefs and
principal warriors to the council.”
At the appointed time, all had come except the Gros Ventres. Tunica,
the interpreter, returned from the camp, saying that the Gros Ventres
chiefs were afraid to come. The commissioners commanded me, as
sergeant-at-arms, to bring the chiefs and headmen of the tribe to the
council. I was armed at all points. Dick was saddled, and I went to the
village. I got six of the leading chiefs, who wanted to bring their
arms with them, but I gave them to understand that this would not be
permitted by the white chiefs in council, that no one could enter the
council-chamber armed, except myself. I gave them assurance that no
harm would come to them in council, and soon returned with the chiefs,
and placed them on the left of the Piegans. They had been acquainted
with each other before the war, and had been good friends.
It was one P. M. when the clerk produced a roll of closely written
sheets of paper. It looked to me to be two quires, the treaty which
came from the Indian Commissioner at Washington. The clerk began
reading it by sections, and then waited to have it interpreted. The
Piegans, Bloods, and Blackfeet needed but one interpreter, but the
Gros Ventres had to have their own interpreter. It took fifteen to
twenty minutes to get through with one sentence, and even then neither
interpreter nor Indians understood one-tenth of its meaning. I saw that
it would take forty days to get through if a change was not brought
about. Little Dog, the Piegan chief, told his interpreter to inform
the commissioners that the council would be adjourned until next day
in order to consult on the mode of procedure to be used thereafter and
the language to be employed in carrying through a treaty with a wild,
untamed lot of Indians, ninety per cent of whom had no desire to mix
with or deal with any whites, except to trade for certain commodities
which they stood in need of. The commissioners knew as little of how to
proceed to make those Indians understand their meaning as an Apache
would know of Latin.
My eating-house now did a rushing business, for that evening I was
asked to give supper to all the chiefs. It would have been amusing to
any one with a knowledge of Indian character to see the warriors who,
when they heard I was going to give all the chiefs their supper, came
to me and claimed to be chiefs. We did feed perhaps a dozen leading
warriors besides the chiefs. I notified the cook to be prepared to feed
about forty Indians. We had plenty to eat, but no fancy dishes. The
cook was well up in his business.
After supper, the commissioners called the interpreter and me to
council with them, for they saw that some change must be made in the
proceedings. We told them that they must condense, must leave out
“party of the first part,” “party of the second part,” “for and in
consideration of, etc.,” and must state in as few words as possible
what they desired of the Indians. The clerk got to work, and in half an
hour had the forty closely written sheets of paper condensed to less
than one, which contained the meaning of the whole.
At nine o’clock next morning the council met again, all the chiefs
being in their seats. The Small Robe band of Piegans claimed the land
on the south side of the Missouri River as far as Musselshell River.
They ceded in the treaty all their rights to this territory. Other
Piegans and the Blood Indians claimed territory along the summit of
the Rocky Mountains south to the Little Blackfoot River, and thence
southeast to the Missouri River. In the treaty they ceded all the
territory from the mouth of the Marias River up the Marias to the
Teton River, following the middle of the stream to its source, for a
stipulated sum to be given them for twenty years. The Gros Ventres had
no land to cede. The Blackfeet also had no land to cede, and according
to the views of many they had no business in this treaty, because they
lived in, and claimed to belong to, what they called Red Coat Land,
namely, that belonging to King George. Some of them wore King George’s
medals, and showed that they felt proud of them. All the country east
of the Teton River was set apart for a Piegan and Blood reserve. The
treaty was concluded by five P. M. All the Indians understood what was
wanted of them, and the preliminaries were thus shortened by at least
thirty-nine days. The treaty was not satisfactory to all the Indians,
but they had to abide by it. Without the influence of some of the
mountaineers--who never received any credit for the part they took in
bringing it about--that treaty would not have been made at that time.
[Illustration: A DISTRIBUTION OF GOODS TO THE GROS VENTRES]
The next day began the distributing of the goods. It would take the
pen of a Mark Twain to describe the scenes that took place. Two days
were required to get through this distribution, and the goods that
remained and were to be issued to half-breeds were put in my charge,
for distribution when the breeds had all arrived.
The next morning the commissioners paid me out of the Indian goods for
feeding the Indians and for my trip across the country, and I had Jack
paid for his time, also from the goods. The commissioners then left for
Helena with Agent Gad. E. Upson. He knew as much about an Indian as I
did about the inhabitants of Jupiter.
About ten A. M., one hour after the commissioners had left, Little
Dog, chief of the South Piegans, came into town and found us. This
man was one of the noblest and bravest chiefs living at that day. He
was a friend to the whites, and had killed four of the under chiefs
of his tribe for warring against the whites. He could muster about
two hundred and fifty warriors. When he found me, he told me that the
North Piegans, under Mountain Chief, the Bloods, and the Blackfeet,
had secured some whiskey and were getting ugly and singing their
war-songs. Little Dog advised the whites to remain in their houses. He
believed that these northern people would attack the Gros Ventres camp,
and might also shoot at the whites. Some Indian women had warned us
of the situation just before Little Dog came in. Now the agent had a
twelve-pound brass cannon. We put this in a “doby” building which was
used as a warehouse, and through the wall knocked a hole about twelve
inches in diameter for the muzzle, as well as several portholes for
rifles. There was no one present who knew much about cannons, but we
loaded the piece with six pounds of powder rammed tight, twenty pounds
of one-ounce balls, and some smaller bullets, for we were determined to
have it double-shotted. J. V. Cochran, who lives in Billings, Montana,
had charge of the cannon. He was, and is, as game as a war eagle,
and if called upon, would have fired the cannon if it had burst in a
thousand pieces.
We had rifle-pits dug at different points of vantage, and there were
forty-five white men to defend them. At the fort, the Northwest Fur
Company had twelve men, all of them in the fort, with the gates locked.
No assistance could be expected from them.
I mounted Dick and, with Little Dog and Jack, paid a visit to the Gros
Ventres. They had already been warned, had their lodges pitched in
a circle, their ponies corralled, and rifle-pits dug all around the
village. All the warriors were stripped to the breech-clout, and many
of them were painted as demons are supposed to paint. Famasi and Star
Robe, the chiefs, met us outside. Little Dog informed them that he
would try to prevent the hostiles from attacking them, and advised them
not to shoot first if the hostiles came. He declared that he and his
people would be their friends, and bidding them good-by, we returned.
After looking over the ground and seeing that everything was in order
for defence in the town, I went with Little Dog and Jack to the village
of the South Piegans. The young men were busy putting their arms in
order for action, for they expected a fight. It must be remembered
that at this time bad blood existed between many of the North Piegans
and the South Piegans, and though things were outwardly peaceful
enough, a war between them could easily have been precipitated. Leaving
the South Piegans, I rode around to the other villages and notified all
the chiefs that they must control their young men, must not permit them
to commit any overt act, and must keep them away from the Gros Ventres
village, or half of their warriors would be killed. Jack confirmed
my assertion, adding much more to it. The chiefs used their utmost
endeavor to control their young men, and they partially succeeded with
many.
The day after the Indians left the boys joked me about forty-five men
going to kill half of fifteen hundred warriors, saying: “Bill had more
gall than the devil, and could out-bluff six.”
About eleven o’clock five hundred naked warriors in their war regalia,
painted and mounted on their best ponies, which were also painted, went
down the bottom toward the Gros Ventres village, yelling and uttering
their war-cries. The ground fairly trembled under the horses’ feet.
Every one expected that the fight was on. Little Dog had sixty warriors
at the upper end of the town. I remained with him, and we carefully
watched the proceedings below, expecting every moment to hear shots.
The Indians rode around the Gros Ventres camp, some two hundred yards
distant from it. If one shot had been fired by either party, a bloody
fight would have followed, as those Indians who were now held back by
their chiefs would then have joined their friends. The whites could not
have left the town to give assistance to the Gros Ventres, nor could
the Gros Ventres leave their village to help the whites. I think that
if it had come to the point, Little Dog would have joined the whites.
It was believed by many experienced Indian men present that our visit
to the Gros Ventres village prevented what might have been a massacre,
or at least would have been a hard fight. There were many hot-headed
and brave young Gros Ventres, and it may have been that our warning
kept them from some rash acts.
Little Dog notified all the hostile bands that if they attacked the
whites they would have him to fight. They were all of them afraid of
him, and I know that his stand had a moral effect.
The hostiles rode around the Gros Ventres village many times, yelling,
calling names, and sending forth challenges to the Gros Ventres to come
out and fight; but the Gros Ventres remained quiet in their rifle-pits.
I learned afterward that it was all their chiefs could do to keep their
young men from accepting the hostiles’ challenges to fight. After a
great deal of this verbal defiance, the hostiles rode back to their
camp on a run, firing off their guns in the air. When opposite the town
they halted and formed a half circle and began to sing their war-songs.
After the songs a few approached within two hundred yards of the
agency building, calling the whites dogs and women, names which were
understood. The interpreters were directed to tell the Indians to stop
their talk or we would kill them, and presently they rode back to their
company, gave a yell of defiance, and left for their villages.
This lull gave us all an opportunity to eat dinner. I took Little Dog,
Jack, and three other chiefs with me to dinner, and just as we had
finished eating a fearful yell was heard. The chiefs jumped up and
mounted quickly, making signs to the whites to remain in the houses. I
mounted Dick and went with the chiefs, though many of the men called
out to me: “Don’t go, sheriff.” I had decided what I should do in case
of a fight. If the hostiles attacked the town, and Little Dog attacked
the hostiles, I would remain with him, for there I would be of more
benefit to the town than I would be in the building. If, on the other
hand, Little Dog failed to act, I could return to the town.
The yell was given by some one thousand two hundred painted savages,
each of whom had tied from five to twenty yards of calico to his
horse’s tail and started out on a run all over the bottom. Calico of
many colors was flying in all directions, and each Indian was trying
to make his pony step on the calico tied to the horse next in advance.
They were yelling and firing off their guns in every direction. It was
a wild orgy, such as neither I nor any one else had ever beheld, and
we had witnessed many a wild scene. It was something for a Rembrandt or
a Remington to paint; the first scene of the kind, and, I believe, the
last, ever seen in the United States.
[A scene somewhat similar to the one described took place in southern
Nebraska in the year 1867 when the Cheyennes ditched a freight train on
the railroad then being constructed across the continent. The Indians
who took part in the wrecking of this train have told me how the
freight cars were broken open, the goods taken from them and scattered
over the prairie, and how the young men in sport knotted the ends of
bolts of calico to their horses’ tails and then galloped wildly in all
directions, the cloth streaming behind them in the wind.]
That night the Gros Ventres, like the Arabs, silently moved their
village, without being discovered by their enemies. The next morning
all the Indians except Little Dog’s band left for the north, to go to
their own country. Before they left two war parties had been organized
to raid upon the miners and ranchmen in different sections of the
Territory. Such was the result of this great treaty.
Before they moved out a few of us visited the Indian villages. As many
Indians were dissatisfied with the treaty, they looked on us with
distrust, and hatred was plainly visible in their faces and their
actions. We assumed the authority to notify the chiefs that they must
control their young men and keep them from stealing from the whites,
or war on them by the whites would continue. In part the treaty was
successful. As a whole it was a failure, for a chronic state of warfare
continued for years.
INDEX
Abenakis, 58.
Abert, Lt., 205.
A Boy in Indian Camps, 235, 237.
_Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky Mountains_, 194.
_Adventures on the Oregon or Columbia River_, 4.
Agave Americana, 197.
“Albatross,” 36.
Ama-ketsa, 89, 90, 111.
American Fur Co., 5, 153.
Antelope, habits of, 310.
Apache, 138, 154, 188.
Arapahoes, 154, 161, 188, 260, 329, 335.
Arkansas River, 128, 129, 130, 189.
Arkansor River, 278.
Arrow Creek, 333.
Arroyo Hondo, 147.
Assiniboine, Fort, 121.
Astor Company, 5.
Astor House, 278.
Astor, John Jacob, 3, _et seq._
Astor project, 38.
Astoria, 3, 12, 42.
Astoria, building of, 10.
Bait for alligator, 279.
Baker, I. G., 328.
Baker’s Bay, 8, 37.
Ban-at-tees, 88, 111.
Bannocks, 88.
Barbadoes, 194.
Battle of bulls, 294.
Battles at Adobe Walls, 154, _et seq._
Battle with Piegans, 95.
Bay, Baker’s, 8, 37.