CHASKA--GEORGE SPENCER--CHASKA'S DEATH--THE "MOSCOW" EXPEDITION.
Chaska and George Spencer were great friends, and there was reason
for it, as you will see. It was in George Spencer's store where the
first shot was fired, and he was the victim. He ran upstairs, but the
Indians surrounded the place and threatened to burn the store, which
they probably would have done but for the fact they wanted the goods.
They could not muster courage to go upstairs to kill him, because they
naturally thought: "What would he be doing while we are trying to kill
him?"
An old squaw got him out the back way and secreted him in her tepee, and
the Indians finally burnt the building, and supposed he had perished in
the flames. The squaw turned him over to his Indian friend Chaska, and
when the other Indians, who supposed he was dead already, saw him quite
alive, they were much puzzled, for they had no inkling of his escape.
[Illustration: HOUSE OF CHASKA, A CIVILIZED INDIAN.]
He was the only white man at the agency who did escape, and can attribute
it to the friendly ministration of those two native Americans, Chaska
and the squaw. It was no miraculous escape, but a plain case of genuine
friendship toward a white man by an Indian. An Indian will avenge a
wrong--that is his nature. It is born in him, and it cannot be blotted
out; so, too, will he remember a kindness with an equal degree of
fidelity, and, under any and all circumstances, will "stick closer than
a brother." Friend Spencer in this case found that the investment he
had made in kindness to this red man was a paying one--it came in good
time--his life was surely in jeopardy, and no miracle, but a faithful
Indian, saved him, and this Indian was Chaska, a chief whom Little Crow
had depended upon to help carry on the war. His friendship for Spencer
was great, and when his friend's life was threatened, he with a double
shooter in his hands would cry out: "Shoot if you like, kill him if you
will, but two of you will come out of your saddles if you do."
Chaska dressed his friend in Indian garb and painted his face. It became
necessary to kite him about, first in one friendly tepee and then in
another, so that the spies could not keep track of him. I remember well
the day I spoke with him. He had been wounded and was suffering from
this, and the long days and nights of anxiety had told on him, but now
that he could throw all this off he said he would soon be on the speedy
round to complete recovery. Chaska was faithful to his friend of former
years. He was desirous of becoming a white man so far as he could, by
adopting their manners and customs. He came to see General Sibley one
morning in his Indian garb, and the General said to him: "I am not
pleased to see you in your blanket."
"Then I will wear it no more," was his reply. He washed off the paint
from his face, trimmed his hair, and dressed as a citizen. He desired
to live in a house rather than a tepee and to have his children attend
school. This was the wish of all the friendly Indians. They instituted
reforms in the social fabric, and in marrying, the rite was performed
by an ordained minister, the same as among their white brethren. Poor
Chaska, I remember well the night he died, for at the time a strong
suspicion pointed toward a member of my own regiment, who was a clerk in
the hospital department, and there never was a doubt but Chaska's death
was by poison administered by this man. George Spencer, his white friend,
said of him: "On the second day of our return from the Missouri, we
rode along talking pleasantly of the future, he telling me how he would
like to be situated on a small farm of land near me, and congratulating
himself that his trouble was over, and that he would soon be restored to
the bosom of his family. Alas, for my friend! He now sleeps tranquilly
near the turbid waters of the Missouri, under the shadow of our
intrenchments. Savage though he was, he was a noble man!"
The night he died he had gone around to his white friend's tent, where
he was always welcome, and supped with him and arranged for carrying in
the commissary wagon, a pack of furs he had captured. He went to his
quarters after taking a dose of medicine and was soon taken ill. He sent
for his white comrade, who went immediately to his bedside, to find him
senseless, dying. In his delirium he predicted a thunderstorm that would
shake the earth and blind the people the day he was put in the ground,
and the prediction came true. He did not once recognize his friend, who
remained with him, closing his eyes with a sorrowful heart. He died at
the age of thirty-two, leaving a wife and two interesting children. He
was faithful among the faithless.
[Illustration: The Sentinel.]