earth. Waves washed upon the raft and tossed it over the surface of
the water. His friends were fearful he would be drowned. Early in
the morning two men went to look for him. They saw him on the raft,
floating safely. They told the people, “He was not harmed.”
The second day he likewise prayed and meditated all day. His fast was
continued. When that night arrived another storm came. The thunder
and lightning were more active than they had been during the previous
night. The waves lifted themselves higher. But when the calm morning
dawned his watchers learned that nothing harmful had fallen upon him.
The third day and night passed in the same manner, but the storm
during the hours of darkness was yet more furious. “He surely will be
killed by the water spirits tonight,” the people said. But he was not.
The fourth night the storm was a terrible one, the worst any of the
Cheyennes ever had seen. They were fearful for themselves as well
as for the young man on the raft. Hailstones pelted our lodges and
scattered our pony herds. “He will be beaten to death,” everybody
agreed. When the quiet twilight of morning came, two men went upon a
hill to search over the waters. There was Roman Nose still floating
on his raft. They helped him to land it and to put himself upon the
shore. Not a hailstone had hit him. The water had been angry, crazy,
reaching for his body, but not a drop of it had touched him. The
water spirits failed to devour him. The Great Medicine prevented
them. At the camp all of the old men sat themselves in a circle and
listened to his rehearsal of the events of his great devotional
adventure.
At a battle with soldiers on Powder river (1865) Roman Nose showed
the people that he had special protection against enemies. He rode
his horse several times back and forth in front of the white men. He
rode slowly, not fast. The soldiers shot at him, but not a bullet
went into him. They either missed him or fell back harmless. He had a
strong medicine warbonnet. I did not see him defy the soldiers, but
I heard a great deal of talk about it. Our camp was above the forks
of Powder river and Little Powder river. The battle was down below,
on Powder river. Both the Northern and the Southern Cheyenne tribes
were in the upper valley, camping side by side. Both of the Great
Medicine tribal lodges were in the camps, the one for our sacred
Buffalo Head, and the other for the Medicine Arrows of the Southern
Cheyennes.
White Bull made many medicine fasts. He told me about them. He said
that one time when he was fasting and praying on a hill, not in a
lodge, on the third day a doe antelope came near to him. She lay
down there on the ground and gave birth to twin fawns. White Bull
reached out and seized the doe’s hind feet. She struggled, but he did
not release her. She promised that if he would let her go free she
would give to him the two fawns. But he told her he did not want the
fawns, he wanted her medicine, her spirit powers. The doe groaned and
protested, but finally she agreed:
“Yes, I give you my medicine.”
He got the bear medicine also in a manner like that. When he was
fasting and praying on a hill the bear came sniffing, sniffing, on
his trail. It stopped suddenly as it came into his view. Both of
them were startled and frightened. White Bull trusted the Great
Medicine, but the bear was altogether afraid. It said, “If you will
not harm me I will give you my medicine, and then you can speak fire
from your mouth.” It gave him then its power over spirits. He got
also the medicine of a wild hog. Perhaps he had other medicines. I
do not know. He had a good reputation for doctoring sick people. I
have heard him “Blaa-a-a-a,” like a doe antelope, when he was making
medicine for them. I have heard him, lots of times, grunting like a
hog or whoofing like a bear. I never knew how much to believe of his
stories. Lots of people said he told big lies.
My father taught me some medicine practices for myself. He showed me
where to gather the seed of certain grass that had power to shield
me. A quantity of the seed was put into a buckskin pouch, and this
I carried tied to my back hair. In the pouch was also a piece of
loose buckskin. To prepare the medicine, a few seeds were pulverized
between the fingers and the powder was allowed to fall upon the
piece of buckskin spread out. A little saliva was mixed with it by
the stirring of a finger. A slight spray of saliva then was put into
the palms, after which the mixed seed and saliva medicine was taken
into the palms and they were rubbed together. When they had been well
rubbed they were passed all about my body or clothing, near the skin
or clothing but not touching. Bullets then would be diverted and slip
aside from me.
My horse was protected by the same medicine. In the same way the
palms were passed all over the body of the horse, close but not
touching. This would turn aside bullets from him. The hoofs were
lifted and the bottom of the feet treated by the palm passing. He
then would be not easily tired, would be surefooted, would not step
into a hole and fall down. The palms were passed across the front
of the horse’s nose. The medicine made him have a keen sense of
smell and a clear eyesight. This helped him to find his way without
difficulty during darkness or at any time when running.
The face painting as it was done for me by Red Haired Bear at
my first medicine making was adopted as my fixed mode of battle
preparation in this regard. It was a black ring about my face,
including lower forehead, chin and cheeks in its circle. All of the
surface enclosed in the circle was painted yellow. I kept at all
times right at hand a supply of charcoal and yellow clay paint. It
did not take long for me to apply them when an occasion for their
need might come. With this preparation, with my best clothing, my
shield, my eagle wing bone whistle, myself and my horse protected by
the grass seed medicine, I was almost fearless. I was not entirely
so, but almost. In every time of danger I tried to keep myself
thinking:
“The Great Medicine sees me.”
FOOTNOTES:
[11] Lake DeSmet.
[12] Fort Phil Kearny.
V
_Off the Reservation._
After we had been driven from the Black Hills and that country
was given to the white people my father would not stay on any
reservation. He said it was no use trying to make farms as the
white people did. In the first place, that was not the Indian way
of living. All of our teachings and beliefs were that land was not
made to be owned in separate pieces by persons and that the plowing
up and destruction of vegetation placed by the Great Medicine and
the planting of other vegetation according to the ideas of men was
an interference with the plans of the Above. In the second place, it
seemed that if the white people could take away from us the Black
Hills after that country had been given to us and accepted by us
as ours forever, they might take away from us any other lands we
should occupy whenever they might want these other lands. In the
third place, the last great treaty had allowed us to use all of the
country between the Black Hills and the Bighorn river and mountains
as hunting grounds so long as we did not resist the traveling of
white people through it on their way to or from their lands beyond
its borders. My father decided to act upon this agreement to us. He
decided we should spend all of our time in the hunting region. We
could do this, gaining our own living in this way, or we could be
supported by rations given to us at the agency. He chose to stay away
from all white people. His family all agreed with him. So, for more
than a year before the great battle at the Little Bighorn we were all
the time in the hunting lands.
Not all of the dissatisfied Indians stayed away from the
reservations. Bands were moving to and from the hunting grounds
at all times, even during the winter, but only a few remained
here throughout the year. The Indians involved were both Sioux
and Cheyennes, but there were many more Sioux than Cheyennes. A
band of Uncpapas, led by Sitting Bull, remained entirely away from
Dakota. There were at all times a big camp and some smaller camps
of Ogallalas. Families or small bands of other Sioux came and went.
The Cheyenne camps varied from thirty or forty lodges to two hundred
or more. During the winter before the soldiers came after us the
Cheyennes and Ogallalas kept near each other much of the time. We
spent the earlier part of the cold weather season on Otter creek.
Then we moved together over to Tongue river, setting our two camp
circles near each other on the west side of the river where now is
the home place of John Bigheadman, known also as All See Him.
Sugar, coffee, tobacco, ammunition, everything of that kind, were
scarce with us. We were not greatly distressed because of this, but
we had learned to use and to like these additions to our old ways,
so we were pleased when such things came to us. We liked to get
ammunition, as that helped us to kill more game. But, best of all, we
liked to get tobacco. We used the plug tobacco that most white people
use for chewing. We shaved it off in thin layers, using a board to
lay it upon while cutting it. It was mixed with willow bark. This
bark we called kinnikinick. It was the dried inside layer.
Red Haired Bear had some tobacco, just a little piece, at one time
when a certain very old man came to visit him. The old man was feeble
and shaky. He was a good man, so Red Haired Bear determined to give
him a treat. The host got out his pipe. “Give me a knife,” he said to
his woman. Then, “Get me the tobacco board.” She did as he had asked.
He cut off only a little of the tobacco and mixed it with plenty of
kinnikinick. He loaded his pipe and lit it. When he had sent puffs to
the four directions, to the Above and to the below spirits, he handed
the pipe to the guest. The old man drew in and let out one draft. He
stopped a moment as if thinking intently about something. Then he
drew in another draft. He let out a cloud through his nose.
“Oh, tobacco!” he exclaimed in delight.
He took deep and slow inhalations. He let them out slowly, by the
mouth and by the nose. As Red Haired Bear took his turn at the pipe
the old man grasped handfuls of the smoke, rubbed together his palms,
sniffed them over and over, rubbed his face and his clothing. “Good,
good,” he kept saying. When the pipeful had been burned he had Red
Haired Bear empty very carefully the ashes, mix some more kinnikinick
willow bark with them and fill the pipe with this mixture. They had a
third smoke of this kind.
Four men went to the lodge of a certain medicine man. He told them
he had some tobacco, and that made their hearts glad. He had a chunk
of wood that looked like a plug of tobacco. He put this piece of
wood upon the tobacco board and pretended to shave off slices from
it to mix with kinnikinick. Even while he was shaving the stick
the men were sniffing and saying, “Oh, good tobacco.” They smoked
four pipefuls. The ashes were saved carefully. They were mixed then
with other kinnikinick and four more pipefuls were smoked. The four
men went away praising their host for having given them such fine
entertainment.
As Cheyennes came to us from the agency they brought coffee, sugar
and tobacco. Other articles were brought, but these were the
most desired. The luxuries were distributed among friends, small
quantities here and there. Someone and another then would go to
the front of his tepee, call out the names of special friends and
invite: “I have tobacco. Come and smoke with me.” Or: “I have coffee
and sugar. Come and feast with me.” Sioux might make such gifts to
Cheyennes or Cheyennes might provide them to the Sioux. Or, members
of the two sets of Indians might invite each other to smoke or to
eat. Usually, though, the givings and the invitings were within
tribal bounds. Yet every Indian who might prosper in any way was
expected to hold himself always willing to share and desirous of
sharing his prosperity with his fellows, with all friendly people,
even with avowed enemies if such should come peaceably and should be
in want. A first principle of Indian conduct was: Be generous to all
Indians.
Last Bull, leading chief of the Fox warriors, came to us with his
family at the last end of the winter.[13] He was the first one to
disturb our peace of mind with the announcement:
“Soldiers are coming to fight you.”
He said that the whites would fight all Cheyennes and Sioux who were
off the reservations. He did not know from what forts the soldiers
would come. He had not heard who would be their chiefs. But this did
not matter. He and his family stayed with us. Other Cheyennes came.
We did not believe Last Bull’s report. We thought somebody had told
him what was not true. The treaty allowed us to hunt here as we might
wish, so long as we did not make war upon the whites. We were not
making war upon them. I had not seen any white man for many months.
We were not looking for them. We were trying to stay away from all
white people, and we wanted them to stay away from us. Our old men
said that the reason the white people wanted us to leave off the
roaming and hunting was that we should stay near them, so they could
sell us more of their goods and their whisky. Our old men ever were
urging the young men not to drink the whisky. The advice often was
disregarded, but it appeared to be given serious consideration. Up to
that time in my life I never had swallowed a drink of it.
Lots of buffalo were feeding on the grass at the upper Tongue and
Powder rivers, on all of their branches and on the other lands in
this whole region. Lots of elk, deer and antelope could be found
almost anywhere the hunter might go to seek them. Lots of colts were
being born in our horse herds this spring. We were rich, contented,
at peace with the whites so far as we knew. Why should soldiers come
out to seek for us and fight us? No, the report seemingly was a
mistake.
Spotted Wolf, Medicine Wolf and Twin, three Cheyenne chiefs, came to
us as we camped on Powder river. They advised us to go to our agency.
“Soldiers will come to fight you,” they assured us. We now believed
this to be true. The chiefs in our band had a council. The next day
they had another council.
“No, we shall stay here,” they decided. “If soldiers come we shall
steal their horses. Then they can not fight us.”
Forty lodges of Cheyennes now were in camp on the west side of Powder
river, forty or fifty miles above where Little Powder river flows
into it. The report brought by the three chiefs aroused us into
watchful activity. Every hunting party was on the lookout for white
soldiers or for their trails. The women and old people in the camp
kept themselves ever ready for immediate flight.
My older brother Yellow Hair and I went scouting. We mounted our
horses at night and went up the Powder river valley. As we were
creeping and peeping over a hill our horses got away from us. But
we kept on afoot. We saw camp fires in a dry gulch on the east side
of Powder river. Some other groups of Cheyennes were scouting in the
same vicinity. A figure on horseback showed for a moment on a ridge.
White Man? Cheyenne? Other Indian? Must be a white man, a soldier.
Somebody off aside from us acted quickly.
“Bang!”
The horse and rider went at once out of sight. My brother and I
dropped down and lay quiet a long time. We talked of stealing soldier
horses. Our own were gone, and we needed mounts. We crawled along
further until we could see a soldier walking to and fro along the
line of their horses, between us and the animals. He had a rifle. As
we conferred together about what to do, other soldiers came to the
horses. They were getting ready to move. Within a few minutes the
entire body of them were gone. We went then close to the abandoned
camp. We began to poke up the smoldering fires. Suddenly:
“Bang!” The bullet whistled past us.
We ran. Other shots were fired at us. We hurried into a narrow gulch
or canyon. As we dodged from hiding place to hiding place up the
gulch we could see soldiers on horseback following along the high
sides. They were shooting down toward us. But they could not see us.
There was a high wind blowing, the weather was of the blustering kind
usual at that time of year. We hastened on to where the gulch led to
the high bench land. Our pursuers had left us before we reached this
broad area. We were tired, very tired. We wanted to stop and rest,
but we feared our legs might grow stiff, so we trudged on. At dawn we
heard barking of dogs at our camp. That was a welcome sound.
“Waoo-oo-oo-oo,” we wolf-howled from a hilltop before we went into
the camp. Our alarm brought out the people. They flocked to our
lodge. A council of the old men was called. My brother and I were
brought before it. Other young men who had been out also were at the
council. “Young men, what do you know?” the chiefs asked us. We told
them. We learned that the lone horseman shot during the night before
was a Cheyenne. Another Cheyenne had sent the bullet. It had gone in
at the wrist and out just below the elbow. The affair was entirely a
case of mistaken identity.
The council of old men decided we should keep away from the soldiers,
not try to fight them. They sent out an old man herald to proclaim:
“Soldiers have been seen. We think they are looking for us. Today we
move camp far down the river.”
Our hunters and scouts kept a lookout for the soldiers. Our camp was
moved to a point just above where Little Powder river flows into
Powder river and on the west side of the larger stream. The soldiers
went over the hills to the headwaters of Hanging Woman creek. They
followed this stream down to Tongue river. We felt safe then. Many of
our people thought they were not seeking us at all.
But one day some Cheyennes hunting antelope at the head of Otter
creek, just over the hills west from our camp, saw the soldiers
camped there. The hunters urged their horses back to warn us. Some
of the horses became exhausted in the run, so their riders had to
come on afoot. A herald notified the people. All was excitement. The
council of old men appointed ten young men to go out that night and
watch the movements of the soldiers. Others were out scouting or were
awake and watching, but these ten had the special duty. Most of the
people slept, feeling secure under the protection of the appointed
outer sentinels. Early in the morning an old man arose and went to
the top of a nearby knoll to observe or to pray, as old men were in
the habit of doing. He had been there only a few moments when he
began shouting toward the camp:
“The soldiers are right here! The soldiers are right here!”
Already the attacking white men were between the horse herd and the
camp. The ten scouts during the hours of darkness and storm had
missed meeting the soldiers. They found a trail, this trail going up
the creek valley. They turned their horses and whipped them in the
effort to get ahead of the invaders. But the tired horses played out.
They did not catch up with the soldiers until these had arrived at
the camp, or afterward.
Women screamed. Children cried for their mothers. Old people tottered
and hobbled away to get out of reach of the bullets singing among the
lodges. Braves seized whatever weapons they had and tried to meet
the attack. I owned a muzzle-loading rifle, but I had no bullets for
it. I owned also a cap-and-ball six shooter, but I had loaned it to
Star, a cousin who was one of the ten special scouts of the night
before. In turn, he had let me have bow and arrows he had borrowed
from Puffed Cheek. My armament then consisted of this bow and arrows
belonging to Puffed Cheek.
I skirted around afoot to get at our horse herd. I looped my lariat
rope over the neck of the first convenient one. It belonged to Old
Bear, the old man chief of our band. But just now it became my war
pony. I quickly made a lariat bridle and mounted the recovered
animal. A few other Cheyennes did the same as I had done. But most
of them remained afoot. I shot arrows at the soldiers. Our people had
not much else to shoot. Only a few had guns and also ammunition for
them.
All of the soldiers who first appeared had white horses. Another
band of them who charged soon afterward from another direction had
only bay horses. I started back to try to get to my home lodge. I
wanted my shield, my other medicine objects and whatever else I might
be able to carry away. Women were struggling along burdened with
packs of precious belongings. Some were dragging or carrying their
children. All were shrieking in fright. I came upon one woman who had
a pack on her back, one little girl under an arm and an older girl
clinging to her free right hand. She was crying, both of the girls
were crying, and all three of them were almost exhausted. They had
just dived into a thicket for a rest when I rode up to them. It was
Last Bull’s wife and their two daughters.
“Let me take one of the children,” I proposed.
The older girl, age about ten years, was lifted up behind me. A
little further on I picked up also an eight-year-old boy who was
trudging along behind a mother carrying on her back a baby and under
her arms two other children. The girl behind me clasped her arms
about my waist. I wrapped an arm about the boy in front of me. With
my free arm and hand I guided my horse as best I could. The animal
too was excited by the tumult. It shied and plunged. But I got the
two children out of danger. Then I went back to help in the fight.
Two Moons, Bear Walks on a Ridge and myself were together. We
centered an attack upon one certain soldier. Two Moons had a
repeating rifle. As we stood in concealment he stood it upon end
in front of him and passed his hands up and down the barrel, not
touching it, while making medicine. Then he said: “My medicine is
good; watch me kill that soldier.” He fired, but his bullet missed.
Bear Walks on a Ridge then fired his muzzle-loading rifle. His bullet
hit the soldier in the back of the head. We rushed upon the man and
beat and stabbed him to death. Another Cheyenne joined us to help in
the killing. He took the soldier’s rifle. I stripped off the blue
coat and kept it. Two Moons and Bear Walks on a Ridge took whatever
else he had and they wanted.
One Cheyenne was killed by the soldiers. Another had his forearm
badly shattered. Braided Locks, who is yet living, had the skin of
one cheek furrowed by a bullet. The Cheyennes were beaten away from
the camp. From a distance we saw the destruction of our village. Our
tepees were burned, with everything in them except what the soldiers
may have taken. Extra flares at times showed the explosion of powder,
and there was the occasional pop of a cartridge from the fires.
The Cheyennes were rendered very poor. I had nothing left but the
clothing I had on, with the soldier coat added. My eagle wing bone
flute, my medicine pipe, my rifle, everything else of mine, were gone.
This was in the last part of the winter.[14] Melted snow water was
running everywhere. We waded across the Powder river and set off to
the eastward. All of the people except some of the warriors were
afoot. The few young men on horseback stayed behind to guard the
other people as they got away. One old woman, a blind person, was
missing. All others were present except the Cheyenne who had been
killed.
The soldiers did not follow us. That night we who had horses went
back to see what had become of them. At the destroyed camp we saw
one lodge still standing. We went to it. There was the missing old
blind woman. Her tepee and herself had been left entirely unharmed.
We talked about this matter, all agreeing that the act showed the
soldiers had good hearts.
We found the soldier camp. We found also our horses they had taken.
We crept toward the herd, out a little distance from the camp. One
Cheyenne would whisper, “I see my horse.” Another would say, “There
is mine.” Some could not see their own, but they took whichever ones
they could get. I got my own favorite animal. We made some effort
then to steal some of the horses of the white men. But they shot
at us, so we went away with the part of our own herd that we could
manage. When we returned with them and caught up with our people we
let the women and some of the old people ride. I gave then to Chief
Old Bear his horse I had captured when the soldiers first attacked
us. He said, “Thank you, my friend,” and he gave the horse to his
woman while he kept on afoot.