Part 18
Thus physically we were being submerged by the rising tide of an alien race. In the same way our old customs and habits were sinking beneath the white man’s civilization. One by one our songs were dying. One by one our dances were being cut off by the government, and our prayers and ceremonies, sweet and sacred to us, were already discountenanced or positively forbidden. Our beautiful moccasins were tabooed, our buckskin beaded shirts replaced by ragged coats. Our women were foolish in the dress of cheap white women. We became a tribe of ragamuffins like the poor men whom the newspapers make jokes about and call “hoboes.”
Let me tell you farther. You cannot understand my people if you consider the white man’s religion and the white man’s way of life the only ones sanctioned by the Great Spirit.
My friends in Washington, the men with whom I studied, gave me this thought. There is good in all religions and all races and I am trying to write of the wrongs of my people from that point of view. The Sitting Bull loved the old life, but he often said: “We were living the life the Great Spirit outlined for us. We knew no other. If you can show us that your manner of life is better, that it will make us happier, then we will come to your way,” and for a time he thought that perhaps the white man’s way of life was nearer to the Great Spirit’s will; but when he was cold and hungry he felt the injustice of this superior race, and doubted.
We all saw that as the years went on and the old joys slipped away no new ones came to take their places, while want, a familiar foe, remained close to every fireside. Our best thinkers perceived that fine large houses and nice warm clothing were unattainable to vast numbers of the white men, “how then can the simple red man hope to win them?” They began to say: “We have given our freedom, our world, our traditions, for a dark cabin, hard, cruel boots, the settler’s contempt, and the soldier’s diseases.” “Our race is passing away. The new conditions destroy us. If we cannot persist as Sioux, why persist at all? There are enough white beggars in the world, why add ourselves to the army of the poor?”
It was for this reason that the chief opposed the treaty subdividing the reservation. “Our strength is in being a people. As individuals the white man will spit on us.” When the treaty was about to be executed a white man said to him: “What do you Indians think of it?”
He drew himself up and the old-time fire flamed in his eyes as he said: “Indians! There are no Indians left but me.” But later he said, sadly: “It is impossible for me to change. I cannot sign, but my children may sign if they wish.”
Just at this time our cattle began to die of a strange disease and our children were seized by a mysterious malady which the white people call grippe, but for which we had no name. We were without medicine to counteract these fevers, and the agency doctor could not do much for us. Our children died in hundreds. This was terrible. It seemed that all were to be swept away.
Bishop Hare and General Miles both saw and reported upon these conditions, and I wrote to all my friends in agony of haste, but the government was slow to act in our need, though it was ever in haste to cut up our land and give it away. No one cared what became of us. We had no votes, we could not help any man to office. All promises were neglected, and to add to our misery it was said the new administration would still further reduce our payments and the rations which were our due. When this news came to us it seemed as if the very earth on which we stood was sinking beneath our feet. The old world of the buffalo, the free life of the past, became each day more beautiful as the world about us, the prison in which we lived, grew black with the clouds of despair.
In this moment of hopeless misery—this intolerable winter of tragic dejection—there came to my people the rumor of something very wonderful. A messenger to my chief said that far in the west, at the base of a vast white mountain, a wondrous medicine man had descended from a cloud to meet and save the red men. Just as Christ came long ago to the Jews, so now the Great Spirit had sent a messenger to the red people to bring back the old world of the buffalo and to repeople its shining vistas with those who had died. So they said, “By faith and purity we are to again prevail over that earth.”
It was a seed planted at the right time in the right soil. In the night of his despair my chief listened to the message as to a sweet story, not believing it, yet eager to hear more.
The herald of the new faith was a Brulé, who ended by saying: “The Kicking Bear, one of our chiefs, is gone to search into the beginning of this story. He it was who sent me to you. He wished me to acquaint you with what he had heard.”
“When he returns,” replied the chief, “tell him I wish to talk with him of this strange thing.”
A report of this man’s message spread among the people and many believed it. We began to hear obscurely about a new dance which some of the people at Rosebud and Pine Ridge had adopted—a ceremony to test the faith of those who believed—a medicine dance to bring back the past—and the people brooded upon the words of the Brulé, who said that the world of the buffalo was to be restored to them and all the old customs and joys brought back.
It was a magical thought. Their deep longing made it expand in their minds like a wonderful flower, and they waited impatiently the coming of the herald.
You must not forget that every little word my people knew of the Christian religion prepared them for this miraculous change. The white man’s religion was full of miracles like this. Did not Christ raise men from the dead? Was he not born of a Virgin and did he not change water into wine? The wise men of the Bible, we were told, were able to make the sun stand still, and once the walls of a great city crumbled before the magic blast of rams’ horns. Many times we had heard the preachers, the wise men of the white men, say: “By faith are mountains removed,” therefore our minds were prepared to believe in the restoration of the world of the buffalo. Was it not as easy for the Great Spirit as to make the water cover the highest mountains? My friend the Blackbird used to say “Every race despises the superstitions of others, but clings to its own.” I am Sioux, I could not help being thrilled by this story.
My brain responded to every story the old man told. I saw again the splendid reaches of the plain. I rode in the chase of the buffalo. I heard the songs of rejoicing as the women hung the red meat up to dry. I played again among the lodges. Yes, it was all very sweet to dream about, but I said to the chief: “I have been among the white people; I have studied their books. The world never turns backward. We must go on like the rivers, on into the mystery.”
“We will see,” he answered. “I have often reproved you for saying, ‘Yes, yes,’ to all that the white man says. This may be all a lie. The Kicking Bear has gone forth into the west to meet this wonder worker. When he returns we will council upon his report. Till then we will do nothing.”
But no power could prevent the spread of the story and its dream among my people. They were quick to seize and build upon this slender promise. Can you not understand our condition of mind? Imagine that a great and powerful race had appeared from over the sea and had driven your people from their ancestral lands, on and on, until at last only a handful of you remained. Imagine this handful corralled in a small, bleak valley cut off from all natural activities, its religions tabooed, its dances and ceremonies forbidden, hungry, cold, despairing. Could you then be logical and reasonable and completely sane?
If my race had been a servile race, ready to play the baboon, quick to imitate, then it would not have vanished, as it has, in war and famine. We are freemen. We had always been unhampered by any alien laws. We moved as we willed, led by the buffalo, directed by the winds, cowering only before the snows. Therefore, we resented the white man’s restrictions. We had the hearts of eagles in our cages, and yet, having the eyes of eagles and the brains of men, we came at last to see the utter futility of struggle. We lost all faith in physical warfare and sat down to die. As a race we were resigned to death, and in this night of our resignation the star of prophecy rose. We turned toward the mystic powers for aid.
IX
THE MESSAGE OF KICKING BEAR
One October day in 1890 a party of Brulé Sioux from the Cheyenne River agency came riding down into the valley of the Grand River, inquiring for The Sitting Bull. As they were passing my father’s lodge he came out and stopped them.
“What do you want of The Sitting Bull?” he asked, with the authority of one of the old-time “Silent Eaters.”
“We bring a message to him,” replied the head man. “I am Kicking Bear. Take us to him without delay.”
The chief at this time lived with his younger wife in a two-room log house (a cabin for his first wife stood near) and as the strangers came to the door they were accosted by an old woman who was at work about the fire under an open lodge. In answer to my father’s inquiry for the chief she pointed toward a large tepee standing behind the house, and, turning aside, my father lifted the door-flap and entered. The chief was alone, smoking his pipe in grave meditation.
“Father,” said my sire, “here are some men from the Cheyenne River to see you.”
“I am Kicking Bear,” said the visitor, “for whom you sent.”
[Illustration: An Indian Chief
_Illustration from_ A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS _by_ Frederic Remington
_Originally published by_ R. H. RUSSELL, _1901_]
The chief greeted his visitors with gentle courtesy and motioned them to their seats. “My friends, I am glad to see you. You are hungry. Rest and eat. When you are filled and refreshed we will talk.” Then calling to his wife to put food before the guests, he smoked quietly while they ate. When they were satisfied and all were composed and comfortable he said to Kicking Bear: “Now, my friend, my ears are open.”
The visitor’s voice was full of excitement, but well under control at first. He said:
“My friend, we all know you; your fame is wide. You are the head of all our people. We know it. You have always been true to the ways of the fathers. You fought long and well against the coming of the whites. Therefore I come to you. This is the story: The first people to know of the Messiah on earth were the Shoshones and the Arapahoes. A year ago Good Thunder, the Ogallallah, hearing of this wonderful story, took four of his friends and went to visit the place where the wonder-working Son of the Great Spirit was said to be. He was gone many days, but at last he sent word that he had found the Messiah, that he was among those who eat fish, far toward the high white mountains, and he asked that I come and bear witness. Thereupon I also went—with much fear. After many days I found the place. It was deep in a strange country—a desert country. Many people were camped there. All tongues were spoken, yet all were at peace. It was said that sixteen different tribes were present, and that they had all come, as I had done, to know the truth. No one thought of war. All strife was put away.”
The Sitting Bull listened with half-closed eyes, weighing every word. It was plain, my father told me, that Kicking Bear was struggling to control his emotion. One by one the chief’s family gathered around the tepee to listen. It was a momentous hour.
“They put up robes in a circle to make a dancing place,” resumed the messenger, “and we all gathered there about sundown. It was said that the Messiah was ready to appear and teach us a new religion. Just after dark some one said, ‘There is the Great Father.’ I looked and saw him sitting on one side of the circle. I did not see him come. I do not know how he got there. The light of the fire fell on him and I saw him plainly. He was not so dark as a red man, but he was not a white man. He was a good-looking person with a kind, wise face. He was dressed in white and had no beard or mustache. One by one all the chiefs drew near to greet him. I went with the others, but when I came near I bowed my head; his eyes were so keen they blinded me. Then he rose and began to sing, and those who had been there before, began to dance in the new ceremony.
“When we stopped dancing for a little while he spoke, saying, ‘My children, I am glad to have you here. I have a great deal to say to you. I am the Son of the Great Spirit, sent to save you from destruction.’ We were very still as he spoke; no one whispered; all listened. He spoke all languages, so that we could understand. ‘I am the Creator of this earth and everything you see about you. I am able to go to the world of the dead, and I have seen all those you have lost. I will teach you to visit the ghost world also; that is the meaning of the dance. Once long ago I came to the white people, but they misused me. They put nails in my feet. See the scars!’ And he held up his hands and we saw the scars.”
The Sitting Bull gave a startled exclamation: “Hoh! You saw the scars!”
“I saw them plainly,” the Kicking Bear solemnly replied, as words of wonder ran round the tepee, “and all my friends saw them as plainly as I. Then the Messiah said: ‘I found my white children bad and I returned to the Great Spirit, my Father. I told them that after many hundreds of years I would return. Now am I returned, but this time I come to the red people.’
“‘I come to teach you a new religion and to make you happy. I am to renew the earth, which is old and worn out. If you follow my teaching, if you do as I bid you, I will bring to pass marvelous things. This is the message of my Father the Creator. He has been displeased with his children. He has turned his face away from the red people for many years. If you had remained true to the ways of the fathers these misfortunes would not have come upon you. You would not now be shut up by the white man, you would be free and happy as of old. But the heart of the Great Spirit is again soft toward you and he bids me say, “If you will live according to the ways of the Saviour whom I have sent among you I will again smile upon you. I will cause the white man to disappear from the earth, together with all the marks he has made with the plow and the ax. I will cause the old world to come back. It will slide above the present earth as one hand slides above the other; the white man and all his works will be buried and the red man will be caught up in the air and put down on this old earth as it returns, and he will find the buffalo and the elk, the deer and the antelope, feeding as of ancient days on the rich grass. The rifle will be no longer necessary nor the white man’s food or clothing. All will be as it was in the days of our fathers. No one will grow old, no one will be sick, no one will die. All will be glad and happy once more.”’”
As he talked The Kicking Bear grew greatly excited. He rose and his voice rang loud and clear. The women began to moan, but the Chief sat still, very still; his time to speak had not yet come.
The Kicking Bear went on. “He commanded that we put all evil thoughts aside. We must not fight or take from one another any good thing. We must be friends with everyone—with the white man, too. Our hearts must be clean and good.
“He also taught us the dance and new methods of purification, and these he commanded me to carry to you.” In this way The Kicking Bear ended, addressing the chief: “This is the message, father, and this is the promise: _If all the red people unite, casting away all that is of the white man, praying and purifying themselves, then will the old world come back—the old happy world of the buffalo, and all the dead ones of our race will return, a mighty host, driving the buffalo before them._”
The chief sat in silence for a long time, and when he spoke his voice was very quiet, with a sad cadence. “This would please me well. But how do I know that it is not a lie? What proof is there that all these good things will come to pass? The invader is strong. I have given up war because I know it is foolish to fight against him. I have seen his land to the east. I know that he has devoured forests and made corn to grow where deep waters once rolled. He is more numerous than the buffalo ever were. All the red men of all the plains and hills cannot defeat him. It is hopeless to talk of driving him back.”
“That is true,” replied The Kicking Bear, “but you have heard how the white man’s Bible speaks of these things. In the olden time, they say, when the people despaired of weapons and war they began to pray to their Great Spirit, and he sent unseen powers to help them. They tell of cities that fell at sound of a trumpet. We are to fight no more with weapons. It is of no avail to use the ax. We must please the Great Spirit; we must beseech him to turn his face upon us again and our enemies will melt away.”
“But what proof is there of this? It is all a tale. It is as the sound of a pleasant breeze in the trees.”
“The proof is in this,” earnestly replied The Kicking Bear. “In this dance, men are able to leave the body and fly far away and look upon the spirits of the dead, and to ride the old-time plains in pursuit of the buffalo. I have myself seen this old world waiting to be restored. Let us call a council. Let us dance and some of your own people—perhaps The Sitting Bull himself—will be able to leave the body and visit the wonderful world of the spirit and return to tell the people of it! Let us dance; the proof will come.”
To this the chief made cautious reply: “We will not be hasty. Remain with us and we will talk further of these things.”
To Slohan he said: “This man talks well. He claims to have been in the west and to have seen the Messiah; yet we must be careful. We will look minutely into the matter. We must not seem foolish.” Then he turned again to the Brulé. “When is this good change to come to us?”
“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause the new earth to come with the springing grass.”
“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly.
“Yes.”
“What causes your belief?”
The Kicking Bear became deeply moved; his voice trembled as he replied: “Because since I touched his hand I have been out of the body many times. I too have visited the spirit world, and I too have seen the dead, and I have seen the buffalo and the shining new world, more beautiful than the old. Since my return I often see the Saviour in my sleep. I know that through him you and all your tribe can fly to the spirit world and see your friends. Therefore have I come that I may teach you the songs and the dances which bring the trance and the vision.”
“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is that to be brought about?” asked the chief.
“All by great magic. War is useless. All who believe must wear an eagle plume, and when the new earth comes sliding over the old, those who wear the sacred feather will be caught up and saved, while the white man and all those who reject the Father’s message will be swept down and buried deep.” Then the messenger cried out with passion: “_Father, they are all dancing—the Piutes, the Shoshones, the Ogallallahs, the Cheyennes—all the people. Hear me! I bring a true message! Listen, I implore!_”
He began to sing, and his companions joined him. The song they sang was strange to my father, and very, very sad—as dolorous as the wind in the bare branches of the elm tree. It was not a war song; it was a mourning cry that made all hearts melt. As they sang, Kicking Bear began to tremble, and then his right arm began to whirl about wildly as if it were a club. Then he fell stiffly to the ground like a man in a fit.
The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning of this?” he asked, looking about him warily.
“He has gone into a trance,” said one of the others. “He is even now in the spirit world. Do not touch him.”