Three Years on the Plains: Observations of Indians, 1867-1870Tuttle, Edmund B. (Edmund Bostwick)
History
Three Years on the Plains: Observations of Indians, 1867-1870
Tuttle, Edmund B. (Edmund Bostwick)
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America; Indians of North America -- Great Plains
"Previous to the conflict, after his two brothers had been shot down
and cut to pieces before his eyes (while approaching the troops to
notify them of the friendly character of the Indians), he aided three
white men to escape from the village, one of them a soldier. They were
his guests, whom he suspected of being spies, 'but did not know it,'
and they are now living to the eternal fame and honor of the chieftain.
From Sand Creek he fled to the Sioux camp, where it was determined
to make war upon the whites in retaliation. He protested against
interfering with women and children, and insisted upon fighting the
men. He was overruled. Thereupon he resigned his office as chief, and
assumed the garb of a brave. He soon after made peace for his tribe,
which was faithfully kept until the burning of their village two years
afterward. A war again ensued, in which he took no part, having
promised never again to raise his hands against the whites. He was the
first to meet the Peace Commissioners at Medicine Lodge Creek. His many
services and virtues plead like angels trumpet-tongued against the deep
damnation of his taking off."
Well, when the council assembled, among them were about a dozen chiefs
of Arapahoes, Cheyennes, etc.; the worst of whom was Neva,--Long-nose,--an
Arapahoe with one eye, and that a very ugly one. He was an outlaw,
commanding twenty or thirty warriors. All were seated in a tent, and
this fellow became boisterous, and wrangled, clamoring for a general
war against all whites. It was a most exciting time. The chiefs stripped
almost naked, and worked themselves up into a great excitement. At
last, Black Kettle rose up, and pointing his finger at Neva, thus
addressed him:
"You, you call yourself brave! I know what you mean. You come here to
kill these white friends whom I have invited to come and have a talk
with us. They don't know what you mean, but I do. You brave!
(sneeringly.) I'll tell you what you are: your mouth is wide, so
(measuring a foot with his hands),--your tongue so long (with his
forefinger marking six inches on his arm),--_and it hangs in the
middle, going both ways_. You're a coward, and dare not fight me." Here
all the Indians gave a grunt of approbation. "Now, go," said he, "and
begone! This council is broken up; I have said it; you hear my words;
begone!" And they slunk off, completely cowed down.
Dog-soldiers were with them, well equipped for a big fight, and these
white men beguiled, would all have been slain only for Mo-ke-ta-va-ta.
A "dog-soldier" is a youth who has won, gradually, by successful use of
the bow and arrow, a position to use the gun, and stand to the warriors
just as our police force do to us, in guarding property, etc. These
boys have a stick, called a "coo," on which they make a notch for
everything they kill,--a kind of tally,--and when the coo is of a
certain length, they are promoted to the rank of a "dog-soldier."
INDIANS DON'T BELIEVE HALF THEY HEAR.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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