Chief Little Crow was the eldest son of Cetanwakuwa (Charging Hawk).
It was on account of his father’s name, mistranslated Crow, that he was
called by the whites “Little Crow.” His real name was Taoyateduta, His
Red People.
As far back as Minnesota history goes, a band of the Sioux called
Kaposia (Light Weight, because they were said to travel light) inhabited
the Mille Lacs region. Later they dwelt about St. Croix Falls, and still
later near St. Paul. In 1840, Cetanwakuwa was still living in what
is now West St. Paul, but he was soon after killed by the accidental
discharge of his gun.
It was during a period of demoralization for the Kaposias that Little
Crow became the leader of his people. His father, a well-known chief,
had three wives, all from different bands of the Sioux. He was the only
son of the first wife, a Leaf Dweller. There were two sons of the second
and two of the third wife, and the second set of brothers conspired
to kill their half-brother in order to keep the chieftainship in the
family.
Two kegs of whisky were bought, and all the men of the tribe invited
to a feast. It was planned to pick some sort of quarrel when all were
drunk, and in the confusion Little Crow was to be murdered. The plot
went smoothly until the last instant, when a young brave saved the
intended victim by knocking the gun aside with his hatchet, so that the
shot went wild. However, it broke his right arm, which remained crooked
all his life. The friends of the young chieftain hastily withdrew,
avoiding a general fight; and later the council of the Kaposias
condemned the two brothers, both of whom were executed, leaving him in
undisputed possession.
Such was the opening of a stormy career. Little Crow’s mother had been
a chief’s daughter, celebrated for her beauty and spirit, and it is said
that she used to plunge him into the lake through a hole in the ice,
rubbing him afterward with snow, to strengthen his nerves, and that she
would remain with him alone in the deep woods for days at a time, so
that he might know that solitude is good, and not fear to be alone with
nature.
“My son,” she would say, “if you are to be a leader of men, you must
listen in silence to the mystery, the spirit.”
At a very early age she made a feast for her boy and announced that he
would fast two days. This is what might be called a formal presentation
to the spirit or God. She greatly desired him to become a worthy leader
according to the ideas of her people. It appears that she left her
husband when he took a second wife, and lived with her own band till her
death. She did not marry again.
Little Crow was an intensely ambitious man and without physical fear. He
was always in perfect training and early acquired the art of warfare of
the Indian type. It is told of him that when he was about ten years old,
he engaged with other boys in a sham battle on the shore of a lake
near St. Paul. Both sides were encamped at a little distance from one
another, and the rule was that the enemy must be surprised, otherwise
the attack would be considered a failure. One must come within so many
paces undiscovered in order to be counted successful. Our hero had a
favorite dog which, at his earnest request, was allowed to take part in
the game, and as a scout he entered the enemy camp unseen, by the help
of his dog.
When he was twelve, he saved the life of a companion who had broken
through the ice by tying the end of a pack line to a log, then at great
risk to himself carrying it to the edge of the hole where his comrade
went down. It is said that he also broke in, but both boys saved
themselves by means of the line.
As a young man, Little Crow was always ready to serve his people as a
messenger to other tribes, a duty involving much danger and hardship.
He was also known as one of the best hunters in his band. Although still
young, he had already a war record when he became chief of the Kaposias,
at a time when the Sioux were facing the greatest and most far-reaching
changes that had ever come to them.
At this juncture in the history of the northwest and its native
inhabitants, the various fur companies had paramount influence. They
did not hesitate to impress the Indians with the idea that they were the
authorized representatives of the white races or peoples, and they were
quick to realize the desirability of controlling the natives through
their most influential chiefs. Little Crow became quite popular with
post traders and factors. He was an orator as well as a diplomat,
and one of the first of his nation to indulge in politics and promote
unstable schemes to the detriment of his people.
When the United States Government went into the business of acquiring
territory from the Indians so that the flood of western settlement might
not be checked, commissions were sent out to negotiate treaties, and in
case of failure it often happened that a delegation of leading men of
the tribe were invited to Washington. At that period, these visiting
chiefs, attired in all the splendor of their costumes of ceremony, were
treated like ambassadors from foreign countries.
One winter in the late eighteen-fifties, a major general of the army
gave a dinner to the Indian chiefs then in the city, and on this
occasion Little Crow was appointed toastmaster. There were present a
number of Senators and members of Congress, as well as judges of the
Supreme Court, cabinet officers, and other distinguished citizens. When
all the guests were seated, the Sioux arose and addressed them with much
dignity as follows:
“Warriors and friends: I am informed that the great white war chief who
of his generosity and comradeship has given us this feast, has expressed
the wish that we may follow to-night the usages and customs of my
people. In other words, this is a warriors’ feast, a braves’ meal.
I call upon the Ojibway chief, the Hole-in-the-Day, to give the lone
wolf’s hunger call, after which we will join him in our usual manner.”
The tall and handsome Ojibway now rose and straightened his superb form
to utter one of the clearest and longest wolf howls that was ever heard
in Washington, and at its close came a tremendous burst of war whoops
that fairly rent the air, and no doubt electrified the officials there
present.
On one occasion Little Crow was invited by the commander of Fort
Ridgeley, Minnesota, to call at the fort. On his way back, in company
with a half-breed named Ross and the interpreter Mitchell, he was
ambushed by a party of Ojibways, and again wounded in the same arm that
had been broken in his attempted assassination. His companion Ross was
killed, but he managed to hold the war party at bay until help came and
thus saved his life.
More and more as time passed, this naturally brave and ambitious man
became a prey to the selfish interests of the traders and politicians.
The immediate causes of the Sioux outbreak of 1862 came in quick
succession to inflame to desperate action an outraged people. The two
bands on the so-called “lower reservations” in Minnesota were Indians
for whom nature had provided most abundantly in their free existence.
After one hundred and fifty years of friendly intercourse first with
the French, then the English, and finally the Americans, they found
themselves cut off from every natural resource, on a tract of land
twenty miles by thirty, which to them was virtual imprisonment. By
treaty stipulation with the government, they were to be fed and clothed,
houses were to be built for them, the men taught agriculture, and
schools provided for the children. In addition to this, a trust fund
of a million and a half was to be set aside for them, at five per cent
interest, the interest to be paid annually per capita. They had signed
the treaty under pressure, believing in these promises on the faith of a
great nation.
However, on entering the new life, the resources so rosily described to
them failed to materialize. Many families faced starvation every winter,
their only support the store of the Indian trader, who was baiting his
trap for their destruction. Very gradually they awoke to the facts.
At last it was planned to secure from them the north half of their
reservation for ninety-eight thousand dollars, but it was not explained
to the Indians that the traders were to receive all the money.
Little Crow made the greatest mistake of his life when he signed this
agreement.
Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the cash annuities were not paid for
nearly two years. Civil War had begun. When it was learned that the
traders had taken all of the ninety-eight thousand dollars “on account”,
there was very bitter feeling. In fact, the heads of the leading stores
were afraid to go about as usual, and most of them stayed in St. Paul.
Little Crow was justly held in part responsible for the deceit, and his
life was not safe.
The murder of a white family near Acton, Minnesota, by a party of Indian
duck hunters in August, 1862, precipitated the break. Messengers were
sent to every village with the news, and at the villages of Little Crow
and Little Six the war council was red-hot. It was proposed to take
advantage of the fact that north and south were at war to wipe out the
white settlers and to regain their freedom. A few men stood out against
such a desperate step, but the conflagration had gone beyond their
control.
There were many mixed bloods among these Sioux, and some of the Indians
held that these were accomplices of the white people in robbing them
of their possessions, therefore their lives should not be spared. My
father, Many Lightnings, who was practically the leader of the Mankato
band (for Mankato, the chief, was a weak man), fought desperately for
the lives of the half-breeds and the missionaries. The chiefs had great
confidence in my father, yet they would not commit themselves, since
their braves were clamoring for blood. Little Crow had been accused
of all the misfortunes of his tribe, and he now hoped by leading them
against the whites to regain his prestige with his people, and a part at
least of their lost domain.
There were moments when the pacifists were in grave peril. It was almost
daybreak when my father saw that the approaching calamity could not be
prevented. He and two others said to Little Crow: “If you want war, you
must personally lead your men to-morrow. We will not murder women and
children, but we will fight the soldiers when they come.” They then
left the council and hastened to warn my brother-in-law, Faribault, and
others who were in danger.
Little Crow declared he would be seen in the front of every battle, and
it is true that he was foremost in all the succeeding bloodshed, urging
his warriors to spare none. He ordered his war leader, Many Hail, to
fire the first shot, killing the trader James Lynd, in the door of his
store.
After a year of fighting in which he had met with defeat, the
discredited chief retreated to Fort Garry, now Winnipeg, Manitoba,
where, together with Standing Buffalo, he undertook secret negotiations
with his old friends the Indian traders. There was now a price upon his
head, but he planned to reach St. Paul undetected and there surrender
himself to his friends, who he hoped would protect him in return for
past favors. It is true that he had helped them to secure perhaps the
finest country held by any Indian nation for a mere song.
He left Canada with a few trusted friends, including his youngest and
favorite son. When within two or three days’ journey of St. Paul, he
told the others to return, keeping with him only his son, Wowinape, who
was but fifteen years of age. He meant to steal into the city by night
and go straight to Governor Ramsey, who was his personal friend. He was
very hungry and was obliged to keep to the shelter of the deep woods.
The next morning, as he was picking and eating wild raspberries, he was
seen by a wood-chopper named Lamson. The man did not know who he was.
He only knew that he was an Indian, and that was enough for him, so he
lifted his rifle to his shoulder and fired, then ran at his best pace.
The brilliant but misguided chief, who had made that part of the country
unsafe for any white man to live in, sank to the ground and died without
a struggle. The boy took his father’s gun and made some effort to find
the assassin, but as he did not even know in which direction to look for
him, he soon gave up the attempt and went back to his friends.
Meanwhile Lamson reached home breathless and made his report. The body
of the chief was found and identified, in part by the twice broken arm,
and this arm and his scalp may be seen to-day in the collection of the
Minnesota Historical Society.