War-Path and Bivouac, Or the Conquest of the Sioux. John F. Finerty

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War-Path and Bivouac, Or the Conquest of the Sioux - John F. Finerty

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whoop. The Crows had come in sight of our camp, and this was their mode of announcing their satisfaction. We went down to the creek to meet them, and a picturesque tribe they were. Their horses—nearly every man had an extra pony—were little beauties, and neighed shrilly at their American brethren, who, unused to Indians, kicked, plunged and reared in a manner that threatened a general stampede. "How! How!" the Crows shouted to us, one by one, as they filed past. When near enough, they extended their hands and gave ours a hearty shaking. Most of them were young men, many of whom were handsomer than some white people I have met. Three squaws were there on horseback—wives of the chiefs.

      The head sachems were "Old Crow," "Medicine Crow," "Feather Head," and "Good Heart," all deadly enemies of the Sioux. Each man wore a gaily colored mantle, handsome leggings, eagle feathers, and elaborately worked moccasins. In addition to their carbines and spears, they carried the primeval bow and arrow. Their hair was long, but gracefully tied up and gorgeously plumed. Their features,

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      as a rule were aquiline, and the Crows have the least prominent cheek bones of any Indians that I have yet encountered. The squaws wore a kind of half-petticoat and parted their hair in the middle, the only means of guessing at their sex. Quick as lightning they gained the center of our camp, dismounted, watered and lariated their ponies, constructed their "tepees," or "lodges," and, like magic, the Indian village arose in our midst. Fires were lighted without delay, and the Crows were soon devouring their evening meal of dried bear's meat and black-tailed deer. In the middle of this repast, we saw several warriors raise their heads and say "Ugh, ugh! Sho-sho-ne." They pointed southward, and, coming down the bluffs in that direction, we saw a line of horsemen, brilliantly attired, riding at whirlwind speed. Crook sent a scout to meet them. Hardly had he time to start forward when the new-comers crossed the creek, and, in column of twos, like a company of regular cavalry, rode in among us. They carried two beautiful American flags, and each warrior bore a pennon. They looked like Cossacks of the Don, but were splendidly armed with government rifles and revolvers. Nearly all wore magnificent war bonnets and scarlet mantles. They were not as large as the Crow Indians, nor as good-looking, but they appeared to be hardy and resolute. The meeting between them and the Crows was boisterous and exciting. Demoniacal yells rang through the camp, and then this wild cavalry galloped down to headquarters, rode around Crook and his staff, saluted, and, following the example of the Crows, were soon bivouacked and deep in their rough and ready suppers. Tom Cosgrove, chief

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      of scouts in the Wind River valley, accompanied them. His lieutenant was Nelson Yurnell, and his interpreter, a young half-breed, called Ulah Clair. The Indian chiefs of the Snakes present were Wesha and Kawkee, with the two sons of old Washakie.

      That night an immense lire was kindled near Crook's tents, and there all the chiefs of both tribes, together with our commanding officers, held " a big talk." Louis Richard acted as interpreter, and had a hard time of it, having to translate in three or four languages. A quarter of an hour intervened between each sentence. The chiefs squatted on their heels according to their ancient custom, and passed the long pipe from man to man. Crook stood in the circle, with his hands in his pockets, looking half bored, half happy. Major Randall, chief of scouts, and other members of the staff were with him. The Indians were quite jolly, and laughed heartily whenever the interpreter made any kind of blunder. The Snakes retired from the council first. They said very little. "Old Crow," the greatest chief of the Crow nation, made the only consecutive speech of the night, and it was a short one. Translated, it was as follows: "The great white chief will hear his Indian brother. These are our lands by inheritance. The Great Spirit gave them to our fathers, but the Sioux stole them from us. They hunt upon our mountains. They fish in our streams. They have stolen our horses. They have murdered our squaws, our children. What white man has done these things to us ? The face of the Sioux is red, but his heart is black. But the heart of the pale face has ever been red to the Crow. [' Ugh!' 'Ugh!'

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      'Hey!' ] The scalp of no white man hangs in our lodges. They are thick as grass in the wigwams of the Sioux. ['Ugh!'] The great white chief will lead us against no other tribe of red men. Our war is with the Sioux and only them. We want back our lands. We want their women for our slaves—to work for us as our women have had to work for them. We want their horses for our young men, and their mules for our squaws. The Sioux have trampled upon our hearts. We shall spit upon their scalps. [' Ugh!' 'Hey!' and terrific yelling.] The great white chief sees that my young men have come to fight. No Sioux shall see their backs. Where the white warrior goes there shall we be also. It is good. Is my brother content?"

      The chief and Crook shook hands amid a storm of "Ughs " and yells.

      All the red men then left the council fire and went to their villages, where they put on their war-paint and made night hideous with a war-dance and barbarous music. They imitated in succession every beast and bird of the North American forests. Now they roared like a bison bull. Then they mimicked a wildcat. All at once they broke out with the near, fierce howling of a pack of wolves; gradually the sound would die away until you might imagine that the animals were miles off, when, all of a sudden, the howling would rise within a few yards, and in the darkness you would try to discern the foul "coyotes "—next to the Indians the pest of the plains. All night long, despite the incredible fatigue they must have endured in coming to join us, the savages continued their infernal orgies. Their music is

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      fitter for hell than for earth. And yet these were not the worst red men existing. These were "the truly good" Indians. Our young soldiers appeared to relish the yelling business immensely, and made abortive attempts to imitate the Indians, greatly to the amusement of those grotesque savages. I fell asleep dreaming of "roistering devils " and lakes of brimstone.

      Crook was bristling for a fight. The Sioux were said to be encamped on the Rosebud, near the Yellowstone river, holding Gibbon at bay. "They are numerous as grass," was the definite Crow manner of stating the strength of the enemy.

      Some of the officers, who had had charge of different tribes of Indians at their respective agencies, were fond of discussing at the evening camp-fires the characteristics of the various Indian bands or "nations." From what may be termed the consensus of military opinion I learned what follows:

      Nearly every Indian, of any note whatever, possessed at that time two equines—one, a pony for pack work, the other, a horse for war and the chase. The latter can go like a meteor, and has wonderful endurance. Mounted upon him, the Indian warrior could secure a retreat from the Chasseurs d'Afrique of Macmahon, with all their Arab horses.

      The Indian war-horse is not as beautiful a beast as the Arabian, but he has more toughness than an ordinary mule. These combined qualities of strength, speed and " hold out" made him the main stay of the red man of the plains, whether he was Sioux, Cheyenne or Snake. Where the

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      breed came from, or of what blood compounded, nobody seems to know. It is not a mustang, neither is it an Arabian—perhaps a combination of both. It may be for aught we know, indigenous to this continent—a theory sustained by the fact that the Indians can get more work out of such a horse than any other race of men, white, black or yellow.

      When Indians kill game on the hunt, they cut out the tongue, liver and heart, and, unless very hungry, leave the carcass to rot upon the prairie. They don't want to load their horses much unless when near their villages, where the squaws can dry the meat, for the average Indian is still unchanged —still the same mysterious, untamable, barbaric, unreasonable, childish, superstitious, treacherous, thievish, murderous creature, with rare exceptions, that he has been since first Columbus set eyes upon him at San Salvador. Whether friendly

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