CAMPING AMONG THE SIOUX.
Our march took us through the grounds set apart by the Government for
the use of the Sioux Indians at peace with our country. We had not made
much progress before we began to see their graves. They do not bury
their dead, but place them on boards lashed to the limbs of trees, or
on high platforms raised from the ground by four poles perhaps twenty
feet. The body is wound round and round with clothing or blankets,
like a mummy, and inside the layers are placed fire-arms, tobacco,
and jerked beef, to supply them on the imaginary journey to the happy
hunting-grounds. In the early morning, when it was not quite light,
as we filed by these solitary sepulchres, it was uncanny and weird,
and the sun, when it came, was doubly welcome. Our first visitor from
Agency Indians was Fool-dog, a Sioux chief. He was tall, commanding,
and had really a fine face. When he was ready to go home he invited us
to come to his village before we left on our next march. At twilight
my husband and I walked over. The village was a collection of tepees
of all sizes, the largest being what is called the Medicine Lodge,
where the councils are held. It was formed of tanned buffalo-hides,
sewed together with buckskin thongs, and stretched over a collection
of thirty-six poles. These poles are of great value to the Indians,
for in a sparsely timbered country like Dakota it is difficult to find
suitable trees. It is necessary to go a great distance to procure the
kind of sapling that is light and pliable and yet sufficiently strong
for the purpose. The poles are lashed together at the tops and radiate
in a circle below. The smoke was pouring out of the opening above, and
the only entrance to the tepee was a round aperture near the ground,
sufficiently large to allow a person to crawl in. Around the lodge
were poles from which were suspended rags; in these were tied their
medicines of roots and herbs, supposed to be a charm to keep off evil
spirits. The sound of music came from within; I crept tremblingly in
after the general, not entirely quieted by his keeping my hand in his,
and whispering something to calm my fears as I sat on the buffalo robe
beside him. In the first place, I knew how resolute the Indians were in
never admitting one of their own women to council, and their curious
eyes and forbidding expressions towards me did not add to my comfort.
The dust, smoke, and noise in the fading light were not re-assuring.
Fool-dog arose from the circle of what composed their nobility, and
solemnly shook hands with the general; those next in rank followed his
example. The pipe was then smoked, and the general had to take a whiff
when it came his turn. Fortunately we escaped the speeches, for we had
not brought an interpreter.
Coming out of the light into this semi-darkness, with the grotesque
figures of the plebeians, as they danced around their chiefs and
contorted their bodies to the sound of the Indian drum and minor
notes of the singers, made it something unearthly in appearance; their
painted faces, grunts and grins of serious mirth as they wheeled around
the tepee, made me shiver. How relieved I felt when the final pipe was
smoked and the good-bye said! The curious eyes of the squaws, who stood
in the vicinity of the lodge, followed us, as they watched me clinging
to the general’s arm while we disappeared, in the direction of camp,
through the thickening gloom.
As we went farther north the twilights became longer, and I was greatly
deceived by having so much daylight. Every morning, when the reveille
sounded, in attempting to obey its summons I found myself actually
mystified from excessive drowsiness, and I announced my resolve to go
to bed at dark--as was often my custom on previous marches--when I was
informed that we had marched into a land where daylight continues into
the night hours. The general, who was always looking at the curious
effects in the heavens, delighted in the clearness of the atmosphere
and the myriads of stars that seemed to far outnumber all we had ever
seen in other skies. All the strange phenomena of northern climes
revealed themselves to us day by day. The sun and moon dogs, the lunar
rainbows, and sometimes three perfect arcs of brilliant color formed
directly above us in the heavens as we made our day’s march through
spring showers. The storms came down in great belts of rain sometimes,
and if the country were level enough we could look ahead on the plain
and see where the storm was crossing. This enabled us to halt in time
to escape a perfect sheet of pouring rain which fell like a wall of
water directly before us. Once we found ourselves in the midst of it,
and not knowing then the peculiarities of such storms, we took our
drenching philosophically, and believed that it was like too many
others that had kept us soaked to the skin for hours. Seeing the sun
shining in advance on the plain, the general and I put spurs to our
horses and rode out of the storm to perfectly dry ground. The sun came
down on us so hotly that we were soon enveloped in a halo of steam from
our drying clothes.
The history of one day’s march was that of many; they were varied by
small misfortunes over which we amused ourselves, but which were very
serious affairs to the melancholy Ham. He had cooked by fireplaces
in Kentucky, but never having lived out-doors before, he gained his
experience by hard trials. The little sheet-iron cooking-stove which we
considered such a treasure, was placed in the kitchen-tent on stormy
nights, and the bit of pipe, put through a hole in the canvas, had an
elbow so that it could be turned according to the direction of the wind.
One day, after camp was re-established, the general saw the smoke
pouring out of the opening of the kitchen-tent, and hurried to see what
was the matter. It was one of those days when the Dakota winds, like
those of Kansas, blow in all directions; poor Ham was barely visible
in the dense smoke inside the tent. “Why don’t you turn the pipe?” the
general called, above the tempest; and Ham shouted back, “Giniril,
I did; see whar she’s p’intin’ now?” His master’s sides shook with
laughter, for sure enough the pipe would have been right if there had
been any uniformity in the course of the wind. The general was hungry,
but he did not stop to complain; he found a place somewhat sheltered,
and digging a hole in the ground, taught the discouraged darkey how to
build a fire outside. At last we sat down to a burned, smoky meal, and
had to go to bed hungry.
Another day, when there was a small tornado, we began to wonder why
dinner was delayed; we looked out, to find the cook-tent blown flat to
the ground. The general ran to the rescue, and found Ham interred, as
the old-time child stories buried their heroes, “in a pot of grease.”
He had been thrown among skillets and kettles, and the half-cooked
dinner was scattered over him. The general helped him out, and was too
much exhausted with laughter over the old fellow’s exasperated remarks
about “such a low-down country,” to mind the delay of the dinner.
Indeed, he soothed him by telling him to wait and begin again when the
wind went down, as it usually does when the sun sets.
One day we caught sight of our American flag on the other side of the
river, floating over a little group of buildings inside a stockade.
When they told me that it was a military post, I could hardly believe
it possible; it seemed that no spot could be more utterly desolate.
Then I remembered having met an officer at Yankton who had told me that
was his station. As I looked at his fine face and figure, I could not
help thinking how thoroughly some woman would appreciate him. Thinking
aloud, I said that I hoped he had “improved each shining hour” of his
leave of absence, and was already engaged. He replied that I would see
his post as we went up the river, and then might comprehend why he did
not dare ask any woman to be his wife. I argued that if some girl grew
fond of him, it would little matter to her where she went, if it were
only by her husband’s side. I confess, however, that when I saw that
lonely place, I thought that it would require extraordinary devotion
to follow him there. It was an infantry station, and the soldiers’
barracks, officers’ quarters, and storehouses were huddled together
inside a wall made of logs placed perpendicularly and about fifteen
feet high. The sand was so deep about this spot that nothing could be
made to grow. Constant gusts of wind over the unprotected plain kept
little clouds of fine alkaline dust whirling in the air and filling
the eyes and mouth; not a tree was near, as the Missouri--that most
uncertain of rivers--kept constantly changing its channel, and the
advancing water washed away great hollows in the banks. The post would
then have to be moved farther back for safety. The soldiers would be
obliged to take up the stockade, and bury the logs as deep as they
could to keep them from blowing over. The frail buildings, “built upon
the sand,” rocked and swayed in the wind.
Beside the forlorn situation of this garrison, no one could go outside
to ride or hunt without peril. The warlike Indians considered that
side of the river theirs, and roamed up and down it at will. They came
incessantly to the small sliding panel in the gates of the stockade,
and made demands, which, if not consented to, were followed by howls
of rage and threatening gestures. All that the handful of men could do
was to conciliate them as best they could. The company was not full,
and possibly, all told, there were but fifty white men against hundreds
of Indians. The only variety in their lives was the passing of an
occasional steamer in the brief summer. Then settled down the pitiless
winter, burying them in snow which never left the ground until late in
the spring. The mail only reached them at irregular intervals. They
were compelled to live almost entirely on commissary stores, for though
living in the midst of game it was too hazardous to attempt to hunt.
When we found that one regiment had been seven years on the river, and
some of the officers had never taken leave of absence, it seems strange
that any one stationed at such a post had not gone stark mad. It makes
me proud of women when I recall the fact that the wife of an officer
did live in that wretched little post afterwards, and did not complain.
The cavalry, turning to look their last at that garrison, thanked the
good-fortune that had placed them in a branch of the service where
there was the active duty of campaigns to vary a life otherwise so
monotonous.
The dogs had almost as hard a time to become accustomed to the
vagaries of a Dakota climate as we did. We had to be their nurses
and surgeons. In our large pack of hounds there were many that had
marked individuality of character. Not many days could be passed in
their company before we were noticing new peculiarities not previously
observed. The general had a droll fashion, as we rode along, of putting
words into their mouths when they got into trouble, fought among
themselves, or tried to lord it over one another. One of them had been
given us, and had been called by her former owner “Lucy Stone.” In vain
did we try, out of respect for the life of the useful woman for whom
she was named, to rechristen the dog. She would neither listen nor
obey if called anything else. I can see her now, sitting deliberately
down in the road directly in front of us, and holding up a paw full
of cactus thorns. The general would say, “There sits Lucy Stone, and
she is saying, ‘If you please, sir, since you chose to bring me into a
land of bristling earth like this, will you please get down immediately
and attend to my foot?’” Her howls and upturned eyes meant an appeal,
certainly, and her master would leap to the ground, sit down in the
road, and taking the old creature in his arms, begin the surgery.
He carried one of those knives that had many adjuncts, and with the
tweezers he worked tenderly and long to extract the tormenting cactus
needles. Lucy was a complaining old dame, and when the general saw her
sit down, like some fat old woman, he used to say that the old madam
was telling him that she “would like to drive a bit, if you please.”
So it often happened that my travelling-wagon was the hospital for an
ill or foot-sore dog. The general had to stop very often to attend to
the wounded paws, but experience taught the dogs to make their way very
skilfully where the cactus grew. A dancing-master, tripping the steps
of instruction, could not have moved more lightly than did they. If
there were no one near to whom they could appeal in the human way those
dumb things have, they learned to draw out the offending thorns with
their teeth.
While we were all getting accustomed to the new climate, it was of no
use to try to keep the dogs out of my tent. They stood around, and eyed
me with such reproachful looks if I attempted to tie up the entrance
to the tent and leave them out. If it were very cold when I returned
from the dining-tent, I found dogs under and on the camp-bed, and so
thickly scattered over the floor that I had to step carefully over
them to avoid hurting feet or tails. If I secured a place in the bed
I was fortunate. Sometimes, when it had rained, and all of them were
wet, I rebelled. The steam from their shaggy coats was stifling; but
the general begged so hard for them that I taught myself to endure the
air at last. I never questioned the right of the half-grown puppies to
everything. Our struggles to raise them, and to avoid the distemper
which goes so much harder with blooded than with cur dogs, endeared
them to us. When I let the little ones in, it was really comical to
hear my husband’s arguments and cunningly-devised reasons why the older
dogs should follow. A plea was put up for “the hound that had fits;”
there was always another that “had been hurt in hunting;” and so on
until the tent would hold no more. Fortunately, in pleasant weather, I
was let off with only the ill or injured ones for perpetual companions.
We were so surrounded with dogs when they were resting after the march,
and they slept so soundly from fatigue, that it was difficult to walk
about without stepping on them.
My favorite, a great cream-colored stag-hound, was named “Cardigan.”
He never gave up trying to be my lap-dog. He was enormous, and yet
seemingly unconscious of his size. He kept up a perpetual struggle and
scramble on his hind-legs to get his whole body up on my lap. If I
pieced myself out with a camp-stool to support him, he closed his eyes
in a beatific state and sighed in content while I held him, until my
foot went to sleep and I was cramped with his weight. One thing that
made me so fond of him was that on one occasion, when he was put in
the kennel after an absence, he was almost torn to pieces by the other
dogs. He was a brave hound, but he was at fearful odds against so many.
Great slices of flesh were torn from his sides, and gaping wounds made
by the fang-like teeth showed through his shaggy coat. It was many
months before they healed.
Though the stag-hound is gentle with human beings he is a terrible
fighter. They stand on their hind-legs and, facing each other, claw and
tear like demons. It was always necessary to watch them closely when a
new dog, or one that they had not seen for some time, was put in their
midst.
I will anticipate a moment and speak of the final fate of Cardigan.
When I left Fort Lincoln I asked some one to look out for his welfare,
and send him, as soon as possible, to a clergyman who had been my
husband’s friend. My request was complied with, and afterwards, when
the poor old dog died, his new master honored him by having his body
set up by the taxidermist, and a place was given him in one of the
public buildings in Minneapolis. I cannot help thinking that he was
worthy of the tribute, not only because of the testimony thus given
to the friendship of the people for his master, but because he was the
bravest and most faithful of animals.
Most of the country passed over in our route belonged to the Indian
Reservations, and the Government was endeavoring to teach the tribes
settled there to cultivate the soil. They had hunted off most of the
game; an occasional jack-rabbit, the plover, and a few wild ducks were
all that were left. I must not forget the maddening curlew. It was not
good eating, but it was always exciting to see one. There never was
a more exasperating bird to shoot. Time and again a successful shot
was prophesied, and I was called to be a witness, only to see finally
the surprise of the general when the wily bird soared calmly away. I
believe no person was able to bring one down during the entire trip.
As we approached an Indian village, the chiefs came out to receive
us. There were many high-sounding words of welcome, translated by our
guide, who, having lived among them many years, knew the different
dialects. The Government had built some comfortable log-houses
for them, in many of which I would have lived gladly. The Indians
did not care for them, complaining that they had coughs if they
occupied a house. A tepee was put up alongside, in which one or two
families lived, while little low lodges, looking like the soldiers’
shelter-tents, were used for the young men of the circle to sleep in.
The tools and stores given by the Government were packed away in the
otherwise empty houses.