A VISIT TO THE VILLAGE OF “TWO BEARS.”
A Sioux chief, called Two Bears, had the most picturesque village that
we saw. The lodges were placed in a circle, as this was judged the
most defensive position; the ponies were herded inside the enclosure
at night. This precaution was necessary, for the neighboring tribes
swept down on them after dark and ran off the stock if they were not
secured. As we dismounted, we saw an old man standing alone in the
circle, apparently unconscious of everything, as he recounted some war
tale in loud, monotonous tones. He had no listeners--all were intently
watching the approaching regiment; still the venerable Sioux went on
as persistently as if he were looking “upon a sea of upturned faces.”
He was the “medicine-man,” or oracle, of the tribe, or possibly the
“poet-laureate” of the village, for the guide told us he sang of the
deeds of valor of his people far back in history.
Just outside of the village, the chiefs sat in a circle awaiting us.
Two Bears arose to welcome the general, and asked him to go with him to
his lodge. I was asked to go also and be presented to Miss Two Bears;
for she was too royal in birth to be permitted outside, and it was not
in keeping with the dignity of her rank to mingle with the others, the
guide afterwards explained to us.
The honor of going alone into the tepee was one that I could have
foregone, for my courage was much greater if I did my Indian
sight-seeing surrounded by the regiment. The general, fearing their
_amour propre_ might be offended if I declined the invitation,
whispered an encouraging word, and we dipped our heads and crept
into the tepee. The chief was a dignified old man, wrapped in his
blanket, without the usual addition of some portion of citizen’s dress
which the Indians believe adds to their grandeur. His daughter also
was in complete squaw’s costume; her feet were moccasined, her legs
and ankles wound round with beaded leggings, and she had on the one
buckskin garment which never varies in cut through all the tribes.
A blanket drawn over her head was belted at her waist. To crown all
this, however, she had an open parasol, brought to her, doubtless, as a
present by some Indian returning from a council at Washington. She held
it with dignity, as if it might be to her as much an insignia of state
as the mace of the lord-mayor.
Fortunately they did not ask us to sit down and partake of jerked
beef, or to smoke the never-ending pipe, so we soon got through our
compliments and returned to the outer entrance of the village.
Here the tribe were assembled, and evidently attired in gala-dress
in our honor. We were most interested in the village belle, and the
placid manner in which she permitted us to walk around her, gazing and
talking her good points over, showed that she expected homage. She
sat on a scarlet blanket spread on the ground, and over her, stretched
from poles, was another for an awning. She was loaded with ornaments,
row after row of beads about her neck, broad armlets and anklets of
brass, pinchbeck rings, and a soft buckskin dress and leggings, heavily
embroidered. Her ears were pierced twice--on the side as well as in the
lobe--and from these holes were suspended circles of gilt. Her bright
eyes, the satin smoothness of her hair, and the clear brown of the skin
made a pretty picture. There was no attempt to blend into the brown the
bright patch of carmine on each cheek.
Only extreme youth and its ever attractive charms can make one forget
the heavy square shape of Indian faces and their coarse features.
It was surprising to see all the other squaws giving up the field
to this one so completely. They crouched near, with a sort of
“every-dog-must-have-its-day” look, and did not even dispute her sway
by making coy eyes as we spoke to them.
There were but few young men. Their absence was always excused by the
same reason--they were out hunting. We knew how little game there was,
and surmised--what we afterwards found to be true--that they had joined
the hostile tribes, and only came in to the distribution of supplies
and presents in the fall. A few rods from the village a tripod of poles
was set in the ground, and lashed to it the Indian’s shield, made of
the hide of the buffalo where it is thickest about the neck. There were
rude paintings and Indian hieroglyphics covering it. The shield is an
heirloom with the Indian, and the one selected to hang out in this
manner has always the greatest war record. One of their superstitions
is that it keeps away enemies. These nomads had some idea of luxury,
for I recollect seeing some of them reclining on a kind of rest made
of a framework of pliable rods, over which was stretched buckskin.
Afterwards I found how comfortable such contrivances were, for one was
given me. The slope is so gradual that you half recline and can read
with great ease.
When we had reached camp and were taking our afternoon siesta the same
day, with the tent walls raised for air, we were roused by the sound
of music. Looking off over the bluffs we saw a large body of Indians
approaching on ponies, while squaws and children ran beside them.
It was the prompt response of Two Bears to the general’s invitation
to return his call. The warriors stopped near camp, and dismounting
advanced towards us. The squaws unbridled and picketed the ponies, and
made themselves comfortable by arranging impromptu shades of the bright
blankets. They staked down two corners closely to the ground, and
propped up the others with poles stuck in the sod.
When the Indians came up to us, the council was, as usual, begun. The
pipe being smoked, Two Bears gave us a eulogy of himself. He then
demanded, in behalf of the tribe, payment for the use of the ground on
which we were encamped, and also for the grass consumed, though it was
too short to get more than an occasional tuft. He ended, as they all
do, with a request for food. The general in reply vaguely referred them
to the Great Father in payment for the use of their land, but presented
them with a beef in return for their hospitality. Only half satisfied,
they stalked away one by one. We watched them at a distance kill and
divide the beef. It surprised us to see how they despatched it, and
that hardly a vestige of it was left.
Many of the Indians coming from reservations carried papers which they
valued and carefully guarded. After burrowing under robe and shirt,
something was produced wrapped in layers of soiled cotton cloth. It was
a recommendation of them obtained from some officer or Indian agent.
This was presented on entering, as their letter of introduction. Most
of these papers read very much the same way. Giving the Indian’s name,
it stated that he had been living on the reservation for a certain
length of time, that he was friendly to the whites, etc.
One of our guests that day carried something a little different. He
was called “Medicine Jo.” Lingering behind the rest, he presented
his letter with perfect good faith and great pomposity. Some wag had
composed it, and it read something like this:
“Medicine Jo says he is a good Indian, that you can trust him. If
he is, he is the first I have ever seen, and in my opinion he, like
all the rest, will bear watching.”
It was all the general could do to keep his face straight as he handed
back to the unconscious owner this little libel on himself.
The interpreter kept constantly before us the fine post that we were
approaching, and the last day before we reached there it was visible
for a long distance. The atmosphere of Dakota was so deceptive that
we imagined ourselves within a few miles of the garrison, when, in
reality, there was a march of twenty-nine long miles before us.
Our road led up from the river valley on the high bluffs, and
sometimes followed along the backbone of hills from which on either
side we looked down a great distance. There was barely room for the
travelling-wagon. Occasionally I had been obliged to take refuge
from the cold for a little while and drive. Our lead-mules were
tiny, quick-moving little dots, and I soon discovered that they were
completely demoralized at the sight of an Indian. They could see one
in advance long before the driver could. A sudden shying and quick
turning of these agile little brutes, a general tangle of themselves in
the harness and legs of the wheelers, loud shouts of the driver, and a
quick downfall of his foot on the brake, to keep us from overturning,
made an exciting _mêlée_.
Nothing would get them righted and started again. They would have to
be unharnessed, and the rebellious pair tied to the rear of the wagon
until we had gone far beyond the object of terror. Part of the day that
we were following the wanderings of the road alongside hills and over
the narrow, smooth level of the hill-tops, I was compelled to drive,
and I watched anxiously the ears of these wretched little beasts to
see if they expressed any sentiment of fright. We came to such steep
descents, the brake holding the wheels seemed of no use. Looking down
from the wagon on to the mules below us, we appeared to be in the
position of flies on a wall.
As we came to one descent more awful than the rest, the general, who
was always near, rode up to the carriage and told me not to be afraid,
for he would order the wheels manned. The head-quarters escort of over
a hundred men, dismounting, attached ropes to the wheels, and held on
with all their strength while I went down the steepest declivity I had
ever descended. After that I begged to get out, and the general carried
me to a bank and set me down where I could watch the repairing of the
road.
He took off his coat and joined the soldiers in carrying logs and
shovelling earth, for they were obliged to fill up the soft bed of the
stream before the command could cross. It took a long time and much
patience; but the general enjoyed it all, and often helped when the
crossings needed to be prepared. When the logs were all laid, I had
to laugh at the energy he showed in cracking a whip he borrowed from
a teamster, and shouting to the mules to urge them to pull through
where there was danger of their stalling. When the road was completed,
I was ready to mount my horse, for it seemed to me preferable to die
from accident, surrounded with friends, than to expire alone in the
mule-wagon. The ascent was rendered so wet and slippery, the general
feared my saddle would turn, and I was once more shut in by myself. The
soldiers again manned the wheels to prevent the carriage sliding back,
the mules scrambled, and with the aid of language prepared expressly
for them, we reached the summit.
The driver had named the lead-mules Bettie and Jane, and when they
were over their tempers he petted and caressed them. Their repeated
rebellion at last wore out even his patience. One morning I noticed
new leaders, but the imperturbable face of the driver gave no hint of
his successful plotting. Mary told me, however, that he was worn out
with his struggles, and had gone after dark into the herd of mules with
Bettie and Jane, and, as he expressed it, “lost them.” He selected
two more from among those belonging to the wagon-train, and returned
triumphant over his premeditated exchange. He carefully reclipped their
manes and tails, and disguised them still further with blotches of
black paint, to give them a mottled appearance. When the other teamster
prepared to harness in the morning, of course he discovered the fraud
perpetrated on him. There was no redress then, and he had to take out
his wrath in language more forcible than elegant, which the teamsters
have adapted expressly for extreme occasions. Our driver told Mary,
with a chuckle, that with a command of many hundred men waiting for a
teamster to harness, he found “no time for swapping horses.”
Burkman, the soldier who took care of our horses, was a middle-aged
man, so deliberate in speech and slow in his movements, he seemed as
incongruous among the spirited cavalrymen as would be an old-time
farmer. Early in the march I had heard him coughing as he groomed
the horses. When I asked if he had done anything for his cold, he
replied, “Bottle after bottle of stuff, mum, but it don’t do no good,”
so I begged the surgeon to look more carefully into his case. He made
an examination, and told me, as the result, that the man must have
only light work and nourishing food. After that I asked Mary to save
everything for Burkman and make his recovery her especial care. The
officers made fun of me, as they were rather incredulous, and thought
a bit of shamming was being practised on me, but I knew better. They
never failed to comment and smile when they saw the old defender of his
country coming out of the kitchen-tent, his jaws working and his mouth
full, while he carried all the food his hands would hold. To tell the
truth, he kept up this prescription of nourishing food long after he
had quite recovered.
It became the delight of my husband and the officers to chaff me
about “Old Nutriment,” for such was the sobriquet they gave him. At
last, even Mary began to narrate how he swept everything before him
with voracious, convalescing appetite. “Why, Miss Libbie,” she said
to me one day, “I thought I’d try him with a can of raw tomatoes,
and set them before him, asking if he was fond of them. And he just
drawled out, ‘_Always was_,’ and the tomatoes were gone in no time.”
His laconic answer passed into a proverb with us all, when invited to
partake of anything we liked.
Such a tender heart as that old soldier had! I had noticed this first
in Kentucky. My horse, which I prized above all that I have ever
ridden, died during my temporary absence from home. I was too greatly
grieved to ask many questions about him, but one day, some time
afterwards, when we were riding through a charming bit of country,
Burkman approached me from the place where he usually rode behind us,
and said, “I’d like to tell Mrs. Custer there’s whar poor Phil lies
I picked the purtiest place I could find for him.” And he had indeed,
for the green valley under wide-spreading trees would have gone far to
reconcile many a weary human heart to be placed under the sod.
We thought we had made the first step towards savage life when Burkman
brought the mother of the one baby of our regiment the dried vertebra
of a rattlesnake that he killed, because he had heard that it was the
best of anything on which the infant could cut its teeth!
I had made some scarlet flannel shirts for my husband’s use on the
summer campaign, and he was as much pleased as possible, beginning at
once to wear them. Not many days’ march proved to me what an error I
had made. The bright red color could be seen for miles, when the form
itself was almost lost on the horizon. I had to coax to get them away
again and replace them with the dark blue that he usually wore. Though
I triumphed, I was met with a perfect fusillade of teasing when I
presented the red shirts to Burkman. The officers, of course, hearing
all the discussion over the subject--as no trifle was too small to
interest us in one another’s affairs--attacked me at once. If I had
been so anxious to protect the general from wearing anything that
would attract the far-seeing eye of the vigilant Indian on the coming
campaign, why should I be so willing to sacrifice the life of “Old
Nutriment?” They made no impression on me, however, for they knew as
well as I did that the soldier, though so faithful, was not made of
that stuff that seeks to lead a Balaklava charge.
My husband and I were so attached to him, and appreciated so deeply his
fidelity, we could not thank the good-fortune enough that gave us one
so loyal to our interests.
Before we reached the post we were approaching, the commandant sent
out ice for our use, and the despatches of the Associated Press. The
general was greatly delighted to get news of events that had occurred
all over the world, in this far distant land. We found afterwards that
the officers joined in paying for the despatches. The Indians had such
a superstition about molesting the wires, that the lines ran through
even the most dangerous country. I can hardly say how good it seemed to
us to see a telegraph-pole again.
We were not surprised, after seeing the other posts below on the river,
that the guide had praised Fort Sully. It was the head-quarters of
one of the infantry regiments, and the commanding officer had been at
the post long enough to put it in excellent order. It was situated on
an open plateau, from which there was an extensive view. Below in the
valley the companies had gardens, and they also kept cows, pigs, and
chickens. We looked upon all this as an El Dorado, and the thought of
remaining long enough at one fort to get any good out of a garden was
simply unknown in our vagrant existence.
Our camp was very near the post, on the same open plain, without trees
or shelter. We were received with genuine hospitality, and finally all
of us invited to luncheon. The ladies came up from the steamer, and the
large house was filled with happy people. The post band played outside
on the parade-ground while we lunched. We had nine kinds of game on the
table. Some of it was new to us--the beaver tail, for instance--but it
was so like pork and so fat I could only taste it. We had, in addition,
antelope, elk, buffalo tongue, wild turkey, black-tailed deer, wild
goose, plover, and duck. The goose was a sort of “fatted calf” for us.
The soldiers had caught it while young, and by constantly clipping
its wings, had kept it from joining the flocks which its cries often
brought circling around the post. At last it began to make the life
of the chickens a burden to them, and we arrived in time to enjoy the
delicious bird served with jelly made from the tart, wild “bullberries”
that grew near the river. The home-made bread, delightful cake, tender
ham of the garrison’s own curing, and the sweets made with cream, fresh
butter, and eggs--three unheard-of luxuries with us--proved that it is
possible for army people to live in comfort if they do not belong to
a mounted regiment. Still, though they had a band and a good library
belonging to the regiment, the thought of being walled in with snow,
and completely isolated for eight months of the year, made me shudder.
The post was midway between Yankton and Bismarck, each the termination
of a railroad, and each two hundred and fifty miles away.
The wife of the commanding officer was known throughout the department
for her lovely Christian character, and the contented life she led
under all circumstances. I was much amused at her account of her
repeated trials in trying to secure a permanent governess. She said
all the posts along the river seemed to know intuitively when a new one
arrived from the East. The young officers found more imperative duties
calling them to Fort Sully than they had dreamed of in a year. Before
long the governess began to be abstracted, and watch longingly for the
mails. A ring would next appear on the significant first finger, and
be the forerunner of a request to allow her to resign her place. This
had happened four times when I met our hostess, and though she was glad
to furnish the officers with wives, she rather sighed for a woman who,
though possessing every accomplishment, might still be so antiquated
and ugly that she could be sure to keep her for a time at least.
The commandant had some fine greyhounds, and joining the general
with his packs of stag and fox hounds, they had several hunts in the
few days that remained. Of course, after so bright a visit and such
a feast, it was hard to begin again on the march with baking-powder
biscuit and tough beef. The cattle that supplied us with meat were
driven along on the march, and killed every other day, and could not
be expected to be in very good condition. The interest of our journey,
however, made us soon forget all deprivations. Grateful sentiments
towards those who had been so kind to us as strangers remained as a
memory.