EVERY age, every race, has its leaders and heroes. There were over sixty
distinct tribes of Indians on this continent, each of which boasted
its notable men. The names and deeds of some of these men will live
in American history, yet in the true sense they are unknown, because
misunderstood. I should like to present some of the greatest chiefs of
modern times in the light of the native character and ideals, believing
that the American people will gladly do them tardy justice.
It is matter of history that the Sioux nation, to which I belong,
was originally friendly to the Caucasian peoples which it met in
succession-first, to the south the Spaniards; then the French, on the
Mississippi River and along the Great Lakes; later the English, and
finally the Americans. This powerful tribe then roamed over the whole
extent of the Mississippi valley, between that river and the Rockies.
Their usages and government united the various bands more closely than
was the case with many of the neighboring tribes.
During the early part of the nineteenth century, chiefs such as
Wabashaw, Redwing, and Little Six among the eastern Sioux, Conquering
Bear, Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse, and Hump of the western bands, were the
last of the old type. After these, we have a coterie of new leaders,
products of the new conditions brought about by close contact with the
conquering race.
This distinction must be borne in mind--that while the early chiefs
were spokesmen and leaders in the simplest sense, possessing no real
authority, those who headed their tribes during the transition period
were more or less rulers and more or less politicians. It is a singular
fact that many of the “chiefs”, well known as such to the American
public, were not chiefs at all according to the accepted usages of
their tribesmen. Their prominence was simply the result of an abnormal
situation, in which representatives of the United States Government made
use of them for a definite purpose. In a few cases, where a chief met
with a violent death, some ambitious man has taken advantage of the
confusion to thrust himself upon the tribe and, perhaps with outside
help, has succeeded in usurping the leadership.
Red Cloud was born about 1820 near the forks of the Platte River. He
was one of a family of nine children whose father, an able and respected
warrior, reared his son under the old Spartan regime. The young Red
Cloud is said to have been a fine horseman, able to swim across the
Missouri and Yellowstone rivers, of high bearing and unquestionable
courage, yet invariably gentle and courteous in everyday life. This
last trait, together with a singularly musical and agreeable voice, has
always been characteristic of the man.
When he was about six years old, his father gave him a spirited colt,
and said to him:
“My son, when you are able to sit quietly upon the back of this colt
without saddle or bridle, I shall be glad, for the boy who can win a
wild creature and learn to use it will as a man be able to win and rule
men.”
The little fellow, instead of going for advice and help to his
grandfather, as most Indian boys would have done, began quietly to
practice throwing the lariat. In a little while he was able to lasso
the colt. He was dragged off his feet at once, but hung on, and finally
managed to picket him near the teepee. When the big boys drove the herd
of ponies to water, he drove his colt with the rest. Presently the pony
became used to him and allowed himself to be handled. The boy began
to ride him bareback; he was thrown many times, but persisted until he
could ride without even a lariat, sitting with arms folded and guiding
the animal by the movements of his body. From that time on he told me
that he broke all his own ponies, and before long his father’s as well.
The old men, his contemporaries, have often related to me how Red
Cloud was always successful in the hunt because his horses were so well
broken. At the age of nine, he began to ride his father’s pack pony upon
the buffalo hunt. He was twelve years old, he told me, when he was
first permitted to take part in the chase, and found to his great
mortification that none of his arrows penetrated more than a few
inches. Excited to recklessness, he whipped his horse nearer the fleeing
buffalo, and before his father knew what he was about, he had seized one
of the protruding arrows and tried to push it deeper. The furious animal
tossed his massive head sidewise, and boy and horse were whirled into
the air. Fortunately, the boy was thrown on the farther side of his
pony, which received the full force of the second attack. The thundering
hoofs of the stampeded herd soon passed them by, but the wounded and
maddened buffalo refused to move, and some critical moments passed
before Red Cloud’s father succeeded in attracting its attention so that
the boy might spring to his feet and run for his life.
I once asked Red Cloud if he could recall having ever been afraid, and
in reply he told me this story. He was about sixteen years old and had
already been once or twice upon the warpath, when one fall his people
were hunting in the Big Horn country, where they might expect trouble at
any moment with the hostile Crows or Shoshones. Red Cloud had followed a
single buffalo bull into the Bad Lands and was out of sight and hearing
of his companions. When he had brought down his game, he noted carefully
every feature of his surroundings so that he might at once detect
anything unusual, and tied his horse with a long lariat to the horn of
the dead bison, while skinning and cutting up the meat so as to pack
it to camp. Every few minutes he paused in his work to scrutinize the
landscape, for he had a feeling that danger was not far off.
Suddenly, almost over his head, as it seemed, he heard a tremendous
war whoop, and glancing sidewise, thought he beheld the charge of an
overwhelming number of warriors. He tried desperately to give the usual
undaunted war whoop in reply, but instead a yell of terror burst from
his lips, his legs gave way under him, and he fell in a heap. When he
realized, the next instant, that the war whoop was merely the sudden
loud whinnying of his own horse, and the charging army a band of fleeing
elk, he was so ashamed of himself that he never forgot the incident,
although up to that time he had never mentioned it. His subsequent
career would indicate that the lesson was well learned.
The future leader was still a very young man when he joined a war party
against the Utes. Having pushed eagerly forward on the trail, he found
himself far in advance of his companions as night came on, and at the
same time rain began to fall heavily. Among the scattered scrub pines,
the lone warrior found a natural cave, and after a hasty examination, he
decided to shelter there for the night.
Scarcely had he rolled himself in his blanket when he heard a slight
rustling at the entrance, as if some creature were preparing to share
his retreat. It was pitch dark. He could see nothing, but judged that it
must be either a man or a grizzly. There was not room to draw a bow. It
must be between knife and knife, or between knife and claws, he said to
himself.
The intruder made no search but quietly lay down in the opposite corner
of the cave. Red Cloud remained perfectly still, scarcely breathing,
his hand upon his knife. Hour after hour he lay broad awake, while
many thoughts passed through his brain. Suddenly, without warning,
he sneezed, and instantly a strong man sprang to a sitting posture
opposite. The first gray of morning was creeping into their rocky den,
and behold! a Ute hunter sat before him.
Desperate as the situation appeared, it was not without a grim humor.
Neither could afford to take his eyes from the other’s; the tension was
great, till at last a smile wavered over the expressionless face of the
Ute. Red Cloud answered the smile, and in that instant a treaty of peace
was born between them.
“Put your knife in its sheath. I shall do so also, and we will smoke
together,” signed Red Cloud. The other assented gladly, and they
ratified thus the truce which assured to each a safe return to his
friends. Having finished their smoke, they shook hands and separated.
Neither had given the other any information. Red Cloud returned to his
party and told his story, adding that he had divulged nothing and had
nothing to report. Some were inclined to censure him for not fighting,
but he was sustained by a majority of the warriors, who commended his
self-restraint. In a day or two they discovered the main camp of the
enemy and fought a remarkable battle, in which Red Cloud especially
distinguished himself
The Sioux were now entering upon the most stormy period of their
history. The old things were fast giving place to new. The young men,
for the first time engaging in serious and destructive warfare with the
neighboring tribes, armed with the deadly weapons furnished by the
white man, began to realize that they must soon enter upon a desperate
struggle for their ancestral hunting grounds. The old men had been
innocently cultivating the friendship of the stranger, saying among
themselves, “Surely there is land enough for all!”
Red Cloud was a modest and little known man of about twenty-eight years,
when General Harney called all the western bands of Sioux together at
Fort Laramie, Wyoming, for the purpose of securing an agreement and
right of way through their territory. The Ogallalas held aloof from this
proposal, but Bear Bull, an Ogallala chief, after having been plied with
whisky, undertook to dictate submission to the rest of the clan. Enraged
by failure, he fired upon a group of his own tribesmen, and Red Cloud’s
father and brother fell dead. According to Indian custom, it fell to him
to avenge the deed. Calmly, without uttering a word, he faced old Bear
Bull and his son, who attempted to defend his father, and shot them
both. He did what he believed to be his duty, and the whole band
sustained him. Indeed, the tragedy gave the young man at once a certain
standing, as one who not only defended his people against enemies from
without, but against injustice and aggression within the tribe. From
this time on he was a recognized leader.
Man-Afraid-of-His-Horse, then head chief of the Ogallalas, took council
with Red Cloud in all important matters, and the young warrior rapidly
advanced in authority and influence. In 1854, when he was barely
thirty-five years old, the various bands were again encamped near Fort
Laramie. A Mormon emigrant train, moving westward, left a footsore cow
behind, and the young men killed her for food. The next day, to their
astonishment, an officer with thirty men appeared at the Indian camp and
demanded of old Conquering Bear that they be given up. The chief in vain
protested that it was all a mistake and offered to make reparation. It
would seem that either the officer was under the influence of liquor,
or else had a mind to bully the Indians, for he would accept neither
explanation nor payment, but demanded point-blank that the young men who
had killed the cow be delivered up to summary punishment. The old chief
refused to be intimidated and was shot dead on the spot. Not one soldier
ever reached the gate of Fort Laramie! Here Red Cloud led the young
Ogallalas, and so intense was the feeling that they even killed the
half-breed interpreter.
Curiously enough, there was no attempt at retaliation on the part of the
army, and no serious break until 1860, when the Sioux were involved in
troubles with the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. In 1862, a grave outbreak
was precipitated by the eastern Sioux in Minnesota under Little Crow,
in which the western bands took no part. Yet this event ushered in a new
period for their race. The surveyors of the Union Pacific were laying
out the proposed road through the heart of the southern buffalo country,
the rendezvous of Ogallalas, Brules, Arapahoes, Comanches, and Pawnees,
who followed the buffalo as a means of livelihood. To be sure, most of
these tribes were at war with one another, yet during the summer
months they met often to proclaim a truce and hold joint councils and
festivities, which were now largely turned into discussions of the
common enemy. It became evident, however, that some of the smaller
and weaker tribes were inclined to welcome the new order of things,
recognizing that it was the policy of the government to put an end to
tribal warfare.
Red Cloud’s position was uncompromisingly against submission. He made
some noted speeches in this line, one of which was repeated to me by
an old man who had heard and remembered it with the remarkable verbal
memory of an Indian.
“Friends,” said Red Cloud, “it has been our misfortune to welcome the
white man. We have been deceived. He brought with him some shining
things that pleased our eyes; he brought weapons more effective than our
own: above all, he brought the spirit water that makes one forget for a
time old age, weakness, and sorrow. But I wish to say to you that if you
would possess these things for yourselves, you must begin anew and put
away the wisdom of your fathers. You must lay up food, and forget the
hungry. When your house is built, your storeroom filled, then look
around for a neighbor whom you can take at a disadvantage, and seize all
that he has! Give away only what you do not want; or rather, do not part
with any of your possessions unless in exchange for another’s.
“My countrymen, shall the glittering trinkets of this rich man, his
deceitful drink that overcomes the mind, shall these things tempt us to
give up our homes, our hunting grounds, and the honorable teaching of
our old men? Shall we permit ourselves to be driven to and fro--to be
herded like the cattle of the white man?”
His next speech that has been remembered was made in 1866, just before
the attack on Fort Phil Kearny. The tension of feeling against the
invaders had now reached its height. There was no dissenting voice in
the council upon the Powder River, when it was decided to oppose to
the uttermost the evident purpose of the government. Red Cloud was not
altogether ignorant of the numerical strength and the resourcefulness
of the white man, but he was determined to face any odds rather than
submit.
“Hear ye, Dakotas!” he exclaimed. “When the Great Father at Washington
sent us his chief soldier [General Harney] to ask for a path through
our hunting grounds, a way for his iron road to the mountains and the
western sea, we were told that they wished merely to pass through our
country, not to tarry among us, but to seek for gold in the far west.
Our old chiefs thought to show their friendship and good will, when they
allowed this dangerous snake in our midst. They promised to protect the
wayfarers.
“Yet before the ashes of the council fire are cold, the Great Father
is building his forts among us. You have heard the sound of the white
soldier’s ax upon the Little Piney. His presence here is an insult and a
threat. It is an insult to the spirits of our ancestors. Are we then
to give up their sacred graves to be plowed for corn? Dakotas, I am for
war!”
In less than a week after this speech, the Sioux advanced upon Fort Phil
Kearny, the new sentinel that had just taken her place upon the farthest
frontier, guarding the Oregon Trail. Every detail of the attack had
been planned with care, though not without heated discussion, and
nearly every well-known Sioux chief had agreed in striking the blow.
The brilliant young war leader, Crazy Horse, was appointed to lead the
charge. His lieutenants were Sword, Hump, and Dull Knife, with Little
Chief of the Cheyennes, while the older men acted as councilors. Their
success was instantaneous. In less than half an hour, they had cut down
nearly a hundred men under Captain Fetterman, whom they drew out of the
fort by a ruse and then annihilated.
Instead of sending troops to punish, the government sent a commission
to treat with the Sioux. The result was the famous treaty of 1868, which
Red Cloud was the last to sign, having refused to do so until all of the
forts within their territory should be vacated. All of his demands were
acceded to, the new road abandoned, the garrisons withdrawn, and in the
new treaty it was distinctly stated that the Black Hills and the Big
Horn were Indian country, set apart for their perpetual occupancy, and
that no white man should enter that region without the consent of the
Sioux.
Scarcely was this treaty signed, however, when gold was discovered in
the Black Hills, and the popular cry was: “Remove the Indians!” This
was easier said than done. That very territory had just been solemnly
guaranteed to them forever: yet how stem the irresistible rush for gold?
The government, at first, entered some small protest, just enough to
“save its face” as the saying is; but there was no serious attempt to
prevent the wholesale violation of the treaty. It was this state of
affairs that led to the last great speech made by Red Cloud, at a
gathering upon the Little Rosebud River. It is brief, and touches upon
the hopelessness of their future as a race. He seems at about this
time to have reached the conclusion that resistance could not last much
longer; in fact, the greater part of the Sioux nation was already under
government control.
“We are told,” said he, “that Spotted Tail has consented to be the
Beggars’ Chief. Those Indians who go over to the white man can be
nothing but beggars, for he respects only riches, and how can an Indian
be a rich man? He cannot without ceasing to be an Indian. As for me,
I have listened patiently to the promises of the Great Father, but his
memory is short. I am now done with him. This is all I have to say.”
The wilder bands separated soon after this council, to follow the drift
of the buffalo, some in the vicinity of the Black Hills and others in
the Big Horn region. Small war parties came down from time to time upon
stray travelers, who received no mercy at their hands, or made dashes
upon neighboring forts. Red Cloud claimed the right to guard and hold
by force, if need be, all this territory which had been conceded to his
people by the treaty of 1868. The land became a very nest of outlawry.
Aside from organized parties of prospectors, there were bands of white
horse thieves and desperadoes who took advantage of the situation to
plunder immigrants and Indians alike.
An attempt was made by means of military camps to establish control and
force all the Indians upon reservations, and another commission was sent
to negotiate their removal to Indian Territory, but met with an absolute
refusal. After much guerrilla warfare, an important military campaign
against the Sioux was set on foot in 1876, ending in Custer’s signal
defeat upon the Little Big Horn.
In this notable battle, Red Cloud did not participate in person, nor in
the earlier one with Crook upon the Little Rosebud, but he had a son in
both fights. He was now a councilor rather than a warrior, but his young
men were constantly in the field, while Spotted Tail had definitely
surrendered and was in close touch with representatives of the
government.
But the inevitable end was near. One morning in the fall of 1876 Red
Cloud was surrounded by United States troops under the command of
Colonel McKenzie, who disarmed his people and brought them into Fort
Robinson, Nebraska. Thence they were removed to the Pine Ridge agency,
where he lived for more than thirty years as a “reservation Indian.” In
order to humiliate him further, government authorities proclaimed the
more tractable Spotted Tail head chief of the Sioux. Of course, Red
Cloud’s own people never recognized any other chief.
In 1880 he appealed to Professor Marsh, of Yale, head of a scientific
expedition to the Bad Lands, charging certain frauds at the agency
and apparently proving his case; at any rate the matter was considered
worthy of official investigation. In 1890-1891, during the “Ghost Dance
craze” and the difficulties that followed, he was suspected of collusion
with the hostiles, but he did not join them openly, and nothing could
be proved against him. He was already an old man, and became almost
entirely blind before his death in 1909 in his ninetieth year.
His private life was exemplary. He was faithful to one wife all his
days, and was a devoted father to his children. He was ambitious for his
only son, known as Jack Red Cloud, and much desired him to be a great
warrior. He started him on the warpath at the age of fifteen, not then
realizing that the days of Indian warfare were well-nigh at an end.
Among latter-day chiefs, Red Cloud was notable as a quiet man, simple
and direct in speech, courageous in action, an ardent lover of his
country, and possessed in a marked degree of the manly qualities
characteristic of the American Indian in his best days.