DEATH OF LITTLE CROW.
We will halt the column for a little and hunt in another direction for
Little Crow. He had not been captured and would not surrender after the
battle of Wood Lake in 1862. Carried away with the idea that he would
receive proper recognition and the confidence of the Indians he started
away towards the British dominions. Devil's Lake was always a favorite
"summer resort" for the Indians, and perhaps we can find him there.
In the State of Dakota, nearly five hundred miles west from St. Paul,
Minn., is the celebrated Minnewakan, or Devil's Lake. It is about
sixty-five miles in length, and its waters are as salt as are those of
the ocean. The immediate shores are part timber and part prairie; but a
mile beyond, the country is one vast rolling prairie, destitute of trees,
and dotted over with little lakes of salt water. This inland sea is a
romantic place, and is well filled with fish, and game quite plentifully
can be found there. Among other things are sea gulls and swan. The shore
of the lake is covered with petrified wood, and the bones of fishes and
animals are in abundance.
To this neighborhood Little Crow and his followers, after the defeat
at Wood Lake, Minn., wended their way and encamped, where they were
joined by nearly all the Minnesota Sioux who had not surrendered or
been captured. There were in all about 4,000 souls, and among them were
Yanktonais. During the winter the chief sent out runners with messages
and presents to many of the Western tribes, and endeavored to enlist them
as allies in a general war.
About the first of June Little Crow went to St. Joseph and Fort Garry to
gain recognition from the British, as well as to obtain ammunition, but
both were refused him.
When at St. Joseph Little Crow had on a black coat with velvet collar,
a lady's fine shawl adorned his head, and another was knotted around
his waist. He had discarded his rifle, and carried a pistol instead,
which latter was one of his trophies from the last summer's raid. He had
learned of the deportation of his friends to the Missouri, of which the
white residents there had as yet received no information. Crow received
the news in advance from an Indian who had outstripped the regular mail.
He and sixty of his braves had a war dance, after which he made a speech,
in which he said that he considered himself as good as dead, but that he
still had plenty of warriors upon whom he could rely, and would not be
caught during the summer. He failed to get the recognition he thought
he was entitled to as commander-in-chief of the Sioux army then in the
field. It is a little strange that he could not be recognized, when
cannibal kings from the islands of the sea can get recognition, and the
devotees of royalty will tumble over each other to pay their respects to
a lecherous, murderous Turk.
Being disappointed in this, he made up his mind to slip through the
cordon of posts that had been established for the protection of the
people, and while General Sibley with his army was hunting for him
away towards the Missouri, he would, single-handed and alone, go horse
stealing down in the settlements.
Alas! How are the mighty fallen! From a commander-in-chief, seeking
recognition of a foreign nation, he at once becomes a vagabond horse
thief.
His son, Crow, Jr., was his only confidant, and to him he said:
"I am getting old and cannot fight the white men, but will go below,
steal horses from them for you children, so you may be comfortable, and
then I can go away where they cannot catch me."
The whole party that went with the fallen chief numbered sixteen men and
one squaw.
Crow, Jr., whose Indian name was Wa-wi-nap-a (one who appeareth),
was with his father near Hutchinson, Minn., picking berries to "stay
their stomachs," when they were discovered by a Mr. Lamson and his son
Chauncey. This was Friday evening, July 3, 1863, and the skirmish that
followed between Crow, his son, and the Lamsons prevented the Sioux chief
from celebrating the Fourth of July in any sort of patriotic manner, for
two shots from the trusty rifle of Mr. Lamson sent Crow's soul on its
eternal mission to the happy hunting ground of his fathers. Mr. Lamson
and his son were out in the country and they saw two Indians picking
berries in an "opening" in the woods. The Indians did not discover the
white men, who were taking aim at them. Mr. Lamson had crept cautiously
forward among the vines and rested his gun against a tree and fired. His
first shot took effect, but not a deadly one, as evinced by the loud
yell of his victim, who fell to the ground severely wounded.
With prudence and caution Mr. Lamson retreated a short distance, where he
could obtain shelter from behind some bushes.
The wounded Indian, not to be foiled, crept after him, and thus they were
brought face to face. Another shot from the white man and the Indian was
dead. His companions, his own son and another Indian, mounted a horse and
fled.
The Indian's shot, however, had not gone amiss, for it lodged in Mr.
Lamson's shoulder, and he being some distance from his son, was supposed
by him to be killed. The son returned to town to give the alarm. A quick
response brought men to the scene of conflict, where they found the dead
Indian, but Mr. Lamson was missing. A singular thing about it was that
Crow was laid out, his head resting on his rolled-up coat, and he had a
new pair of moccasins on. It would appear as though his son returned to
make sure of his father's death, and finding him dead, he performed this
last deed.[A]
[Footnote A: Brown's Valley, Minn., Nov. 30.--Nathan Lamson, the man who,
during the Indian outbreak in Minnesota in 1862, killed Little Crow, the
famous Sioux chieftain, died to-day on his farm across the line in South
Dakota, aged 96.--[Chicago Times-Herald, Dec. 1, 1896.]
Mr. Lamson's wound was a severe one, but he made his way back to his
home, which he reached about two o'clock the next morning. Little Crow's
body was brought to town, and the coat he had on was recognized as
belonging to a man who had been found murdered some weeks before.
[Illustration: Designed by A. P. Connolly.
Mr. Lamson Shooting Little Crow near Hutchinson, Minn., in August,
1863.]
The body of this murderous old chief, after it lay in state on the ground
for a day or two, was dumped into an unhonored grave, and no tears of
regret were shed for him. While this was being done down in Minnesota, a
military train five miles long was in pursuit of him up in Dakota; and
the news did not reach General Sibley for two weeks. The description
given of this Indian was so accurate that the General said it was no
other than Little Crow. This again was corroborated by his son, who was
some weeks after captured in a starving condition.
Thus ended the ignominious life of Little Crow, the great Sioux chief who
had influenced his people to believe that the time had come for them to
reclaim their lost empire.