Part 14

There are great quantities of them near Church Butte and Granger stations, nearly nine hundred miles west of Missouri River. You have to poke among cobble-stones, etc. to find them, and when a person comes upon a handsome specimen, he will shout, as did a minister from Chicago, one day, with me, when he picked up a nice one as large as an egg,--"Glory hallelujah!"

It is like searching for gold and silver,--very exciting, and far more pleasurable than fishing or hunting. A friend here has about sixty pounds of agates, for which he was offered by a lapidary in New York five dollars a pound. A handsome stone for a ring or pin is worth, when cut into shape, from three to five dollars. The lapidary cuts them with a steel wheel, about eight inches in diameter, using oil and diamond-dust in cutting and polishing.

A YOUNG BRAVE.

At Chug Station I met a frontiersman named Phillips, of long experience, who told me in his new adobe house of an old chief who had lost five sons, and when the first was slain he cut off a piece of his thumb, next of his forefinger, and so on, till five told of his boys killed. The last was a brave, and supposed no ball could hit him, wearing, he supposed, "a charmed life." He came to the "Chug" and dared them to shoot. As he and three or four more had killed a white man and wounded others, the people all turned out, and Phillips shot the bold young fellow, and wounded the rest of the party so that they died. The body of the young Indian lay by the roadside for several weeks, till the wolves and ravens had picked his bones, and I picked up his skull, pierced through with several balls, to bring back and present to the post-surgeon.

This grinning skull was lying on the grass which covered the roadside, and almost beneath towering monuments or bluffs of sandstone, which jut out at several points on the road, running along for great distances, and towering up several hundred feet high. We passed soon after several of these projections, which look like fortifications and baronial castles of some knights of the olden time. "Chimney Rock" is well known to travelers as a series of fluted columns, and standing solitary, as sentinels in the desert, they look solemn, lonely, and sublime. Old George, the stage-driver, has passed them twice a week for many years, and the wonder is he has not lost his scalp.

Sometimes the chiefs and old Indians will cut slits in their cheeks and rub ashes in them, sitting over the fire and bemoaning the loss of their dead children. They present a horrid appearance to one who looks at their pagan mode of bewailing the departed.

Arrived at Fort Laramie on the third day, we were courteously welcomed by Colonel F. F. Flint, of the 4th Infantry, commandant of the post. Delicacy dictates that we forbear to speak of the charming family which surrounds him; but the rarity of Christian households in the army made our visit there like to an oasis in the desert.

To visit the Indian graves surrounding the post was a prominent object before us in going. Lieutenant Theodore F. True, with an orderly, two mules, and a horse saddled, found us fording the Laramie River to inspect the grave,--if such it can be called, as shown in the picture on this page,--where the body was dried up like a mummy, and nothing else but fragments of a buffalo-robe dangling in the wind was to be seen. Relic hunters had carried away everything in the shape of bow and arrow, wampum, etc.

We moralized over this beautiful feature of Indian superstition, wherein they are certainly free from the horrid thought that any one is ever buried alive!

Next we sought the place where the remains of Mon-i-ca, daughter of Zin-ta-gah-lat-skah, was placed, by her request, in the white man's cemetery, and alongside of the body of her uncle Sho-ta,--"Old Smoke,"--an old warrior. The coffin was made at the post, and elevated on posts about ten feet high. They cover these coffins with handsome red broadcloth, and deposit in each all the trinkets and valuables belonging to the departed. One other grave there the Indians visit annually, and mourn over with their lamentations,--that of a Frenchman named Sublette, who brought them down and directed them how to vanquish their enemies, the Pawnees, in a great battle.

THE HEAD CHIEF--RED CLOUD.

Red Cloud is regarded as the head chief of the Sioux nation, and for over twenty years has been thus venerated. He is fifty-three years old, and claims to have fought in eighty-seven battles, often wounded, but never badly hurt. Red Cloud is about six feet six inches in his stockings (I mean moccasins), large features, high cheek bones, and a big mouth, and walks knock-kneed, as others do. His face is painted, and his ears pierced for gaudy rings, which men and women have an equal pride for. His and other chiefs' robes were beautifully worked with hair, beads, and jewels. His leggins were red, handsomely worked with beads and horse-hair and ribbons, and his moccasins were fit for a prince to wear.

He has encountered the Utes, Pawnees, Snakes, Blackfeet, Crows, and Omahas. Thirty-three years ago, while he was the youngest of the braves, he engaged with a party of one hundred and twenty-five warriors of his tribe, and only twenty-five escaped alive. Twice was he wounded, and so distinguished by his daring that he was made a chief for his skill in fighting. Then he rose in rank to the highest station, and he holds it to-day. His people regard him as one of the greatest warriors on the plains, being skilled with the tomahawk, rifle, and bow and arrow, and in councils of chiefs, his wonderful sagacity and eloquence have stamped him, in the eyes of all Indians, as worthy of veneration and implicit obedience. As I had missed the party on their way to Washington by a few hours' tarrying on the "Chug," and General Smith had taken a short cut across to Pine Bluff Station, seventy-three miles below Cheyenne, to avoid a conflict anticipated about Richaud, I will give an account gleaned from others, of this expedition, which it is hoped may result in lasting peace.

The "outfit" assembled in front of General Flint's house, on their arrival at Fort Laramie, and got up a regular war-dance to amuse the general's family and others there. This chief, Red Cloud, whose fame had extended hardly east of the Missouri River, has now spread over the world; and from his wigwam and hunting-grounds, he is heard of across the Atlantic as a great man of destiny. He has passed through Omaha and Chicago to Washington in his war-paint, ornamented with eagle's feathers, buffalo-skins, horse-hair, bears' claws, and trophies of his skill, which he values more highly than a brigadier the stars upon his shoulders!

Along with him were nineteen of his braves and four squaws, which is a small number, considering that the Indian is a Mormon in the matter of polygamy. The Indian buys his wife (or wives) by giving a pony for the prize; and when Mother Bickerdyck, the army-nurse, saw "Friday" in Kansas, and upbraided him with having two squaws, he said, "Well, give me one white squaw, and I'll be content; you know one white squaw is equal to two Indian squaws!"

General Smith was a favorite of Red Cloud's, having met him in the Powder River country, and under circumstances which made him respected among the Sioux Indians.

The chiefs on Red Cloud's staff, and going to Washington, were:

Shem-ka-lu-tah, Red Dog. Mon-tah-o-he-te-kah, Brave Bear. Pah-gee, Little Bear. Mon-tah-zia, Yellow Bear. Makh-to-u-ta-kah, Sitting Bear. Makh-to-ha-she-na, Bearskin. Sha-ton-sa-pah, Black Hawk. Shunk-mon-e-too-ha-ka, Long Wolf. Me-wah-kohn, Sword. Ko-ke-pah, Afraid. Ke-cha-ksa-e-un-tah, The One that runs through. Ke-yah-lu-tah, Red Fly. En-ha-mah-to, Rock Bear. Me-nah-to-ne-ow-jah, Living Bear. Och-le-he-lu-tah, Red Shirt.

Squaws of High Blood.

Dah-sa-no-we, The White Cow Rattler, Sword's wife. Ny-ge-uh-ha, Thunder Skin, wife of Ke-cha-ksa-e-un-tah. E-dah-zit-chu, The Woman without a Bow (Sansare tribe), wife of Yellow Bear. Mak-ko-cha-ny-an-tah-ker, The World Looker, wife of Black Hawk.

Along with them were John Richaud, the renegade, and a half-breed, James McCluskey. Also William G. Bullock, the post-trader at Fort Laramie, as familiar with the Indians as any one in those parts, unless it is a wealthy merchant in St. Louis, Mr. Beauvais, a Frenchman.

As the Indians entered the cars at Pine Bluff Station,--and one can hardly imagine what were their thoughts, because they had never before seen a train of cars or a locomotive,--a friend who was there said that, as soon as the cars started, the Indians expressed some terror in their countenances, and all at once grasped hold of the seats with both hands to hold on! As they passed through Columbus, on the road, several of the Pawnees (their deadly enemies) came in and shook hands with them. Arrived at Omaha, they were quartered at the Cozzens Hotel; but instead of occupying bedrooms and beds, they spread their blankets and skins on the floor, and sank down to a rest much coveted after a long and tedious journey of a thousand miles. Here crowds poured in from every quarter to interview these noted warriors; but as they did not speak English, they were only gazed at by curious people.

Red Dog ranks next as a warrior chief, and is much finer looking; but Man-afraid-of-his-Horses (sick at home) is head chief in civil matters.

Red Shirt is head chief of the White-Sash Band, of three hundred braves, is twenty-seven years of age, and was twice wounded in battle.

Long Wolf, with four ugly scars, is of the same band.

Black Hawk, wounded three times, is about second to Red Cloud as a bold warrior. All have distinguished themselves in various ways, and their buffalo-robes are worked and stained with figures and various objects, all of which tell the history of each one, describing minutely from childhood the first game they killed, whether a bird, antelope, or deer, and so on to some fight with an enemy,--all of which, clear as mud to me, is plain to them as a book. It is said that Red Cloud had prepared the following speech to make to his "Great Father," the President; but he changed his mind, and made another:

"Thousands of miles away, where the sun's last light falls on the big hills, I have left my people, to come and look my Father in the face. As that light makes us see all things around us clearly, so may the Great Spirit make our talk plain, that we may understand each other, and that our councils shall be as brothers who have met to smoke the pipe of peace. Father, I have heard that you are great and good. Listen to me, my Father, and let your ears hear one of your children, who comes from the wigwams of his people, with truth in his heart, and no lies upon his lips. I have made many treaties with your Commissioners, and they have promised many times, but have never kept their promises; and I have now come to see my Great Father myself, so that we can understand each other, and make no promises that we do not mean to keep. They have told you that I am a murderer; but I do not understand it in that way. You, Great Father, have driven me away from my country,--the only country I had to raise my children on. Tell me, Father, could any living man on this earth stand such a thing as this? Suppose I should go to your country, tear down your fences, and steal your cattle and your hogs, would you stand by and have no word to say? No, Father, I know you would not. In all the troubles of my people, the white man has been the first aggressor. Father, we are not cowards. We know that you are great, and that you can crush us with your mighty power. But we believe that you are good, and that you will protect your children, when they come to you for what they believe is theirs. We ask you to listen to us, to do by us as a good father should do by his children, and to let us carry back to our brothers and our people the assurance that the Great Spirit has smiled upon us, and that the Great Father is the Indian's friend, and the Indian's protector."

RED CLOUD'S JOURNEY.