Wounded Knee

by Rex E. Beach

 

WOUNDED KNEE

 

By Rex E. Beach
Author of "The Looting of Alaska"

 

ILLUSTRATED BY D. C. HUTCHISON

 

HERE is an untold tale of the Red Man, as spoken by Dewy Beard, an Oglalla Sioux, who sits alone to-day, bullet-scarred and sad, while in the drifting blue from his tepee fire come images of that glory which has departed from his race. It is true, though running counter to the lore of the white man, the reason whereof lies hid beneath army influence.

Once a dashing leader led his troop against a subtle foe, was outgeneraled, and his men annihilated in fair fight, leaving naught but a blood-soaked hillside and a shining memory. This was "Custer's Massacre."

Years passed, and a few starving Sioux, bound toward an agency for protection and succor, were surrounded by three times their number of soldiers, who demanded their dying chieftain as hostage. They gave him; then, puzzled and frightened, while busied in laying down their arms, they were massacred by the men in blue and brass, leaving nothing but bodies of babes and women and defenseless men, with a name upon the yellowed page of history, "The Battle of Wounded Knee."

 

The buffalo were gone. All the Indians were hungry. One day as I sat with my father in his tepee, a messenger came saying a Savior for the Sioux had appeared to one in the far land of the setting sun, who promised to bring again the buffalo and antelope and to send the white man from out of the land where we hunted in the old time.

This messenger was holy. He told us if we danced and prayed the Savior would appear.

"Does this mean that we shall fight again with the white man?" my father asked. "It is not good to speak so of war."

"No," said the messenger, "there is no talk of battles. When the Great One comes, the white people will go away, and in the land will be many things to eat."

"Let us see this thing," said my father to us. "The Great White Chief at Washington has broken his word, for he took our lands, saying we should have food as long as we lived. We are starving, while our families eat nothing but the wild turnips." So we went to White Clay Creek, where the Indians danced the ghost dance, and we danced also, I, my father, and all my brothers. There were many people about the medicine pole. As they danced they threw dust to the heavens in handfuls, and fanned it with their blankets, singing to the Savior. They did this for many hours, till some of them fell. There were young women who took part, also, and these stood in a line within the circle, then at a signal ran toward a goal, pursued by the medicine men, who struck them with a great ball so that they fell. There were drums beating and the sound of great singing, while people whirled and whirled till they dropped in a trance and were dragged from beneath the feet of the others. When they arose they spoke in an unknown tongue. Many danced till they died, while others seemed to die, but did not. These appeared to be holy, claiming to have seen mysterious things, and saying that the Savior had promised to bring again the golden days. The women wore ghost dresses, as did some of the men, shirts of cotton cloth with magic on them, painted and blessed by the medicine men, so that no harm could come to him who wore one—not even bullets of the white man.

Before long I observed that it was bad Indians who saw these sacred images each time. These and the medicine men were the only ones, so I spoke to my father.

When the Spirit would not come to any of us, he said, "My sons, it is strange that we do not see the Savior. I am told they dance better at the Cheyenne Agency. We may see the Holy One there." So, with Kicking Bear, we went to the tepees of Big Foot; but there it was the same, for the mystery came not to any of our family.

Soon after our arrival soldiers came and camped close by, about five hundred of them. Our chief counseled with the officer, saying:

"My friend, why do you camp so close?"

That one replied: "You are dancing the ghost dance, and I fear you will do wrong."

"No, we intend no harm. If we do nothing but dance, that cannot be any one's business but our own," said Big Foot.

"The agent at Pine Ridge is frightened and has called for many soldiers. He says you are bad, and I have come out to stop this."

"I will go away from here," said Big Foot, "and my people will go with me; but we are good Indians and do not want you to follow us. We will dance to the Holy Spirit if we wish, but we will do no harm."

"You must have a pass if you leave the reservation," said the white man, at which my father, who had come to the soldier's tent with Big Foot, said:

"My friend, we are not on the warpath. We are praying to our Savior and doing no evil. Do you get a paper from the Great Father at Washington when you pray to the white man's God? I think perhaps the Great Spirit does not know you."

When the sun went down, Big Foot gave us orders to make ready in secret; so when the soldiers were asleep that night we slipped away quietly to Cherry Creek, camping in a circle.

The next day the soldiers came again and pitched their tepees near us, while the officer said to big Foot:

"You must move back to your old camp."

"We are not cattle to be put in a pen," said our old chief, speaking very slowly, and then in a great voice he cried, "We will pray where we please." That day the soldiers left.

Shortly after this a band of old people and squaws and children, from Sitting Bull's camp, came riding by bareback, and we knew there was trouble gathering in the tepees of that chief; so Big Foot called us together again, saying:

"I fear disasters are coming, my people. We had best go back to our old place, as the soldiers told us to do, so the Great Father will know we are not bad Indians." Accordingly, we moved back to the Cheyenne; but immediately many soldiers camped near us again. In the nighttime more came, so that when we arose in the morning they stood in a line all about us, with their guns in their hands. They had pointed a cannon at us.

When we came out of our tepees to look at them, our women grew greatly frightened. Then, as we watched, a half-breed advanced, announcing that the officer wished to speak with Big Foot. That one answered:

"Let him come to our camp and talk. We mean no harm, but he should not point his guns at us, for we do not like it."

The officer arrived and through his interpreter commanded us to surrender.

"Why should we do that?" said Big Foot. "We are not hostiles, we are only hungry Indians beseeching the Great Spirit for food. When you took our lands you said we should have plenty to eat, but we are starving. Let us have food, so that we may think about it for a day or so; then perhaps we will go with you." The soldier talked with our head men until afternoon, securing, at last, from Big Foot a promise that we would not go away before the next morning. The soldiers gave us no food.

At daybreak we found them standing in line again, with their cannon pointing at our tents. It was very close by. The officer sent word that we could have but a little time to consider, and if we did not give up before the sun was as high as his hand, he would fire the big gun, killing our women and children.

"We must go with this man," the chief said to us.

So we did. The next day some of the soldiers marched before us, and some of them marched behind, while others were on both sides of our wagon; but Big Foot rode a pony near the front and said nothing, for he was very sad.

All day we watched him. As afternoon drew on, he announced quietly to one of his braves, "Get ready!"

The man rode back down the line, passing the word, whereupon our squaws threw out the tepee poles, one by one, and dropped every heavy thing, scattering the goods for a long way. When he saw this, the officer rode up to Big Foot.

"Why do your people throw away things?"

"The ponies are weak," said our chief.

When the sun was two fingers high, the old man spoke again.

"Our horses can go no farther. We will camp here where there is good water." Giving the sign, we suddenly turned out in a body, leaving the soldiers, at which they looked foolish. By the time they had gotten together we were some distance up a narrow creek, and they had to follow after like a snake's tail in the grass. When we had gone a little way our leader said:

"We will camp here, but do not allow one pony to get away." So we unhitched and built fires as though to cook, while our guards came near and stopped, for it was dark. Word was passed to the braves who rode ponies to put blankets over their shoulders, so they would look like women, and then to build many small fires. While this was being done the squaws in the wagon farthest away from the soldiers were told to move on. When they were gone for a little time, the next wagon was told to follow, and so on, one by one, till there remained only the two nearest the whites. When these drove off, an under officer came to Big Foot.

"Where are all the wagons?"

"The); have gone to the other side of our camp," the old man replied, but in a few moments the messenger came again and asked to see them.

"Come," said Big Foot, to us who had stayed about the fire, "let us show him where they are." At which we all rose up together. When he saw there were braves beneath the blankets, the man ran away, crying loudly:

"We are attacked!" We leaped to our ponies and rode fast. Overtaking the wagons, we shouted to the women to drive hard, and in a body we went ahead all that night as rapidly as possible, and on the next day were in the Bad Lands. Hearing from a half-breed that the general was at Pine Ridge Agency, our chieftain said we would go to Red Cloud's camp, at that place, where we could counsel with the Big Soldier. So we traveled together, coming, at last, to a pass in the wall of the Bad Lands, down which we could go to the valley of the White River. When we got there, however, we saw many white men marching below, and thereupon lay all day watching them till they went into camp at Cane Creek, to the north.

When they had passed the place wherein we hid, we went down across the valley; but the next morning, finding that Big Foot was very sick, and bleeding at the nose, we went to what is now called Big Foot Springs. From there we went to Red Water Creek, but our leader became so ill he could go no farther, and we were forced to stay two nights and two days at this spot. At last he said:

"We must reach Red Clouds camp before I die." So at sundown we broke camp and marched all night, coming on the second day to Yellow Thunder Creek, near Porcupine Butte. Here we saw four mounted Indian scouts, and although we called to them they spurred away as fast as they could. We continued on, but as we drew near to the Butte we discerned soldiers to the northeast. They had pack mules and were coming toward us, at which Big Foot said:

"Go meet them."

When we approached, they formed in line, pointing a cannon at us as though about to shoot. Big Foot had been too sick to ride a horse, so we had carried him in a wagon since leaving Red Water. He asked us to drive him toward the soldiers, which we did till an officer met us. I rode alongside, and when the man came near, I cried:

"Don't shoot! We are going to the agency. We don't want to fight."

"Where is Big Foot?" said the officer.

"In that wagon, but he is very sick."

"Is he able to talk?" Then, running to the wagon, he pulled the blanket from the chief's head, inquiring, "Can you talk?"

"Yes," replied the old man, at which the soldier demanded:

"Where are you going?"

"We are bound for our relatives at the Pine Ridge Agency."

"Then you must lay down your arms."

"We are ready to do that," said the chief, "but we fear something will happen to us if we do. We are friendly. Will you not wait until we get to the agency and have a chance to speak with the Big General? He will tell us everything; but now we do not understand. We are afraid. We do not know what all this means. I will go with your soldiers now, and my people will give up their guns when we reach the agency. I wish no trouble, for I am going to die."

The officer said: "That is a good plan. I have a nice wagon, with four mules, for you to ride in." And when Big Foot agreed to this, they brought the sick wagon, put him on some gray blankets, such as the soldiers have, and placed him in it. I grew very much afraid now, for the officers laughed when they carried Big Foot away.

Together we moved toward Wounded Knee Creek, while a guard was placed around the sick-wagon. I said to the medicine man:

"My friend, you would do well to stop and dance the ghost dance, for I fear trouble is coming to our chief."

One of my friends wished to shoot the officer, but my father told him this would do no good, as the white men would kill us all, together with our women and children, and it would make matters much worse generally. I rode near to the ambulance with one of our people who understood English, for I was greatly troubled and wished to know of what the soldiers spoke. Coming to Wounded Knee Creek, Big Foot was put in a tent, under guard, at which all the rest of us pitched our tepees close by. An under officer established many soldiers around us as guards, which caused my father to inquire:

"Why do you do this? We would not have followed you if we wished to run away." But they only laughed at him. Then he called me and my brothers aside, saying:

"There is great trouble coming. You must do whatever the soldiers command, and give them no excuse to harm you."

Some of our people attempted to go to the agency, but the soldiers turned them back, which added to our uneasiness.

Nobody in our camp slept much that night, except the children, for we went from tepee to tepee, talking of our situation. We agreed to give up our guns, if commanded, although I intended to hide mine and come back for it again; while some of the young men, who had good magazine rifles they had recently bought, would say nothing. My father asked the medicine man what he could do, telling him that if his Messiah was of any account, now was the time for help; but the pious one was sullen, and only said he would bring aid when the time came.

As it neared daylight, the bugles sounded. We all came out to see what would happen. A second time the bugles blew, and in the early light we discerned that we were surrounded; for near us there were soldiers on foot, while farther away, in a great circle, were many more who rode horses. A half-breed, named Philip Wells, interpreted for the officer, announcing:

"Gather together! Gather together! There will be a council."

So we assembled in a ring, all of us except four men and the women and children and Big Foot, who was still in the soldier's tent under guard.

The foot soldiers closed around us on three sides, while those on horses remained in the rear, across a deep ditch. Others stood about the cannon on the hill, and many were drawn up in a line beside their camp.

The interpreter began by saying that we must surrender our arms at once. When we asked him what Big Foot said about this, he answered that our chief told us to do so; whereupon we went into our tepees and I dug a hole in the ground to bury my carbine. This took me a little time, so that when I came out most of the guns had been piled in the council circle. As I took my place I noted there were soldiers behind me and on both sides, and from where I sat I looked toward the cannon on the hill. In this way I did not feel afraid, for the gunners could not shoot without hurting their own men. The officer said:

"You have twenty-five more guns which I want. I counted them yesterday. There are many cartridges and knives, too. You must give them up."

This was not true. Nearly all of our weapons were piled in the center, not more than four or five being hidden. My father asked the officer:

"Will the Great Father feed us after he takes our arms away?"

"I don't know anything about that. All I know is that I am going to have these guns—every one of them."

There was considerable talk, but no more rifles appeared. At last one of the four Indians who had refused to join the council came and sat down with the rest of us, which left only the medicine man and two young braves, named Black Fox and Yellow Turtle. These two refused to yield, and held their weapons in their hands.

"We will give up our cartridges," they said, "and carry our guns empty." But the soldier refused to allow this, and commanded them to yield at once. He announced further that he would go into the tepees and get every weapon he could find. This he did. While doing so, an under officer, with four soldiers, advanced toward Black Fox and Yellow Turtle, who stood at some distance. As they advanced, the two young men retreated toward the creek, while the medicine man came forth, standing between them and the white men. My father cried:

"You do not need a gun, medicine man! Your ghost shirt will be enough. Bullets cannot hurt you."

He replied: "My friend, I am afraid." At this point Philip Wells spoke, saying:

"When the soldiers have taken your rifles, you must march past in a line, and they will hold out their guns toward you." He meant by this that they would hold their weapons in front of them, as soldiers do sometimes; but we thought they would take aim at us, so my brother cried:

"When they aim at us that way they will kill us." And my father said to the medicine man again:

"You claimed your Messiah could protect us from the white man's bullets. This is the time for your Savior. See, now, if he is any good. You stand there like an old woman!" At this the medicine man began to sing a prayer to the Great Spirit, while an under officer, with two soldiers, advanced again toward Black Fox and Yellow Turtle. The latter warned them:

"My friends, do not come to me in that way, for I do not want to harm you." Turning to Black Fox, he continued:

"Now you will see if I am brave. Do not give up your gun." And that one, in turn, cried to the white men:

"Keep away from us, for we will die before we give up, and if we die we will take many of you along."

One of our men cried out, "The soldiers are going to shoot! Let us get our rifles and go to the ditch where we can get away." But an old Indian crept up beside Wells, saying:

"No, my people, do not do that It is this interpreter who is speaking with two tongues. If he brings trouble I will kill him with my knife."

Again my father spoke to the medicine man: "Now is the time for help. Do your best."

That one stopped singing and began to cry to the Great Spirit, gathering handfuls of dust and throwing them toward the sky, while he waved his blanket beneath, as they did in the ghost dance when calling for the Messiah. While he did this I saw the officer emerge from a tepee with a gun in his hand, and I looked at it sharply, for I thought it was my own. While I looked I heard a soldier cry:

"Look out! Look out! Run back!" And some one shouted in Indian:

"Stop! Don't shoot!"

I turned, to find Black Fox and Yellow Turtle holding their rifles as though ready to fire. They were laughing, however, for the under officer and his two soldiers were walking away very fast, looking back as though afraid. I glanced away for an instant, and as I did so a gun was fired behind me. I do not know who shot. It may have been an Indian, but I do not think so. Both of the young braves turned, firing at the spot where the report came from, and we all jumped up. Some cried:

"They will kill us!" and others shouted: "Get your guns and get ready!"

Shots were fired by the soldiers on both sides of us, and Black Fox and Yellow Turtle fell. The latter began his death song, then raised to his elbow and shot at the soldiers, while it appeared to me that the white men opened fire on every hand. I saw my friends sinking about me, and heard the whine of many bullets. I was not expecting this. It was like when a wagon wheel breaks in the road.

"Get your gun," some one shouted in my ear.

I was frightened and ran. Seeing soldiers running, also, I followed, but came into smoke so thick that I could see nothing. As I went, I took out my knife. The first thing I distinguished in the smoke was the brass buttons on a soldier's coat, while a gun was thrust into my face and fired so close that it burned my hair. I grabbed it by the barrel and stabbed at the man with my knife. I stabbed him three times, till he let go, then I tripped and fell. When I arose I found I was right among his comrades, so ran back toward the ditch till I saw another group aiming at me and felt something smite me on the shoulder so heavily that I spun about and fell again. I raised my head to see a white man aiming at me, but he missed, and I snapped at him with the gun I had taken from the soldier. It did not explode, however, for I had forgotten to load it, so I quickly opened the breech. As I did so, he ran away. I began to breathe hard now, while every breath hurt me greatly. I rose to my feet and tried to run, but could not, so I walked. The ground rocked and pitched like a canoe. Something warm in my throat strangled me, and when I spit it out I saw it was blood, so I knew I was shot.

Before reaching the ditch, other soldiers came at me and I charged toward them, thinking I would die in this way. They retreated into the smoke, and I went on, coming to a dead trooper, whose belt of cartridges I cut off because mine would not fit the gun I had taken from the other man. I wished to take his gun, also, but was too weak to carry it. Then as I started on, I fell for a third time, and thought I had stepped into a prairie-dog hole, till I found I could not rise. I had been shot through the leg, so I sat there loading and firing as fast as I could, till my shells were nearly gone, when one broke in my gun and made it useless. I hopped toward the ditch, but whenever I stepped on my wounded leg I fell down. Through the smoke I could see nothing but dead women and children now, and there were dead soldiers among them.

At last I gained the dry creek, where an Indian gave me a carbine he had taken from a dead enemy. At that moment the fast-firing cannon [Hotchkiss] began to speak, and it was so close and loud that it frightened me, so I endeavored to crawl away up the ditch. I had not gone far till I met White Face, my wife. She had been shot, the ball passing through her chin and shoulder, but she mumbled:

"Let me pass. Let me pass. You go on. We will all die soon, but I must get my mother. There she is." She crawled to where her mother lay, at the top of the bank, but as she lifted the body in her arms she fell dead, shot again. At this I followed up on to the prairie, for I thought I would die quickly now; but before reaching the top an Indian pulled me back. As I fell he was shot through the head. I took his cartridges, for they suited my carbine, and hobbled on till I met another woman coming toward me with a revolver in her hand. It was a soldier's gun which she had taken from a dead body, for she was very bloody. As she neared me a white man peered over the bank and killed her. I fired, and he ran back. Then I crawled onward as fast as I could, coming to White Lance, my brother. He sat with his back against the bank, while my younger brother, Pursued, lay beside him. They were both wounded, and Pursued was dying. He said:

"We will all be dead soon, my brothers. Kill as many as you can before you go."

They had three belts of cartridges which they had stripped from soldiers, and when we saw that Pursued was gone we crawled behind a little knoll where the ditch turned, from which we could see our enemies. We fired at them many times, till they turned the fast-firing cannon at us. Then we lay down close behind the hummock. When it roared, the dirt and gravel were scattered over us by the ball.

I became very sick and weak and thirsty, and could shoot no more; but I heard soldiers approaching, and saw one peep over the bank. Although I could take no aim, I fired, and they ran back, shooting the fast-firing cannon at us again, till a bullet from it cut Hawk Feather, who lay with us, almost in two. Some men on a hill not far from the cannon fired at me, also, with their rifles, till one bullet threw gravel in my face and I thought I was wounded again, so lay very still. After a little time they ceased.

White Lance had gone on, so I crawled after to look for him. While doing so, an Indian scout fired at me, then ran away. I felt extremely sick and wanted to die, so wormed my way up the side of the ditch and shot at the soldiers, hoping they would kill me; but I could not stand up, and their bullets went high. Again they turned the quick-firing cannon toward me, the balls passing so close that I felt the wind lift me from the ground. I was nearly blind, and could not rise, so lay for a long time till the firing stopped. Then I crept over the hill, coming to my brother, Yell at Them, and Jack La Plant. They had a horse, but I could not ride, so they held me on the pony with their arms. I begged them to leave me, for I wanted to die, but they said:

"We will go to the agency or die together."

In this way I came to Short Bull's camp, but I was so badly wounded they could take me no farther. I remembered my father's words, however, and when I could be hauled without danger to my life I went into the agency. While there I learned that Horn Cloud, my father, Yellow Leaf, my mother, my wife, whose name was White Face, White Foot, our little child, my brother, whose name was Pursued, and my sister, named Her Horses, had been killed, and that my two brothers, White Lance and Enemy, were wounded.

They also told me that when the firing started, although he was very sick, Big Foot came out before his tepee. As he saw his people falling, he drew his blanket over his head, and, standing so, a soldier killed him.

Sometimes I live again the old, old days, when honor and glory were in the tepees of my tribe, and I see the faces of my people, as I dream. They were good and brave and true—all but the medicine men. Those were liars, as my father said. It comes to me bitterly that perchance there was no Savior for the Sioux, or that the white man's Gods were stronger. Why else did He stand silently, with hidden face, to let His people perish?