Not even the proverbial stoicism of the red man was sufficient to
conceal the chagrin and disappointment recognizable in every lineament
of the countenances of both Satanta and Lone Wolf when they discovered
that all their efforts at deception had not only failed, but left
them prisoners in our hands. Had we been in doubt as to whether their
intention had really been to leave us in the lurch or not, all doubt
would have been dispelled by a slight circumstance which soon after
transpired. As I before stated, we had almost reached Fort Cobb, which
was our destination for the time being. The chiefs who had already made
their escape now became anxious in regard to the non-arrival in their
midst of Satanta and Lone Wolf. The delay of the last two could not be
satisfactorily accounted for. Something must have gone amiss.
Again was stratagem resorted to. We were marching along without
interruption or incident to disturb our progress, such of us as were
at the head of the column keeping watchful eyes upon our two swarthy
prisoners, who rode sullenly at our sides, and whose past career
justified us in attributing to them the nerve and daring necessary to
induce an effort to secure their liberty should there be the slightest
probability of success. Suddenly a mounted Indian appeared far away
to our right, and approached us at a gallop until almost within rifle
range, when halting his well-trained pony upon a little hillock which
answered his purpose, he gracefully detached the scarlet blanket he
wore, and began waving it in a peculiar but regular manner. Both chiefs
looked anxiously in the direction of the warrior, then merely glanced
toward me as if to see if I had also observed this last arrival;
but too proud to speak or prefer a request, they rode silently on,
apparently indifferent to what might follow. Turning to Romeo, who
rode in rear, I directed him to inquire of the chiefs the meaning of
the signals which the warrior was evidently endeavoring to convey to
them. Satanta acted as spokesman, and replied that the warrior in sight
was his son, and that the latter was signalling to him that he had
something important to communicate, and desired Satanta to ride out and
join him.
To have seen the innocent and artless expression of countenance with
which Satanta made this announcement, one would not have imagined that
the son had been sent as a decoy to cover the escape of the father, and
that the latter had been aware of this fact from the first. However,
I pretended to humor Satanta. Of course there was no objection to his
galloping out to where his son awaited him, because, as he said, that
son was, and for good reason perhaps, unwilling to gallop in to where
his father was. But if Satanta was so eager to see and communicate
with his son, there should be no objection to the presence of a small
escort--not that there existed doubts in my mind as to Satanta’s
intention to return to us, because no such doubt existed. I was
positively convinced that once safely beyond our reach, the place at
the head of the column, which had known him for a few brief hours,
would know him no more forever. I told Romeo to say to Satanta that he
might ride across the plain to where his son was, and not only that,
but several of us would do ourselves the honor to volunteer as his
escort.
The most careless observer would have detected the air of vexation with
which Satanta turned his pony’s head, and taking me at my word started
to meet his son. A brisk gallop soon brought us to the little hillock
upon which Satanta’s son awaited us. He was there, a tall, trimly
built, warrior-like young fellow of perhaps twenty, and bore himself
while in our presence as if he would have us to understand he was not
only the son of a mighty chief, but some day would wear that title
himself. What was intended to be gained by the interview did not become
evident, as the presence of Romeo prevented any conversation between
father and son looking to the formation of plans for escape. Questions
were asked and answered as to where the village was, and in regard to
its future movements, but nothing satisfactory either to Satanta or
his captors was learned from the young warrior. Finally, I suggested
to Satanta that as we only intended to proceed a few miles further,
being then in the near vicinity of Fort Cobb, and would there encamp
for an indefinite period, his son had better accompany us to camp,
where Lone Wolf and Satanta would be informed what was to be required
of them and their people, and then, after conferring with each other,
the two chiefs could send Satanta’s son to the village with any message
which they might desire to transmit to their people. At the same time
I promised the young warrior good treatment, with permission to go
and come as he chose, and in no manner to be regarded or treated as a
prisoner.
This proposition seemed to strike the Indians favorably, and much to
my surprise, knowing the natural suspicion of the Indian, the young
warrior readily consented to the plan, and at once placed himself in
our power. Turning our horses’ heads, we soon resumed our places at the
head of the column, the three Indians riding in silence, brooding, no
doubt, over plans looking to their freedom.
By way of a slight digression from the main narrative, I will here
remark that during the prolonged imprisonment of the two chiefs,
Satanta’s son became a regular visitor to our camp, frequently becoming
the bearer of important messages from the chiefs to their villages, and
in time he and I, apparently, became firm friends. He was an excellent
shot with the rifle. Satanta said he was the best in the tribe, and
frequently, when time hung heavily on my hands, and I felt a desire for
recreation, he and I took our rifles, and, after passing beyond the
limits of camp, engaged in a friendly match at target practice, a much
more agreeable mode of testing our skill as marksmen than by using each
other as a target.
Satanta had exhibited no little gratification when I first engaged to
shoot with his son, and as the lodge in which he was kept a closely
guarded prisoner was on my route in returning from target practice
to my tent, I usually stopped a few moments in his lodge to exchange
passing remarks. He was evidently disappointed when informed as to the
result of the first trial with our rifles, that his son had come off
only second best; and numerous were the explanations which his fertile
mind suggested as the causes leading to this result--a result which
in the eyes of the Indian assumed far greater importance than would
ordinarily be attached to it by white men. As we had agreed to have
frequent contests of this kind, Satanta assured me that his son would
yet prove himself the better man. Each meeting, however, only resulted
as the first, although by varying the distance every opportunity was
given for a fair test. Finally, when all other explanations had failed,
Satanta thought he had discovered the real obstacle to the success of
his son, by ascribing superior qualities to my rifle as compared with
the one used by him. Fairness on my part then required that I should
offer the young warrior the use of my rifle, and that I should use his
in the next match; a proposition which was at once accepted, and, as
if to be better prepared to make an excellent score, my rifle was soon
in his hands and undergoing the critical inspection and manipulation
of trigger, sights, etc., which always suggest themselves the moment
an experienced marksman finds a new rifle in his hands. The following
day we engaged as usual in rifle practice, he with my rifle, I with
his. I frankly confess that having entered into the contest from the
first with as much zest and rivalry as even my dusky competitor could
lay claim to, and having come off victor in the preceding contests, I
was not entirely free from anxiety lest the change in rifles might also
change the result, and detract, in the eyes of the Indians at least,
from my former successes. On this occasion, as on all previous ones,
we were alone, and consequently we were our own judges, umpire, and
referee. Greatly to my satisfaction, my good fortune enabled me to make
a better score than did my opponent, and this result seemed to settle
his opinion finally as to our relative merits as marksmen. I attached
no little importance to these frequent and friendly meetings between
Satanta’s son and myself. Any superiority in the handling or use of
weapons, in horseback exercises, or in any of the recognized manly
sports, is a sure stepping-stone in obtaining for the possessor the
highest regard of the red man.
Upon our arrival at Fort Cobb, the day of the seizure of the two
chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta, we selected a camp with a view of
remaining at that point during the negotiations which were to be
conducted with the various tribes who were still on the war path. So
far as some of the tribes were concerned, they were occupying that
equivocal position which enabled them to class themselves as friendly
and at the same time engage in hostilities. This may sound ambiguous,
but is easily explained. The chiefs and old men, with the women and
children of the tribe, were permitted to assemble regularly at the
agency near Fort Cobb, and as regularly were bountifully supplied
with food and clothing sufficient for all their wants; at the same
time the young men, warriors, and war chiefs of the tribe were almost
continually engaged in making war upon the frontier of northern Texas
and southeastern Kansas. Indeed, we established the fact, while at
or near Fort Cobb, that while my command was engaged in fighting the
warriors and chiefs of certain tribes at the battle of the Washita, the
families of these same warriors and chiefs were being clothed and fed
by the agent of the Government then stationed at Fort Cobb.
Surprising as this may seem, it is not an unusual occurrence. The
same system has prevailed during the past year. While my command was
resisting the attacks of a large body of warriors on the Yellowstone
river last summer, the families of many of these warriors, the latter
representing seven tribes or bands, were subsisting upon provisions and
clothed in garments issued to them at the regular Indian agencies by
the Government. But of this more anon.
The three tribes which became at that time the special objects of our
attention, and with whom we were particularly anxious to establish
such relations as would prevent in the future a repetition of the
murders and outrages of which they had so long been guilty, were the
Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes; the object being to complete our work
by placing these three tribes upon reservations where they might be
cared for, and at the same time be kept under proper surveillance. The
Washita campaign had duly impressed them with the power and purpose of
the Government to inflict punishment upon all who chose to make war;
and each tribe, dreading a repetition of the blow upon themselves, had
removed their villages to remote points where they deemed themselves
secure from further chastisement. Having Lone Wolf and Satanta, the two
leading chiefs of the Kiowas, in our hands, we thought that through
them the Kiowas could be forced to a compliance with the just and
reasonable demands of the Government, and with the terms of their
treaty providing for the reservation system.
All demands upon the Kiowas were communicated by me to Lone Wolf and
Satanta, under the instructions of General Sheridan, who, although
on the ground, declined to treat directly with the faithless chiefs.
The Kiowas were informed that unless the entire tribe repaired to the
vicinity of the agency, then located not far from Fort Cobb, the war,
which had been inaugurated with such vigor and effect at the Washita,
would be renewed and continued until the terms of their treaty had been
complied with. This proposition was imparted to Lone Wolf and Satanta,
and by them transmitted to their tribe, through the son of the latter,
who acted as a sort of diplomatic courier between the Kiowa village and
our camp.
The Kiowas, while sending messages apparently in accord with the
proposition, and seeming to manifest a willingness to come in and
locate themselves upon their reservation, continued, after the manner
of Indian diplomacy, to defer from time to time the promised movement.
There was every reason to believe that, finding the military disposed
to temporarily suspend active operations, and resort to negotiation,
the Kiowas had located their village within a short distance of our
camp, as Satanta’s son, in going and coming with messages from one to
the other, easily made the round journey in a single day; so that had
they been so disposed, the Kiowas could have transferred their village
to our immediate vicinity, as desired by the military authorities, in
one day. The truth was, however, that while manifesting an apparent
desire to conform to this requirement, as a precedent to final peace,
they had not intended at any time to keep faith with the Government,
but, by a pretended acquiescence in the proposed arrangement, secure
the release of the two head chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta, and then
hasten, with the entire village, to join forces with the other two
tribes, the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, who were then represented as being
located somewhere near the source of Red river, and on the border of
the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain, a region of country supposed to
be impenetrable by civilized man. Every promise of the Kiowas to come
in was always made conditional upon the prior release of Lone Wolf and
Satanta.
Their efforts to procrastinate or evade a fulfilment of their part of
the agreement finally exhausted the forbearance which thus far had
prompted none but the mildest measures on the part of the military
authorities, in the efforts of the latter to bring about a peaceful
solution of existing difficulties. It had become evident that, instead
of intending to establish relations of permanent peace and friendship
with the whites, the majority of the tribe were only waiting the
release of Lone Wolf and Satanta to resume hostilities, or at least
to more firmly ally themselves with the extremely hostile tribes then
occupying the head waters of Red river.
Spring was approaching, when the grass would enable the Indians to
recuperate their ponies, which, after the famished condition to which
winter usually reduced them, would soon be fleet and strong, ready
to do duty on the war path. It was therefore indispensable that
there should be no further delay in the negotiations, which had been
needlessly prolonged through several weeks. General Sheridan promptly
decided upon the terms of his ultimatum. Like most of the utterances
of that officer, they were brief and to the point. I remember the day
and the circumstances under which they were given. The General and
myself were standing upon opposite sides of a rude enclosure which
surrounded the space immediately about his tent, composed of a single
line of rough poles, erected by the unskilled labor of some of the
soldiers. The day was one of those bright, warm, sunshiny days so
frequent in the Indian Territory, even in winter. I had left my tent,
which was but a few paces from that of General Sheridan, to step over
and report, as I did almost daily, the latest message from the Kiowas
as to their intention to make peace. On this occasion, as on all
former ones, there was a palpable purpose to postpone further action
until Lone Wolf and Satanta should be released by us. After hearing
the oft-repeated excuses of the Kiowas, General Sheridan communicated
his resolve to me in substance as follows: “Well, Custer, these Kiowas
are endeavoring to play us false. Their object is to occupy us with
promises until the grass enables them to go where they please and make
war if they choose. We have given them every opportunity to come in and
enjoy the protection of the Government, if they so desired. They are
among the worst Indians we have to deal with, and have been guilty of
untold murders and outrages, at the same time they were being fed and
clothed by the Government. These two chiefs, Lone Wolf and Satanta,
have forfeited their lives over and over again. They could now induce
their people to come in and become friendly if they chose to exert
their influence in that direction. This matter has gone on long enough,
and must be stopped, as we have to look after the other tribes before
spring overtakes us. You can inform Lone Wolf and Satanta that we shall
wait until sundown to-morrow for their tribe to come in; if by that
time the village is not here, Lone Wolf and Satanta will be hung, and
the troops sent in pursuit of the village.”
This might be regarded as bringing matters to a crisis. I proceeded
directly to the lodge in which Lone Wolf and Satanta were prisoners,
accompanied by Romeo as interpreter. I found the two chiefs reclining
lazily upon their comfortable, if not luxurious couches of robes.
Satanta’s son was also present. After a few preliminary remarks, I
introduced the subject which was the occasion of my visit, by informing
the chiefs that I had just returned from General Sheridan’s tent,
where the question of the failure of the Kiowas to comply with their
oft-repeated promises had been discussed, and that I had been directed
to acquaint them with the determination which had been formed in regard
to them and their people. At this announcement I could see that both
chiefs became instantly and unmistakably interested in what was being
said.
I had so often heard of the proverbial stoicism of the Indian
character, that it occurred to me that this was a favorable moment
for judging how far this trait affects their conduct. For it will be
readily acknowledged that the communication which I was about to make
to them was one likely, at all events, to overturn any self-imposed
stolidity which was not deeply impregnated in their nature. After going
over the subject of the continued absence of the Kiowas from their
reservation, their oft-made promises, made only to be violated, I told
them that they were regarded, as they had a right to be, as the two
leading and most influential chiefs of the tribe; that although they
were prisoners, yet so powerful were they among the people of their own
tribe, that their influence, even while prisoners, was greater than
that of all the other chiefs combined; hence all negotiations with the
Kiowas had been conducted through them, and although they had it in
their power, by a single command, to cause a satisfactory settlement of
existing difficulties to be made, yet so far they had failed utterly to
exert an influence for peace between their people and the Government.
The announcement then to be made to them must be regarded as final, and
it remained with them alone to decide by their action what the result
should be. In as few words as possible I then communicated to them the
fate which undoubtedly awaited them in the event of the non-appearance
of their tribe. Until sunset of the following day seemed a very brief
period, yet I failed to detect the slightest change in the countenance
of either when told that that would be the extent of their lives if
their tribe failed to come in. Not a muscle of their warrior-like
faces moved. Their eyes neither brightened nor quailed; nothing in
their actions or appearance gave token that anything unusual had been
communicated to them. Satanta’s son alone of the three seemed to
realize that matters were becoming serious, as could readily be told by
watching his anxious glances, first at his father, then at Lone Wolf;
but neither spoke.
Realizing the importance of time, and anxious to bring about a
peaceful as well as satisfactory termination of our difficulties with
the Kiowas, and at the same time to afford every facility to the two
captive chiefs to save their oft-forfeited lives--for all familiar with
their bloody and cruel career would grant that they merited death--I
urged upon them the necessity of prompt action in communicating with
their tribe, and pointed to Satanta’s son, who could be employed for
this purpose. Quickly springing to his feet, and not waiting to hear
the opinions of the two chiefs, the young warrior rushed from the
lodge, and was soon busily engaged in tightening the girths of his
Indian saddle, preparatory to a rapid gallop on his fleet pony.
In the mean time Lone Wolf and Satanta began exchanging utterances,
at first slow and measured, in tones scarcely audible. Gradually they
seemed to realize how desperate was the situation they were in, and
how much depended upon themselves. Then laying aside the formality
which had up to that moment characterized their deportment, they no
longer appeared as the dignified, reserved, almost sullen chiefs, but
acted and spoke as would be expected of men situated as they were. In
less time than I have taken to describe the action, Satanta’s handsome
son appeared at the entrance of the lodge, mounted and in readiness
for his ride. Although he seemed by his manner to incline toward his
father as the one who should give him his instructions, yet it was
soon apparent that a more correct understanding existed between the
two captives. Lone Wolf was the head chief of their tribe, Satanta
the second in rank. The occasion was too important to leave anything
to chance. A message from Satanta might receive prompt attention; a
command from the head chief could not be disregarded; hence it was
that Satanta stood aside, and Lone Wolf stepped forward and addressed
a few hasty but apparently emphatic sentences to the young courier,
who was all eagerness to depart on his mission. As Lone Wolf concluded
his instructions, and the young warrior was gathering up his reins
and lariat, and turning his pony from the lodge in the direction of
the village, Satanta simply added, in an energetic tone, “Hoodle-teh,
hoodle-teh” (make haste, make haste); an injunction scarcely needed, as
the young Indian and his pony were the next moment flying across the
level plain.
I then reëntered the lodge with Lone Wolf and Satanta, accompanied
by Romeo. Through the latter Lone Wolf informed me that he had sent
orders to the Kiowa village, which was not a day’s travel from us, to
pack up and come in as soon as the courier should reach them. At the
same time he informed them of what depended upon their coming. He had
also sent for Black Eagle, the third chief in rank, to come in advance
of the village, bringing with him a dozen or more of the prominent
chiefs. I inquired if he felt confident that his people would arrive by
the appointed time? He almost smiled at the question, and assured me
that an Indian would risk everything to save a comrade, leaving me to
infer that to save their two highest chiefs nothing would be permitted
to stand in the way. Seeing, perhaps, a look of doubt on my face, he
pointed to that locality in the heavens which the sun would occupy at
two o’clock, and said, “Before that time Black Eagle and the other
chiefs accompanying him will be here; and by that time,” indicating in
a similar manner sunset, “the village will arrive.”
No general commanding an army, who had transmitted his orders to his
corps commanders, directing a movement at daylight the following
morning, could have exhibited more confidence in the belief that his
orders would be executed, than did this captive chief in the belief
that, although a prisoner in the hands of his traditional enemies, his
lodge closely guarded on all sides by watchful sentinels, his commands
to his people would meet with a prompt and willing compliance. After
a little further conversation with the two chiefs, I was preparing to
leave the lodge, when Lone Wolf, true to the Indian custom, under which
an opportunity to beg for something to eat is never permitted to pass
unimproved, called me back, and said that the next day his principal
chiefs would visit him, and although he was a prisoner, yet he would be
glad to be able to entertain them in a manner befitting his rank and
importance in the tribe, and therefore I was appealed to to furnish
the provisions necessary to provide a feast for a dozen or more hungry
chiefs and their retainers; in reply to which modest request I made
the heart of Lone Wolf glad, and called forth, in his most emphatic as
well as delighted manner, the universal word of approval, “How,” by
informing him that the feast should certainly be prepared if he only
would supply the guests.
The next day was one of no little interest, and to none more than to
the two chiefs, who expected to see the first step taken by their
people which would terminate in their release from a captivity which
had certainly become exceedingly irksome, not to mention the new danger
which stared them in the face. Lone Wolf, however, maintained his
confidence, and repeatedly assured me during the forenoon that Black
Eagle and the other chiefs, whom he had sent for by name, would arrive
not later than two o’clock that day. His confidence proved not to be
misplaced. The sun had hardly marked the hour of one in the heavens,
when a small cavalcade was seen approaching in the distance from the
direction of the Kiowa village. The quick eye of Satanta was the first
to discover it. A smile of haughty triumph lighted up the countenance
of Lone Wolf when his attention was called to the approaching party,
his look indicating that he felt it could not be otherwise: had he not
ordered it?
On they came, first about a dozen chiefs, riding at a deliberate and
dignified pace, they and their ponies richly caparisoned in the most
fantastic manner. The chiefs wore blankets of bright colors, scarlet
predominating, with here and there a bright green. Each face was
painted in brilliant colors, yellow, blue, green, red, black, and
combinations of all of them, no two faces being ornamented alike,
and each new face seeming more horrible than its predecessor. The
ponies had not been neglected, so far as their outward make-up was
concerned, eagle feathers and pieces of gaudy cloth being interwoven
in their manes and tails. Following the chiefs rode a second line,
only less ornamented than the chiefs themselves. These were warriors
and confidential friends and advisers of the chiefs in whose train
they rode. In rear of all rode a few meek-looking squaws, whose part
in this imposing pageant became evident when the chiefs and warriors
dismounted, giving the reins of their ponies to the squaws, who at
once busied themselves in picketing the ponies of their lords, and, in
every sense of the word, masters, wherever the grazing seemed freshest
and most abundant. This being done, their part was performed, and
they waited, near the ponies, the return of the chiefs and warriors.
The latter, after forming in one group, and in similar order to that
in which they rode, advanced toward the lodge outside of which, but
within the chain of sentinels, stood Lone Wolf and Satanta. The
meeting between the captive chiefs and their more fortunate comrades
occasioned an exhibition of more feeling and sensibility than is
generally accredited to the Indian. A bevy of school girls could not
have embraced each other, after a twenty-four hours’ separation, with
greater enthusiasm and demonstrations of apparent joy than did these
chieftains, whose sole delight is supposed to be connected with scenes
of bloodshed and cruelty. I trust no gentle-minded reader, imbued with
great kindness of heart, will let this little scene determine his
estimate of the Indian character; for be it understood, not one of the
chiefs who formed the group of which I am writing but had participated
in acts of the most barbarous and wanton cruelty. It was a portion of
these chiefs who had led and encouraged the band that had subjected the
Box family to such a horrible fate, of which Major-General Hancock made
full report at the time.
Immediately after greetings had been exchanged between the captives
and their friends, I was requested, by a message from Lone Wolf, to
repair to his lodge in order to hear what his friends had to say. As
I entered the lodge the entire party of chiefs advanced to meet me,
and began a series of hand-shaking and universal “Hows,” which in
outward earnestness made up for any lack of real sincerity, and to an
inexperienced observer or a tender-hearted peace commissioner might
well have appeared as an exhibition of indubitable friendship if not
affection. After all were seated, and the ever-present long red clay
pipe had passed and repassed around the circle, each chief indulging
in a few silent whiffs, Black Eagle arose, and after shaking hands
with me, proceeded, after the manner of an oration, to inform me, what
I had had reason to expect, and what the reader no doubt has also
anticipated, that the entire Kiowa village was at that moment on the
march, and would arrive in the vicinity of our camp before dark. No
reference was made to the fact that this general movement on their part
was one of compulsion, but on the contrary, to have heard Black Eagle,
who was an impressive orator, one might well have believed that, no
longer able to endure the separation from their brothers, the white
men, who, as Black Eagle said, like themselves were all descended
from one father, the Kiowas had voluntarily resolved to pack up their
lodges, and when they next should put them down it would be alongside
the tents of their white friends.
In nothing that was said did it appear that the impending execution
of Lone Wolf and Satanta had aught to do with hastening the arrival
of their people. At the termination of the conference, however, Black
Eagle intimated that as the tribe was about to locate near us, it would
be highly agreeable to them if their two head chiefs could be granted
their liberty and permitted to resume their places among their own
people.
That evening the Kiowa village, true to the prediction of Lone
Wolf, arrived, and was located a short distance from our camp. The
next morning the family or families of Satanta appeared in front of
headquarters and made known their desire to see Satanta, to which,
of course, no objection was made, and the guards were instructed to
permit them to pass the lines. Satanta’s home circle was organized
somewhat on the quadrilateral plan; that is, he had four wives.
They came together, and, so far as outward appearances enabled one
to judge, they constituted a happy family. They were all young and
buxom, and each was sufficiently like the others in appearance to
have enabled the lot to pass as sisters; and, by the way, it is quite
customary among the Indians for one man to marry an entire family of
daughters as rapidly as they reach the proper age. To those who dread
a multiplicity of mothers-in-law this custom possesses advantages. To
add in a material as well as maternal way to the striking similarity
in appearance presented by Satanta’s dusky spouses, each bore on her
back, encased in the capacious folds of a scarlet blanket, a pledge
of affection in the shape of a papoose, the difference in the extreme
ages of the four miniature warriors, or warriors’ sisters, being
too slight to be perceptible. In single file the four partners of
Satanta’s joys approached his lodge, and in the same order gained
admittance. Satanta was seated on a buffalo robe when they entered. He
did not rise--perhaps that would have been deemed unwarriorlike--but
each of his wives advanced to him, when, instead of going through
the ordinary form of embracing, with its usual accompaniments, on
such occasions considered proper, the papoose was unslung--I know of
no better term to describe the dexterous manner in which the mother
transferred her offspring from its cosey resting-place on her back to
her arms--and handed to the outstretched arms of the father, who kissed
it repeatedly, with every exhibition of paternal affection, scarcely
deigning to bestow a single glance on the mother, who stood by meekly,
contenting herself with stroking Satanta’s face and shoulders gently,
at the same time muttering almost inaudible expressions of Indian
endearment. This touching little scene lasted for a few moments, when
Satanta, after bestowing a kiss upon the soft, cherry lips of his
child, transferred it back to its mother, who passed on and quietly
took a seat by Satanta’s side. The second wife then approached, when
precisely the same exhibition was gone through with, not being varied
from the first in the slightest particular. This being ended, the third
took the place of the second, the latter passing along with her babe
and seating herself next to the first, and so on, until the fourth wife
had presented her babe, received it back, and quietly seated herself by
the side of the third; not a word being spoken to or by Satanta from
the beginning to the end of this strange meeting.
The Kiowas were now all located on their reservation except a single
band of the tribe, led by a very wicked and troublesome chief, named
Woman Heart, although his conduct and character were anything but in
keeping with the gentleness of his name. He had taken his band and
moved in the direction of the Staked Plains, far to the west of the
Kiowa reservation.
However, the Indian question, so far as the Kiowas were concerned,
was regarded as settled, at least for the time being, and it became
our next study how to effect a similar settlement with the Cheyennes
and Arapahoes, who had tied after the battle of the Washita, and were
then supposed to be somewhere between the Witchita mountains and the
western border of Texas, north of the head waters of Red river. It was
finally decided to send one of the friendly chiefs of the Apaches,
whose village was then near the present site of Fort Sill, and one of
the three captive squaws whom we had brought with us.
All the chiefs of that region who were interested in promoting peace
between the whites and Indians were assembled at my headquarters, when
I informed them of the proposed peace embassy, and asked that some
chief of prominence should volunteer as bearer of a friendly message to
the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. A well-known chief of the Apaches, named
Iron Shirt, promptly offered himself as a messenger in the cause of
peace. In reply to my inquiry, he said he could be ready to depart upon
his commendable errand the following day, and estimated the distance
such that it would be necessary to take provision sufficient to last
him and his companion three weeks. Having arranged all the details of
the journey, the assemblage of chiefs dispersed, the next step being
to decide which of the three squaws should accompany Iron Shirt to her
tribe. I concluded to state the case to them, and make the selection
a matter for them to decide. Summoning Mah-wis-sa, Mo-nah-see-tah,
and the Sioux squaw, their companion, to my tent, I, through Romeo,
acquainted them with the desire of the Government to establish peace
with their people and with the Arapahoes, and in order to accomplish
this we intended despatching a friendly message to the absent tribes,
which must be carried by some of their own people. After conferring
with each other a few minutes, they concluded that Mah-wis-sa, the
sister of Black Kettle, should return to her people. Every arrangement
was provided, looking to the comfort of the two Indians who were to
undertake this long journey. A bountiful supply of provisions was
carefully provided in convenient packages, an extra amount of clothing
and blankets being given to Mah-wis-sa in order that she should not
return to her people empty-handed. To transport their provisions and
blankets a mule was given them to be used as a pack-animal. It was
quite an event, sufficient to disturb the monotony of camp, when the
hour arrived for the departure of the two peace commissioners. I had
told Iron Shirt what he was to say to the chiefs of the tribes who
still remained hostile, which was in effect that we were anxious
for peace, and to that end invited them to come at once and place
themselves and their people on the reservations, where we would meet
and regard them as friends, and all present hostilities, as well as
reckoning for past differences, should cease; but if this friendly
proffer was not accepted favorably and at once, we would be forced
to regard it as indicating their desire to prolong the war, in which
event the troops would be sent against them as soon as practicable.
I relied not a little on the good influence of Mah-wis-sa, who, as
I have before stated, was a woman of superior intelligence, and was
strongly impressed with a desire to aid in establishing a peace between
her people and the white men. Quite a group, composed of officers,
soldiers, teamsters, guards, and scouts, assembled to witness the
departure of Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa, and to wish them God-speed in
their mission.
After Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa had seated themselves upon their ponies
and were about to set out, Mah-wis-sa, suddenly placing her hand on
the neat belt which secured her blanket about her, indicated that she
was unprovided with that most essential companion of frontier life, a
_mutch-ka_ as she expressed it, meaning a hunting-knife. Only those who
have lived on the plains can appreciate the unpurchasable convenience
of a hunting-knife. Whether it is to carve a buffalo or a mountain
trout, mend horse equipments, or close up a rent in the tent, there is
a constant demand for the services of a good hunting-knife. Mah-wis-sa
smiled at the forgetfulness which had made her fail to discern this
omission sooner, but I relieved her anxiety by taking from my belt the
hunting-knife which hung at my side and giving it to her, adding as I
did so that I expected her to return it to me before the change in
the moon, that being fixed as the extreme limit of their absence. When
all was ready for the start, Iron Shirt rode first, followed by the
pack-mule, which he led, while Mah-wis-sa, acting as a driver to the
latter and well mounted, brought up the rear.
As they rode away amid the shower of good wishes which was bestowed
upon them and their mission, many were the queries as to the probable
extent of their journey, their return, and whether they would be
successful. For upon the success or failure of these two Indians
depended in a great measure the question whether or not we were to be
forced to continue the war; and among the hundreds who watched the
departing bearers of the olive branch, there was not one but hoped
earnestly that the mission would prove successful, and we be spared the
barbarities which a further prosecution of the war would necessarily
entail. Yet there are those who would have the public believe that the
army is at all times clamorous for an Indian war. I have yet to meet
the officer or man belonging to the army, who, when the question of war
or peace with the Indians was being agitated, did not cast the weight
of his influence, the prayers of his heart, in behalf of peace. When
I next called Mah-wis-sa’s attention to the _mutch-ka_ (knife), it
was far from the locality we then occupied, and under very different
circumstances.
After the departure of Iron Shirt and Mah-wis-sa, we were forced to
settle down to the dullest routine of camp life, as nothing could be
done until their return. It was full three weeks before the interest
in camp received a fresh impetus, by the tidings, which flew from tent
to tent, that Iron Shirt had returned. He did return, but Mah-wis-sa
did not return with him. His story was brief. He and Mah-wis-sa, after
leaving us and travelling for several days westward, had arrived at the
Cheyenne and Arapaho villages. They delivered their messages to the
chiefs of the two tribes, who were assembled in council to hear them,
and after due deliberation thereon, Iron Shirt was informed that the
distance was too great, the ponies in too poor condition, to permit
the villages to return. In other words, these two tribes had virtually
decided that rather than return to their reservation they preferred
the chances of war. When asked to account for Mah-wis-sa’s failure to
accompany him back, Iron Shirt stated that she had desired to fulfil
her promise and return with him, but the chiefs of her tribe would not
permit her to do so.
The only encouragement derived from Iron Shirt was in his statement
that Little Robe, a prominent chief of the Cheyennes, and Yellow Bear,
the second chief of the Arapahoes, were both extremely anxious to
effect a permanent peace between their people and the Government, and
both had promised Iron Shirt that they would leave their villages soon
after his departure and visit us, with a view to prevent a continuation
of the war. Iron Shirt was rewarded for his journey by bountiful
presents of provisions for himself and his people. True to their
promises made to Iron Shirt, it was but a short time before Little Robe
and Yellow Bear arrived at our camp and were well received.
[Illustration: YELLOW BEAR, SECOND CHIEF OF THE ARAPAHOES.]
They reported that their villages had had under consideration the
question of accepting our invitation to come in and live at peace in
the future, and that many of their people were strongly in favor of
adopting this course, but for the present it was uncertain whether or
not the two tribes would come in. The two tribes would probably act in
concert, and if they intended coming, would make their determination
known by despatching couriers to us in a few days. In spite of the
sincerity of the motives of Little Robe and Yellow Bear, whom I
have always regarded as two of the most upright and peaceably inclined
Indians I have ever known, and who have since that time paid a visit
to the President at Washington, it was evident that the Cheyennes and
Arapahoes, while endeavoring to occupy us with promises and pretences,
were only interested in delaying our movements until the return of
spring, when the young grass would enable them to recruit the strength
of their winter-famished ponies and move when and where they pleased.
After waiting many long weary days for the arrival of the promised
couriers from the two tribes, until even Little Robe and Yellow Bear
were forced to acknowledge that there was no longer any reason to
expect their coming, it occurred to me that there was but one expedient
yet untried which furnished even a doubtful chance of averting war.
This could only be resorted to with the approval of General Sheridan,
whose tent had been pitched in our midst during the entire winter,
and who evidently proposed to remain on the ground until the Indian
question in that locality should be disposed of. My plan was as follows:
We had some fifteen hundred troops, a force ample to cope with all the
Indians which could then, or since, be combined at any one point on
the plains. But in the state of feeling existing among those Indians
at that time, consequent upon the punishment which they had received
at and since the Washita campaign, it would have been an extremely
difficult if not impracticable matter to attempt to move so large a
body of troops near their villages, and retain the latter in their
places, so fearful were they of receiving punishment for their past
offences. It would also have been impracticable to move upon them
stealthily, as they were then, for causes already given, more than ever
on the alert, and were no doubt kept thoroughly informed in regard to
our every movement.
It was thus considered out of the question to employ my entire command
of fifteen hundred men in what I proposed should be purely a peaceful
effort to bring about a termination of the war, as so large a force
would surely intimidate the Indians, and cause them to avoid our
presence.
I believed that if I could see the leading chiefs of the two hostile
tribes and convince them of the friendly desire of the Government, they
might be induced to relinquish the war and return to their reservation.
I have endeavored to show that I could not go among them with my entire
command, neither was I sufficiently orthodox as a peace commissioner to
believe what so many of that order preach, but fail to practise, that I
could take an olive branch in one hand, the plan of a school-house in
the other, and, unaccompanied by force, visit the Indian villages in
safety. My life would certainly have been the price of such temerity.
Too imposing a force would repel the Indians; too small a force would
tempt them to murder us, even though our mission was a friendly one.
After weighing the matter carefully in my own mind, I decided that
with General Sheridan’s approval I would select from my command forty
men, two officers, and a medical officer, and, accompanied by the two
chiefs, Little Robe and Yellow Bear, who regarded my proposition with
favor, I would set out in search of the hostile camp, there being but
little doubt that with the assistance of the chiefs I would have little
difficulty in discovering the whereabouts of the villages; while the
smallness of my party would prevent unnecessary alarm or suspicion
as to our intentions. From my tent to General Sheridan’s was but a
few steps, and I soon submitted my proposition to the General, who
from the first was inclined to lend his approval to my project. After
discussing it fully, he gave his assent by saying that the character
of the proposed expedition was such that he would not order me to
proceed upon it, but if I volunteered to go, he would give me the full
sanction of his authority and every possible assistance to render the
mission a successful one; in conclusion urging me to exercise the
greatest caution against the stratagems or treachery of the Indians,
who no doubt would be but too glad to massacre my party in revenge for
their recent well-merited chastisement. Returning to my tent, I at once
set about making preparations for my journey, the extent or result of
which now became interesting subjects for deliberation. The first thing
necessary was to make up the party which was to accompany me.
As the number of men was to be limited to forty, too much care could
not be exercised in their selection. I chose the great majority of them
from the sharpshooters, men who, in addition to being cool and brave,
were experienced and skilful marksmen. My standard-bearer, a well-tried
sergeant, was selected as the senior non-commissioned officer of the
party. The officers who were to accompany me were my brother Colonel
Custer, Captain Robbins, and Dr. Renick, Acting Assistant Surgeon U. S.
Army. As guide I had Ne-va, a Blackfoot Indian, who had accompanied
General Fremont in his explorations, and who could speak a little
English. Little Robe and Yellow Bear were also to be relied upon as
guides, while Romeo accompanied us as interpreter. Young Brewster,
determined to miss no opportunity of discovering his lost sister, had
requested and been granted permission to become one of the party. This
completed the _personnel_ of the expedition. All were well armed and
well mounted. We were to take no wagons or tents; our extra supplies
were to be transported on pack-mules. We were to start on the evening
of the second day, the intervening time being necessary to complete our
preparations. It was decided that our first march should be a short
one, sufficient merely to enable us to reach a village of friendly
Apaches, located a few miles from our camp, where we would spend the
first night and be joined by Little Robe and Yellow Bear, who at that
time were guests of the Apaches. I need not say that in the opinion of
many of our comrades our mission was regarded as closely bordering on
the imprudent, to qualify it by no stronger term.
So confident did one of the most prudent officers of my command feel in
regard to our annihilation by the Indians, that in bidding me good-by
he contrived to slip into my hand a small pocket Derringer pistol,
loaded, with the simple remark, “You had better take it, General; it
may prove useful to you.” As I was amply provided with arms, both
revolvers and rifle, and as a pocket Derringer may not impress the
reader as being a very formidable weapon to use in Indian warfare,
the purpose of my friend in giving me the small pocket weapon may
not seem clear. It was given me under the firm conviction that the
Indians would overwhelm and massacre my entire party; and to prevent
my being captured, disarmed, and reserved for torture, that little
pistol was given me in order that at the last moment I might become my
own executioner--an office I was not seeking, nor did I share in my
friend’s opinion.
Everything being ready for our departure, we swung into our saddles,
waved our adieus to the comrades who were to remain in camp, and the
next moment we turned our horses’ heads westward and were moving in the
direction of the Apache village.