Читать книгу The Collected Works - Luther Standing Bear - Страница 14

Table of Contents

We were living at Spotted Tail Agency, where Pine Ridge Agency is now located. All the men were going north to visit the Northern Sioux. My father and several other chiefs thought it would be a good plan for them also to go along. My father did not take either of his wives with him. They remained at home with us children, and we did not worry about him, as we were having a good time.

But after he had returned from the north, he told about killing the ‘Long Hair.’ This was the name given to General Custer by the Sioux. I asked him to tell me about it. He did not care to talk much about this, as it was considered a disgrace for us to kill a white man.

This is the story of Custer’s last fight, as my father related it to me:

‘We chiefs were all counciling, when a few men ran into the village with the news that the soldiers were coming. We ran out, not prepared for war. But the soldiers were already shooting into our village. Some of the men wanted to fight right away, as the soldiers had killed one boy. But Crazy Horse, one of the greatest chiefs the Sioux ever had, said, “No, wait till I ride up to them first to see what is the matter.”

‘He got on his horse and rode in front of the soldiers’ line, from one end to the other. The command was given, and all the soldiers commenced shooting at Crazy Horse. After he rode past them and they did not wound him, he rode back to the Sioux and told them to go on. The Sioux did not need to be urged, as the soldiers had some wonderful horses that the Indians wanted. They rode into the soldiers with their war-clubs, knocked them on the head, and took away their horses.

‘But when we rode into these soldiers I really felt sorry for them, they looked so frightened. They did not shoot at us. They seemed so panic-stricken that they shot up in the air. Many of them lay on the ground, with their blue eyes open, waiting to be killed.

‘In a few minutes every one was killed, all but one man. He had a very fine horse and had started away. Several of our chiefs started after him, but his horse was much faster and better than the Indian ponies, and he was gaming ground. We were beginning to talk of turning back, when this man pulled out his six-shooter, pointed it to his head, and fired. The horse without the rider was not so hard to catch, so one of our men got it.

‘We men got off the field, as it was no honor to be seen on a battle-field with these weak victims as our adversaries. But the women and boys killed the soldiers who were not dead. They stripped the bodies, and the boys got some good clothes.’

This was all that was ever mentioned about Custer being killed. In all the years I was at home, I never heard this battle spoken of in a bragging way.

* * * * *

About the year 1877 I saw a great many Indians move in to Spotted Tail Agency from the north. Who these people were and what they came for, I did not know; but it seemed to me they were very poor. Their tipis were very small, and their clothes were not good. We boys went over to watch them fix up their camp.

The next day my father invited one of the men to our tipi. He had very dark skin and light brown hair, which was of a fine texture and not like the black, coarse hair that Indians usually have. He was a little man of slight build. He did not carry anything with him, and he was dressed very poorly. There was nothing ‘fancy’ about him in any way.

This man did not talk very much, and what he did say was in a quiet tone—just a few words to my father, but perhaps they were words of importance. I was running in and out of the tipi, but did not pay any attention to what the man was saying, but I wondered who he was.

One of my stepmothers saw me watching the stranger, and probably realized that I was curious to know who he might be. So she called me to one side and said, ‘Son, that man is my cousin, “Ta-sun-ke Wit-ko” or “Crazy Horse.” ’ The father of Crazy Horse was a brother of my stepmother’s mother. In Indian relationship they were brother and sister. But Crazy Horse was only a relative of mine through the law.

Crazy Horse did not stay at our tipi long. After the meal was over he went away on horseback, as their camp was two miles away. We were then at Beaver Creek, where Spotted Tail Agency was established. After Crazy Horse had left, my father began talking to one of his wives in an undertone. He said to her, ‘Now when I am gone, have your cousins keep the horses near. It will really be better if they build a fence, for then they can keep all the horses inside. During the night, be on the lookout and be careful.’

That was all I heard, but it gave me a queer feeling, as if something unforeseen was going to happen. The next morning two of my uncles and my grandfather were busy making a fence of willow trees. When evening came, I saw them get all the horses together and drive them inside this corral. All the other people who were living near by began to tie their horses close to the tipi.

Early the following morning, some men rushed into our camp with the news that Crazy Horse had been killed by the soldiers over at Red Cloud Agency (Fort Robinson). Everybody was excited. People rushed out and got their horses saddled up, and then got extra pack-horses. The women were busy getting together all the things they wanted to keep. Some of them even began to tear off pieces of their tipis.

My father had not yet come home, but we were all ready to run away with the rest. But where could we run to? We were like sheep in a slaughter pen, not knowing which way to go to escape the guns of the soldiers. Then I heard a man say: ‘Wait here until Standing Bear comes home. It is true that Crazy Horse has been killed. They are bringing his body here. Maybe that is where Standing Bear is now.’ I was glad we were going to wait for my father.

There was a man in our camp named ‘Bawling Bull.’ He was a very large man; but he was what we call a ‘horse dreamer.’ He had never touched a horse in his life. His wife had been busy making a travois for him to ride in, in case we had to make a run. As I now look back at that day, it is funny; but if any one had been in camp with us at the time, it would have made a great difference. It was a terrible feeling for us children to have our enemies so near, knowing that they had shot women and children before and feeling that we could expect no mercy now.

Some young men went up the hill to see what the others were going to do. They reported the camp of the northern Indians empty—which was the one Crazy Horse had belonged to. When this was reported to us, the people of our band became very much worried. They wondered if the soldiers had chased them. All sorts of thoughts went through their minds at that time. We afterward learned that, as soon as Crazy Horse was killed, Sitting Bull took charge of his people and ran north with them into Canada.

Finally my father came home. His two wives and their mother had cut their hair short. This meant that they were in mourning for Crazy Horse, their nephew and cousin. They were all crying when my father came in. As soon as it was noised about that Standing Bear was at home, every one ran to our tipi to learn what we were to do and to find out all the news. Then my father told them all about the trouble. Said he:

‘We were all outside the prison [guardhouse] at Fort Robinson. Crazy Horse had been invited in, and he took with him a friend by the name of Little Big Man. These two were constant companions. They entered the prison together, while we waited outside.

‘Soon we heard some trouble in the prison. It was loud talking and it disturbed us. The father of Crazy Horse and some of his friends ran in. It was not long until we saw the old man and his friends bringing out the body of their son, and he was dying. He had been pierced with a bayonet in the hand of a common soldier. His father and friends carried the body from the spot where he fell. Why had they tried to kill him? He had done no harm. They had invited him in, and then had stabbed him.

‘When his father brought him out into the open, the old man said, “If my son had known this was coming, the bayonet of the soldier would never have pierced his body; but he was taken unawares.”

‘The Red Cloud and Spotted Tail people then stepped forward, and, because they were jealous of him, they began to get ready to shoot at the dying body of Crazy Horse. But I stood over his body and protected him. I held my gun all ready to shoot any man who dared fire a shot, as that was a cowardly act. When they saw I meant to shoot any one, they stopped. Then I wrapped Crazy Horse in my blanket and left him in the care of his father. They were preparing a travois when I left, and they are going to bring his body here.

‘But we will not leave this place; we will not run away. To-morrow morning I am going to see our father [the Agent] at the agency. Then I will have a talk with him.’

By this time everybody began to cool down. Those who had been singing brave songs stopped while my father was talking to them. They knew they could depend on him to stand by his race.

We all waited patiently for the family of Crazy Horse to bring in his body. My stepmothers and their mother were all in mourning, and were crying most of the time. Soon we saw them coming in the distance. They had his body on a travois and were moving slowly.

Some of his friends remained loyal to their dead leader. They did not run away with Sitting Bull into Canada. They all moved in with our band, with their relations, but they remained at a distance, because they had a dead body with them.

We waited for them to lay the body away, but they did not build up a bier for him as had been done for other great chiefs. I think it was because they did not want their son touched by hands that were jealous of him.

I want you to remember that all the celebrated Indians who have big names in the white man’s histories and stories were not the ones we considered important men. Their prominence was due either to getting into the show business, or to selling things that did not belong to them personally, or trading it to the white people for little money. When a Sioux committed a crime and was detested by his own people, then he usually went over to the whites, thinking to protect himself. But the white men who came West in those days were not friends of the Indian—any more than they had been friends among their own race.

Crazy Horse was the greatest chief the Sioux ever had. I make this claim because he was a wonderful man. He never was wounded in his life until he came to meet his death. Crazy Horse was always in the front ranks when there was a fight, but an arrow or bullet had never pierced his body. Not even any horse that he ever rode was wounded. That is how this celebrated Indian chief came to be called ‘Crazy Horse.’ He never cared to dress up in gaudy clothes, but was a very plain man. In battle he did not wear a full war-bonnet, but simply the full body of a hawk on the left side of his head. Over his shoulders he wore a red cape, which was his full dress.

In the battle of the Little Big Horn, Crazy Horse rode to meet the soldiers first. He rode before them from one end of the line to the other. The soldiers were all in a line, shooting at him, but they did not harm his body. Many times he repeated this, but neither he nor his horse was wounded. So they called him ‘Ta-sun-ke Wit-ko,’ or ‘Crazy Horse.’ Right after the killing of Long Hair (General Custer), when the white people began to make a fuss, Crazy Horse took his band and ran away across the border into Canada.

Then Spotted Tail, Red Cloud, my father, and some other chiefs went up into Canada after Crazy Horse. They were bringing the pipe of peace with them, just for him. This was with the understanding that if Crazy Horse accepted and smoked the pipe, the United States Government was to appoint him head chief over all the other chiefs of the Dakotas. They would then take him to Washington to see the Great White Father, or President of the United States.

All the people of the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail Agencies did not like this idea, especially Spotted Tail and Red Cloud themselves. So they were against Crazy Horse, and he was in danger from both factions, but he did not know it. He trusted both sides—and then they killed him.

CHIEF WHITE BULL

He was a sub-chief under Chief Gall at the Battle of the Little Big Horn