2010 in review

My first year of Blogging my random scattered thoughts…. So WordPress sends me my stats, and I guess it wasn’t a total disaster!!  So I thought I’d share some of my blogging stats on this Jan 2nd of 2011

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

Healthy blog!

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

Featured image

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 4,500 times in 2010. That’s about 11 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 75 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 274 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 150mb. That’s about 5 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was July 6th with 82 views. The most popular post that day was Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death ~ Part 3 ~ Little Bighorn River ~ June 2010.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were facebook.com, digg.com, healthfitnesstherapy.com, dating-online2u.blogspot.com, and storagesavvy.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for general charles krulak, livingsocial interview process, giants rookie of the year, buster posey, and livingsocial interview questions.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death ~ Part 3 ~ Little Bighorn River ~ June 2010 July 2010
2 comments

2

Buster Posey ~ San Francisco Giants~ Rookie of the year ? July 2010

3

Professional Ethics ~ Speech by General Charles Krulak April 2010

4

Living Social ~ New Company, New Career November 2010
3 comments and 2 Likes on WordPress.com

5

Custer’s leadership during the Battle of the Washita~ 1868 June 2010

Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death ~ Final Chapter ~ June 2010

As Friday morning came, the 1st US was business as usual.  Most of the Cav people had their horses in  makeshift corrals, but as I stated before, we use a high picket line.  We do this for many reasons.  For one, it really enhances our campsite.  There is something about 10 horses tied to a line in front of a period correct Cav camp.  We also, line up our tack in a Military manner, with the Saddle, and all tack right in front of each horse.  It just looks tight… that’s all…  And if you ever saw our camp, and then went to look at another Cav companies campsite, well….. I think our discipline just plays better all around. 

So, Friday… first.  Show day   We see some Native activity out by the parade field, we prepare by loading our weapons, cleaning our tack, boots, etc.  The day prior’s river crossing has trashed and gotten most of the boots wet, very handy to have the second pair here.  We saddle up, check the cinches, the first Sgt has a good handle on things, so I can just mentally prepare for my role in this.  Which is really friggin unknown to me at this time. 

So, we form up by our camp, on time, and head towards the parade field to meet the other Cav riders for day one of the show.  As we trot up, the commands are:  Left into line!!! March!!, where all the horses do a left hand turn and now are fronted into line…. Right…… DRESS!!!!   all heads turn my way and dress our line off of me.   FRONT!!!!  All heads snap forward….  Practiced, and well done.  Damn we’re good. 

You might think that as the Commander of this group, I might be nervous, but no… I’m not because I KNOW that we KNOW our business, we know our tactics, we are good hard Military riders who I’ll put up against any Cav group in the country right now. So regardless of what’s to come, I know I can lead them, give orders, have those orders followed and put on a very believable show.  Hell, we’ve done it tons of times, so…. NO I’m not nervous.  I’m confident.

The stands are full of people, we march in formation and left onto line again, the Native master of ceremonies tells the story of what happened in the years prior to this encounter in 1876.  We march off and the series of vignettes starts.  Were doing many different shows at once here.  First is the Fetterman Massacre, where a misguided Lt. rides his 80 men into a trap and gets all of his men killed,  this entails us hitting the river at a good pace, crossing, dismounting and fighting from the ground, remounting and retreating across the river to get away from the overwhelming odds that are against us.  I apologize to any members who might be reading this if I get my days mixed up here, so I’ll just highlight the weekends battles from this point forward.

Our Civil War Cav tactics differ greatly from this experience of mass chaos.  However this chaos was very correct, as the Indians fought a guerrilla type of war, as opposed to the Military riding were used to.  So most of the battles are us attacking a small village, or a few Braves, only to be driven back by huge numbers of Indian Braves.  And since this battle is on the very grounds which this took place those many years ago, a special feeling is ALWAYS there.  It was very real.  As we crossed the river in the EXACT place Custer tried to cross 134 years ago, only to be repelled and driven back, back and back some to Last Stand hill.  I feel like I’m there…..Yea… I’m there and it’s 1876 and I’m feeling what it must have been like for them.   As we are pushed across that river for the umpteenth time, Shawnee can feel it too.  We are one of the last to cross, I’m at the end of the line here, and as she scrambles up the embankment, I kick her up into a fast gallop, and by god there is that damn fallen tree that we experienced during the practice.  Then, I took her up to it and let her jump it from standing still, and that one hurt like hell , if ya know what I mean…  So, she’s heading for it now at full speed, and I just push the reins up to her ears to give her her head and she leaps it like a champ, we land, and by god…. I did it!!  At speed….. what a rush.  Then were heading for the shallow ditch that in practice she ran through, but this time, she’s feeling her oats and jumps the damn thing, Whoosshhh!!!!! getting air and landing at full speed again… What a rush!!  Impossible to explain properly.  We gallop to the top of the hill, I form up my company, and Irealize that I’ve NEVER ridin like that man….NEVER. We form up on the ridge, 50 or so horses, and I’m on the far left, the other commander is on the far right, the order is given, CHARGE!!!!  we walk, we trot, we gallop down that hill towards the warriors who are now crossing the river to confront us.  As we get speed our line starts to break up some, so I’m yelling from the left!!!! ” Keep the line!!!!,  Form the line!!!!!”  and the line starts to reform just as we hit the Braves coming from the front.  I order a ” to the LEFT!!! March!! where my company turns our mounts to the left to protect General Custer’s rear.  And as I do, we come face to face with more Indians who are hitting us from the rear.  At this point, we all dismount, hand our horses to handlers and fight on foot as were being overwhelmed by numbers. I see a warrior ride up right to me, I nod to him, he dismounts and charges me, we grapple, he kicks my legs out from underneath me, and as I start to go down, I swing him in mid-air and land on top of him, raise my pistol to strike him as another Brave hits me with a fake arrow in my back, and pretty soon it’s over…. All gone.  Every Cavalryman is dead on the field..  Along with Custer and his brothers.And as the Indians take my hat, weapon, jacket as war booty, a calmness comes over me as it’s all over.  The braves are whooping it up, firing our captured pistols into the air, faking the taking of our scalps, ( except mine)  :-).

On Sat, or Sunday, as were crossing the river, 1st Sgt Daily, Cpl Nield and I are the last to cross, see pic on left, Karsten’s horse Tank is about to play submarine here, as Jim is on the Sorrel closest to the camera and I’m right behind him.  Well, as we hit the water, tank loses both front legs and pretends to be a lawn dart and under they both go!!  completely submerged!! And as Tank starts to stand up, one of the students, T-bones him and off Karsten goes!! Into the river he goes, under his horse and the horse that knocked him off of his mount.  I’m a tad concerned at this point as I cannot see him, and while I go get Tank who is standing up to his tummy in the Little Bighorn river, up pops Cpl Nield about 20 yards down river!  As he makes his way to us, I can see he looks like he’s just been kicked in the head by a 1000 lb horse, so as he comes up to me, I ask him ” ARE YOU ALL RIGHT!?!?!”  and he replys ”  GUGUELHEOGHNDJHJEGEE}GHH!!!”    And his eyes are completely dilated as well.  So I’m thinking… concussion city….  But then I hear him again,  ” take my pistooool!!”  As he’s spitting muddy water out of his nose….   I take his pistol from him and watch helplessly as he tries and tries again to get himself into the saddle.

And now, I’m yelling at him, as I’m thinking he’s expecting me to pull Tank across the river with him lying on his back as if he’s wounded.  I’m yelling ” Get yer ass into the saddle boy!!!” and he’s replying ”  ghkdjdodspjdpfeodjfgjgld., spit….. muddy water out his nose… fdluigljdlkhdlf”  and it dawns on me that his wool uniform is now about 100 more pounds of weight that he’s trying to lift into the saddle, and he finally is in the saddle, we hit the embankment, water is flying off of us like were a jet taking off in a monsoon.

We hit the opposite shore, and are by far the last ones across, and the entire company is watching us from the high ground that we’re once again going to charge from IF we ever make it there. Well, we hit the ground running, see pic to the right, and it’s like a water park, we both are at a full gallop again, running like hell for our lives, Shawnee see’s that damn ditch again, and whooosh!!! damned if she didn’t jump it again.  No bother, too much adrenaline to  screw up now, and we come flying up the hill much to the amazement of all who’s watching this event take place.

We form up, reload, I’m barking orders to ” dress the damn line!!!”  ( too cool, too real, too everything )

And we start our last charge down that hill once again.

In closing, all I can say about this trip was I’m damn glad it finally came to reality.  This was by far the highlight of my Cavalry career, and to spend it there, with these people will be one of my fondest memories of my 10 years of Cavalry re-enacting.  As we broke camp the next morning, I ask all of us to line up for a group shot, and here we are, as we’re just heading onto the highway for our 8 hour trip to Alberton, MT where we were to spend the night.

From left to right:  Tim Shaw, Rich Bright, Bob and Barb Davisson, Janelle Davisson carrying Lynssie Bright, Jim Daily behind them, Gini Johnson, Karsten Nield, Amanda Nield, and Rusty our Cav and camp dog.

What a fantastic trip, below are a few pics from that night we spent under the stars at our good friends house, John and Susan Favro.

Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death ~ Little Bighorn River~ June 2010

The journey began last Tuesday, June 27, 2010.  I drove from Seattle and met Rich and Lynssie in Ellensburg, WA, where we unloaded my truck and loaded my gear into his for the two-day drive to Garryowen, MT and our adventure at the Little Bighorn river.  Stopping over in beautiful Alberton, MT. where our good friends Susan and John Favro allowed us to turn out the horses to graze after the first 8 hours of our trip. 

We hooked up with Jim Daily and Gini Johnson in Spokane and  all of us spent the first night under the stars surrounded by beautiful Montana hills.  The next day, it was another 8 hours to the river, where we were going to participate in the yearly anniversary of the Battle of the Little Bighorn…. Custer’s Last stand.

The anticipation was high as we drove past Butte, and when we pulled up to the campsite, there were reviewing tents, tepees and horses, horses and more horses, both Indian ponies and Cav mounts.  This event is hosted by the Real Bird family, owners of the property.   They are Crow Indians who manage the site and allow the US Cavalry School in Twisp Washington to use these grounds for living history and the reenactment that would come on Friday, Sat and Sunday.

This event for us was years in the planning.  I’d been negotiating with them on the access fees and charges for quite some time, and we finally came to an agreement at the end of last year which allowed us to put this on our schedule as the first non Civil War reenactment that the 1st US Cav has ever attended.   We were to be joining the students of the US Cavalry school in this event, those students had been there for a week training, learning and becoming Cavalry troopers in what is essentially a fantasy camp for Cavalry reenacting. We were also supposed to supplement other reenacting companies that were to attend from Nebraska, Illinois and Iowa. 

The plan was for Rich, Lynssie,( his 12 year old daughter and our guidon bearer ) Jim , the 1st Sgt, and Trooper Gini to meet Karsten and Amanda Nield, at the camp site.  Karsten and Amanda had been camping in Montana most of the week prior to heading to Little Bighorn.  Also coming along was Captain Bob Davisson, his wife Barb and daughter, Jannelle Davisson.  Al together we were to put 10 horses on the field and as usual I was confident that we knew our jobs and would show ourselves proud. 

I felt a little pressure as the Commanding officer for us to show well,  to see how our continued training and discipline both in and out of the saddle would transfer to this venue, and as we all started rolling in and setting up our camp we received many looks and ” who are these guys” views from all who had been there for that week prior.

We were greeted by John Doran,Keith Herrin  and Col Jolley who were the organizers and in charge of the Cavalry portion of this show, and they warmly greeted us and welcomed us to the site.    And as we started to unpack and started our regular routine of setting up a period correct Cav camp we started to draw a crowd. As I looked around I noticed that there were many cars in camp, and nearby was a modern trailer that was being used with Cav flags draping around it.  We are used to no modern gear or cars allowed in camp, but we just kept going about our business and our camp started to take on its own identity.  Once the high line had been set up and all 10 horses picketed, all of our trucks and trailers drove out of camp and parked. I viewed the 1st US camp from the parking lot and it did look good, if I must say so myself.  We were placed right on the banks of the Little Bighorn river, essentially in the middle of what was 134 years ago the Indian campsite, where over 4,000 tepees, 10,000 Indian ponies and an estimated 10,000 Native Americans 3-4000 which were Indian warriors prepared to fight for their way of life, had set up their camp.

The one area in which we needed to train and do it quick was crossing that damn river. I was a tad concerned that we get to this quickly  to acclimate our mounts to crossing a large river.  That night, Karsten, Amanda and Rich and Lynnsie did the first crossing and it went very well.  So the next morning, Col Jolly’s Scout Mike, led us across to start our riding on this sacred land.  And as Mike stepped into the river,  Shawnee hesitated for just a second and stepped in after him, the current was swift and the main goal was to keep kicking her forward and headed up river, because the current would quickly push us down river and there were many holes that would cause the horse and rider to go under or swim for it.  As the water came over and into my boots to my knees, it became apparent soon that we were going to be fine with no problems getting through this.  I crossed onto the far side of the river and quickly pulled out my camera to get some shots of our company crossing the Little Bighorn River for the first time.  A few of us were carried down river a bit, but no major drama ensued.  A very successful crossing, and as we formed up on the other side, a major load had been lifted not only from my shoulders but everyone’s I’m sure.

The next surprise came when Scout Mike informed us that we could ride the battlefield and explore the grounds on horseback.  THIS was unexpected as it takes special Indian permission to do this, and this was given to all riders who were participating in this event.

Mike had to return to camp but he pointed us in a few directions and said he’d try to send out another scout to guide us when he could.  And as we headed towards Weir point and Reno’s hill, a chill went up my back.  I ordered scouts out ahead and our adventure had begun.

Tomorrow, I’ll cover our first rehearsal and impressions of what was to come.

Chief Sitting Bull ~ 1831 – 1890

CChief Sitting Bull (Tatanka Iyotake)
Hunkpapa Sioux (1831-1890)

Lakota Medicine Man and Chief was considered the last Sioux to surrender to the U.S. Government.

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The Capture of Sitting Bull
submitted by: Kathy Johnson

Quotes from Chief Sitting Bull:
“If the Great Spirit had desired me to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place. He put in your heart certain wishes and plans, and in my heart he put other and different desires. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.”
“I am here by the will of the Great Spirit, and by his will I am chief. I know Great Spirit is looking down upon me from above, and will hear what I say…”

“The earth has received the embrace of the sun and we shall see the results of that love. He put in your heart certain wishes and plans; in my heart, he put other different desires.

“In my early days, I was eager to learn and to do things, and therefore I learned quickly. Each man is good in the sight of the Great Spirit.”

“Now that we are poor, we are free. No white man controls our footsteps. If we must die, we die defending our rights.”

“What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief. What white woman, however lonely, was ever captive or insulted by me? Yet they say I am a bad Indian.”

“What white man has ever seen me drunk? Who has ever come to me hungry and left me unfed? Who has seen me beat my wives or abuse my children? What law have I broken?”

“Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country? God made me an Indian.”

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Sitting Bull, as Remembered by Ohiyesa (Charles A. Eastman)

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It is not easy to characterize Sitting Bull, of all Sioux chiefs most generally known to the American people. There are few to whom his name is not familiar, and still fewer who have learned to connect it with anything more than the conventional notion of a bloodthirsty savage. The man was an enigma at best. He was not impulsive, nor was he phlegmatic. He was most serious when he seemed to be jocose. He was gifted with the power of sarcasm, and few have used it more artfully than he.

His father was one of the best-known members of the Unkpapa band of Sioux. The manner of this man’s death was characteristic. One day, when the Unkpapas were attacked by a large war party of Crows, he fell upon the enemy’s war leader with his knife. In a hand-to-hand combat of this sort, we count the victor as entitled to a war bonnet of trailing plumes. It means certain death to one or both. In this case, both men dealt a mortal stroke, and Jumping Buffalo, the father of Sitting Bull, fell from his saddle and died in a few minutes. The other died later from the effects of the wound.

Sitting Bull’s boyhood must have been a happy one. It was long after the day of the dog-travaux, and his father owned many ponies of variegated colors. It was said of him in a joking way that his legs were bowed like the ribs of the ponies that he rode constantly from childhood. He had also a common nickname that was much to the point. It was “Hunkeshnee”, which means “Slow”, referring to his inability to run fast, or more probably to the fact that he seldom appeared on foot. In their boyish games he was wont to take the part of the “old man”, but this does not mean that he was not active and brave. It is told that after a buffalo hunt the boys were enjoying a mimic hunt with the calves that had been left behind. A large calf turned viciously on Sitting Bull, whose pony had thrown him, but the alert youth got hold of both ears and struggled until the calf was pushed back into a buffalo wallow in a sitting posture. The boys shouted: “He has subdued the buffalo calf! He made it sit down!” And from this incident was derived his familiar name of Sitting Bull.

It is a mistake to suppose that Sitting Bull, or any other Indian warrior, was of a murderous disposition. It is true that savage warfare had grown more and more harsh and cruel since the coming of white traders among them, bringing guns, knives, and whisky. Yet it was still regarded largely as a sort of game, undertaken in order to develop the manly qualities of their youth. It was the degree of risk which brought honor, rather than the number slain, and a brave must mourn thirty days, with blackened face and loosened hair, for the enemy whose life he had taken. While the spoils of war were allowed, this did not extend to territorial aggrandizement, nor was there any wish to overthrow another nation and enslave its people. It was a point of honor in the old days to treat a captive with kindness. The common impression that the Indian is naturally cruel and revengeful is entirely opposed to his philosophy and training. The revengeful tendency of the Indian was aroused by the white man. It is not the natural Indian who is mean and tricky; not Massasoit but King Philip; not Attackullakulla but Weatherford; not Wabashaw but Little Crow; not Jumping Buffalo but Sitting Bull! These men lifted their hands against the white man, while their fathers held theirs out to him with gifts.

Remember that there were councils which gave their decisions in accordance with the highest ideal of human justice before there were any cities on this continent; before there were bridges to span the Mississippi; before this network of railroads was dreamed of! There were primitive communities upon the very spot where Chicago or New York City now stands, where men were as children, innocent of all the crimes now committed there daily and nightly. True morality is more easily maintained in connection with the simple life. You must accept the truth that you demoralize any race whom you have subjugated.

From this point of view we shall consider Sitting Bull’s career. We say he is an untutored man: that is true so far as learning of a literary type is concerned; but he was not an untutored man when you view him from the standpoint of his nation. To be sure, he did not learn his lessons from books. This is second-hand information at best. All that he learned he verified for himself and put into daily practice. In personal appearance he was rather commonplace and made no immediate impression, but as he talked he seemed to take hold of his hearers more and more. He was bull-headed; quick to grasp a situation, and not readily induced to change his mind. He was not suspicious until he was forced to be so. All his meaner traits were inevitably developed by the events of his later career.

Sitting Bull’s history has been written many times by newspaper men and army officers, but I find no account of him which is entirely correct. I met him personally in 1884, and since his death I have gone thoroughly into the details of his life with his relatives and contemporaries. It has often been said that he was a physical coward and not a warrior. Judge of this for yourselves from the deed which first gave him fame in his own tribe, when he was about twenty-eight years old.

In an attack upon a band of Crow Indians, one of the enemy took his stand, after the rest had fled, in a deep ditch from which it seemed impossible to dislodge him. The situation had already cost the lives of several warriors, but they could not let him go to repeat such a boast over the Sioux!

“Follow me!” said Sitting Bull, and charged. He raced his horse to the brim of the ditch and struck at the enemy with his coup-staff, thus compelling him to expose himself to the fire of the others while shooting his assailant. But the Crow merely poked his empty gun into his face and dodged back under cover. Then Sitting Bull stopped; he saw that no one had followed him, and he also perceived that the enemy had no more ammunition left. He rode deliberately up to the barrier and threw his loaded gun over it; then he went back to his party and told them what he thought of them.

“Now,” said he, “I have armed him, for I will not see a brave man killed unarmed. I will strike him again with my coup-staff to count the first feather; who will count the second?”

Again he led the charge, and this time they all followed him. Sitting Bull was severely wounded by his own gun in the hands of the enemy, who was killed by those that came after him. This is a record that so far as I know was never made by any other warrior.

The second incident that made him well known was his taking of a boy captive in battle with the Assiniboines. He saved this boy’s life and adopted him as his brother. Hohay, as he was called, was devoted to Sitting Bull and helped much in later years to spread his fame. Sitting Bull was a born diplomat, a ready speaker, and in middle life he ceased to go upon the warpath, to become the councilor of his people. From this time on, this man represented him in all important battles, and upon every brave deed done was wont to exclaim aloud:

“I, Sitting Bull’s boy, do this in his name!”

He had a nephew, now living, who resembles him strongly, and who also represented him personally upon the field; and so far as there is any remnant left of his immediate band, they look upon this man One Bull as their chief.

When Sitting Bull was a boy, there was no thought of trouble with the whites. He was acquainted with many of the early traders, Picotte, Choteau, Primeau, Larpenteur, and others, and liked them, as did most of his people in those days. All the early records show this friendly attitude of the Sioux, and the great fur companies for a century and a half depended upon them for the bulk of their trade. It was not until the middle of the last century that they woke up all of a sudden to the danger threatening their very existence. Yet at that time many of the old chiefs had been already depraved by the whisky and other vices of the whites, and in the vicinity of the forts and trading posts at Sioux City, Saint Paul, and Cheyenne, there was general demoralization. The drunkards and hangers-on were ready to sell almost anything they had for the favor of the trader. The better and stronger element held aloof. They would not have anything of the white man except his hatchet, gun, and knife. They utterly refused to cede their lands; and as for the rest, they were willing to let him alone as long as he did not interfere with their life and customs, which was not long.

It was not, however, the Unkpapa band of Sioux, Sitting Bull’s band, which first took up arms against the whites; and this was not because they had come less in contact with them, for they dwelt on the Missouri River, the natural highway of trade. As early as 1854, the Ogallalas and Brules had trouble with the soldiers near Fort Laramie; and again in 1857 Inkpaduta massacred several families of settlers at Spirit Lake, Iowa. Finally, in 1869, the Minnesota Sioux, goaded by many wrongs, arose and murdered many of the settlers, afterward fleeing into the country of the Unkpapas and appealing to them for help, urging that all Indians should make common cause against the invader. This brought Sitting Bull face to face with a question which was not yet fully matured in his own mind; but having satisfied himself of the justice of their cause, he joined forces with the renegades during the summer of 1863, and from this time on he was an acknowledged leader.

In 1865 and 1866 he met the Canadian half-breed, Louis Riel, instigator of two rebellions, who had come across the line for safety; and in fact at this time he harbored a number of outlaws and fugitives from justice. His conversations with these, especially with the French mixed-bloods, who inflamed his prejudices against the Americans, all had their influence in making of the wily Sioux a determined enemy to the white man. While among his own people he was always affable and genial, he became boastful and domineering in his dealings with the hated race. He once remarked that “if we wish to make any impression upon the pale-face, it is necessary to put on his mask.”

Sitting Bull joined in the attack on Fort Phil Kearny and in the subsequent hostilities; but he accepted in good faith the treaty of 1868, and soon after it was signed he visited Washington with Red Cloud and Spotted Tail, on which occasion the three distinguished chiefs attracted much attention and were entertained at dinner by President Grant and other notables. He considered that the life of the white man as he saw it was no life for his people, but hoped by close adherence to the terms of this treaty to preserve the Big Horn and Black Hills country for a permanent hunting ground. When gold was discovered and the irrepressible gold seekers made their historic dash across the plains into this forbidden paradise, then his faith in the white man’s honor was gone forever, and he took his final and most persistent stand in defense of his nation and home. His bitter and at the same time well-grounded and philosophical dislike of the conquering race is well expressed in a speech made before the purely Indian council before referred to, upon the Powder River. I will give it in brief as it has been several times repeated to me by men who were present.

“Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love! Every seed is awakened, and all animal life. It is through this mysterious power that we too have our being, and we therefore yield to our neighbors, even to our animal neighbors, the same right as ourselves to inhabit this vast land.

“Yet hear me, friends! we have now to deal with another people, small and feeble when our forefathers first met with them, but now great and overbearing. Strangely enough, they have a mind to till the soil, and the love of possessions is a disease in them. These people have made many rules that the rich may break, but the poor may not! They have a religion in which the poor worship, but the rich will not! They even take tithes of the poor and weak to support the rich and those who rule. They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse. They compel her to produce out of season, and when sterile she is made to take medicine in order to produce again. All this is sacrilege.

“This nation is like a spring freshet; it overruns its banks and destroys all who are in its path. We cannot dwell side by side. Only seven years ago we made a treaty by which we were assured that the buffalo country should be left to us forever. Now they threaten to take that from us also. My brothers, shall we submit? or shall we say to them: ‘First kill me, before you can take possession of my fatherland!'”

As Sitting Bull spoke, so he felt, and he had the courage to stand by his words. Crazy Horse led his forces in the field; as for him, he applied his energies to state affairs, and by his strong and aggressive personality contributed much to holding the hostiles together.

It may be said without fear of contradiction that Sitting Bull never killed any women or children. He was a fair fighter, and while not prominent in battle after his young manhood, he was the brains of the Sioux resistance. He has been called a “medicine man” and a “dreamer.” Strictly speaking, he was neither of these, and the white historians are prone to confuse the two. A medicine man is a doctor or healer; a dreamer is an active war prophet who leads his war party according to his dream or prophecy. What is called by whites “making medicine” in war time is again a wrong conception. Every warrior carries a bag of sacred or lucky charms, supposed to protect the wearer alone, but it has nothing to do with the success or safety of the party as a whole. No one can make any “medicine” to affect the result of a battle, although it has been said that Sitting Bull did this at the battle of the Little Big Horn.

When Custer and Reno attacked the camp at both ends, the chief was caught napping. The village was in danger of surprise, and the women and children must be placed in safety. Like other men of his age, Sitting Bull got his family together for flight, and then joined the warriors on the Reno side of the attack. Thus he was not in the famous charge against Custer; nevertheless, his voice was heard exhorting the warriors throughout that day.

During the autumn of 1876, after the fall of Custer, Sitting Bull was hunted all through the Yellowstone region by the military. The following characteristic letter, doubtless written at his dictation by a half-breed interpreter, was sent to Colonel Otis immediately after a daring attack upon his wagon train.

“I want to know what you are doing, traveling on this road. You scare all the buffalo away. I want to hunt in this place. I want you to turn back from here. If you don’t, I will fight you again. I want you to leave what you have got here and turn back from here.

I am your friend

Sitting Bull.

I mean all the rations you have got and some powder. Wish you would write me as soon as you can.”

Otis, however, kept on and joined Colonel Miles, who followed Sitting Bull with about four hundred soldiers. He overtook him at last on Cedar Creek, near the Yellowstone, and the two met midway between the lines for a parley. The army report says: “Sitting Bull wanted peace in his own way.” The truth was that he wanted nothing more than had been guaranteed to them by the treaty of 1868 — the exclusive possession of their last hunting ground. This the government was not now prepared to grant, as it had been decided to place all the Indians under military control upon the various reservations.

Since it was impossible to reconcile two such conflicting demands, the hostiles were driven about from pillar to post for several more years, and finally took refuge across the line in Canada, where Sitting Bull had placed his last hope of justice and freedom for his race. Here he was joined from time to time by parties of malcontents from the reservation, driven largely by starvation and ill-treatment to seek another home. Here, too, they were followed by United States commissioners, headed by General Terry, who endeavored to persuade him to return, promising abundance of food and fair treatment, despite the fact that the exiles were well aware of the miserable condition of the “good Indians” upon the reservations. He first refused to meet them at all, and only did so when advised to that effect by Major Walsh of the Canadian mounted police. This was his characteristic remark: “If you have one honest man in Washington, send him here and I will talk to him.”

Sitting Bull was not moved by fair words; but when he found that if they had liberty on that side, they had little else, that the Canadian government would give them protection but no food; that the buffalo had been all but exterminated and his starving people were already beginning to desert him, he was compelled at last, in 1881, to report at Fort Buford, North Dakota, with his band of hungry, homeless, and discouraged refugees. It was, after all, to hunger and not to the strong arm of the military that he surrendered in the end.

In spite of the invitation that had been extended to him in the name of the “Great Father” at Washington, he was immediately thrown into a military prison, and afterward handed over to Colonel Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) as an advertisement for his “Wild West Show.” After traveling about for several years with the famous showman, thus increasing his knowledge of the weaknesses as well as the strength of the white man, the deposed and humiliated chief settled down quietly with his people upon the Standing Rock agency in North Dakota, where his immediate band occupied the Grand River district and set to raising cattle and horses. They made good progress; much better, in fact, than that of the “coffee-coolers” or “loafer” Indians, received the missionaries kindly and were soon a church-going people.

When the Commissions of 1888 and 1889 came to treat with the Sioux for a further cession of land and a reduction of their reservations, nearly all were opposed to consent on any terms. Nevertheless, by hook or by crook, enough signatures were finally obtained to carry the measure through, although it is said that many were those of women and the so-called “squaw-men”, who had no rights in the land. At the same time, rations were cut down, and there was general hardship and dissatisfaction. Crazy Horse was long since dead; Spotted Tail had fallen at the hands of one of his own tribe; Red Cloud had become a feeble old man, and the disaffected among the Sioux began once more to look to Sitting Bull for leadership.

At this crisis a strange thing happened. A half-breed Indian in Nevada promulgated the news that the Messiah had appeared to him upon a peak in the Rockies, dressed in rabbit skins, and bringing a message to the red race. The message was to the effect that since his first coming had been in vain, since the white people had doubted and reviled him, had nailed him to the cross, and trampled upon his doctrines, he had come again in pity to save the Indian. He declared that he would cause the earth to shake and to overthrow the cities of the whites and destroy them, that the buffalo would return, and the land belong to the red race forever! These events were to come to pass within two years; and meanwhile they were to prepare for his coming by the ceremonies and dances which he commanded.

This curious story spread like wildfire and met with eager acceptance among the suffering and discontented people. The teachings of Christian missionaries had prepared them to believe in a Messiah, and the prescribed ceremonial was much more in accord with their traditions than the conventional worship of the churches. Chiefs of many tribes sent delegations to the Indian prophet; Short Bull, Kicking Bear, and others went from among the Sioux, and on their return all inaugurated the dances at once. There was an attempt at first to keep the matter secret, but it soon became generally known and seriously disconcerted the Indian agents and others, who were quick to suspect a hostile conspiracy under all this religious enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, there was no thought of an uprising; the dancing was innocent enough, and pathetic enough their despairing hope in a pitiful Saviour who should overwhelm their oppressors and bring back their golden age.

When the Indians refused to give up the “Ghost Dance” at the bidding of the authorities, the growing suspicion and alarm focused upon Sitting Bull, who in spirit had never been any too submissive, and it was determined to order his arrest. At the special request of Major McLaughlin, agent at Standing Rock, forty of his Indian police were sent out to Sitting Bull’s home on Grand River to secure his person (followed at some little distance by a body of United States troops for reinforcement, in case of trouble). These police are enlisted from among the tribesmen at each agency, and have proved uniformly brave and faithful. They entered the cabin at daybreak, aroused the chief from a sound slumber, helped him to dress, and led him unresisting from the house; but when he came out in the gray dawn of that December morning in 1890, to find his cabin surrounded by armed men and himself led away to he knew not what fate, he cried out loudly:

“They have taken me: what say you to it?”

Men poured out of the neighboring houses, and in a few minutes the police were themselves surrounded with an excited and rapidly increasing throng. They harangued the crowd in vain; Sitting Bull’s blood was up, and he again appealed to his men. His adopted brother, the Assiniboine captive whose life he had saved so many years before, was the first to fire. His shot killed Lieutenant Bull Head, who held Sitting Bull by the arm. Then there was a short but sharp conflict, in which Sitting Bull and six of his defenders and six of the Indian police were slain, with many more wounded. The chief’s young son, Crow Foot, and his devoted “brother” died with him. When all was over, and the terrified people had fled precipitately across the river, the soldiers appeared upon the brow of the long hill and fired their Hotchkiss guns into the deserted camp.

Thus ended the life of a natural strategist of no mean courage and ability. The great chief was buried without honors outside the cemetery at the post, and for some years the grave was marked by a mere board at its head. Recently some women have built a cairn of rocks there in token of respect and remembrance.

hief Sitting Bull (Tatanka Iyotake)
Hunkpapa Sioux (1831-1890)

Lakota Medicine Man and Chief was considered the last Sioux to surrender to the U.S. Government.

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The Capture of Sitting Bull
submitted by: Kathy Johnson

Quotes from Chief Sitting Bull:
“If the Great Spirit had desired me to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place. He put in your heart certain wishes and plans, and in my heart he put other and different desires. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.”
“I am here by the will of the Great Spirit, and by his will I am chief. I know Great Spirit is looking down upon me from above, and will hear what I say…”

“The earth has received the embrace of the sun and we shall see the results of that love. He put in your heart certain wishes and plans; in my heart, he put other different desires.

“In my early days, I was eager to learn and to do things, and therefore I learned quickly. Each man is good in the sight of the Great Spirit.”

“Now that we are poor, we are free. No white man controls our footsteps. If we must die, we die defending our rights.”

“What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief. What white woman, however lonely, was ever captive or insulted by me? Yet they say I am a bad Indian.”

“What white man has ever seen me drunk? Who has ever come to me hungry and left me unfed? Who has seen me beat my wives or abuse my children? What law have I broken?”

“Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country? God made me an Indian.”

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Sitting Bull, as Remembered by Ohiyesa (Charles A. Eastman)

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It is not easy to characterize Sitting Bull, of all Sioux chiefs most generally known to the American people. There are few to whom his name is not familiar, and still fewer who have learned to connect it with anything more than the conventional notion of a bloodthirsty savage. The man was an enigma at best. He was not impulsive, nor was he phlegmatic. He was most serious when he seemed to be jocose. He was gifted with the power of sarcasm, and few have used it more artfully than he.

His father was one of the best-known members of the Unkpapa band of Sioux. The manner of this man’s death was characteristic. One day, when the Unkpapas were attacked by a large war party of Crows, he fell upon the enemy’s war leader with his knife. In a hand-to-hand combat of this sort, we count the victor as entitled to a war bonnet of trailing plumes. It means certain death to one or both. In this case, both men dealt a mortal stroke, and Jumping Buffalo, the father of Sitting Bull, fell from his saddle and died in a few minutes. The other died later from the effects of the wound.

Sitting Bull’s boyhood must have been a happy one. It was long after the day of the dog-travaux, and his father owned many ponies of variegated colors. It was said of him in a joking way that his legs were bowed like the ribs of the ponies that he rode constantly from childhood. He had also a common nickname that was much to the point. It was “Hunkeshnee”, which means “Slow”, referring to his inability to run fast, or more probably to the fact that he seldom appeared on foot. In their boyish games he was wont to take the part of the “old man”, but this does not mean that he was not active and brave. It is told that after a buffalo hunt the boys were enjoying a mimic hunt with the calves that had been left behind. A large calf turned viciously on Sitting Bull, whose pony had thrown him, but the alert youth got hold of both ears and struggled until the calf was pushed back into a buffalo wallow in a sitting posture. The boys shouted: “He has subdued the buffalo calf! He made it sit down!” And from this incident was derived his familiar name of Sitting Bull.

It is a mistake to suppose that Sitting Bull, or any other Indian warrior, was of a murderous disposition. It is true that savage warfare had grown more and more harsh and cruel since the coming of white traders among them, bringing guns, knives, and whisky. Yet it was still regarded largely as a sort of game, undertaken in order to develop the manly qualities of their youth. It was the degree of risk which brought honor, rather than the number slain, and a brave must mourn thirty days, with blackened face and loosened hair, for the enemy whose life he had taken. While the spoils of war were allowed, this did not extend to territorial aggrandizement, nor was there any wish to overthrow another nation and enslave its people. It was a point of honor in the old days to treat a captive with kindness. The common impression that the Indian is naturally cruel and revengeful is entirely opposed to his philosophy and training. The revengeful tendency of the Indian was aroused by the white man. It is not the natural Indian who is mean and tricky; not Massasoit but King Philip; not Attackullakulla but Weatherford; not Wabashaw but Little Crow; not Jumping Buffalo but Sitting Bull! These men lifted their hands against the white man, while their fathers held theirs out to him with gifts.

Remember that there were councils which gave their decisions in accordance with the highest ideal of human justice before there were any cities on this continent; before there were bridges to span the Mississippi; before this network of railroads was dreamed of! There were primitive communities upon the very spot where Chicago or New York City now stands, where men were as children, innocent of all the crimes now committed there daily and nightly. True morality is more easily maintained in connection with the simple life. You must accept the truth that you demoralize any race whom you have subjugated.

From this point of view we shall consider Sitting Bull’s career. We say he is an untutored man: that is true so far as learning of a literary type is concerned; but he was not an untutored man when you view him from the standpoint of his nation. To be sure, he did not learn his lessons from books. This is second-hand information at best. All that he learned he verified for himself and put into daily practice. In personal appearance he was rather commonplace and made no immediate impression, but as he talked he seemed to take hold of his hearers more and more. He was bull-headed; quick to grasp a situation, and not readily induced to change his mind. He was not suspicious until he was forced to be so. All his meaner traits were inevitably developed by the events of his later career.

Sitting Bull’s history has been written many times by newspaper men and army officers, but I find no account of him which is entirely correct. I met him personally in 1884, and since his death I have gone thoroughly into the details of his life with his relatives and contemporaries. It has often been said that he was a physical coward and not a warrior. Judge of this for yourselves from the deed which first gave him fame in his own tribe, when he was about twenty-eight years old.

In an attack upon a band of Crow Indians, one of the enemy took his stand, after the rest had fled, in a deep ditch from which it seemed impossible to dislodge him. The situation had already cost the lives of several warriors, but they could not let him go to repeat such a boast over the Sioux!

“Follow me!” said Sitting Bull, and charged. He raced his horse to the brim of the ditch and struck at the enemy with his coup-staff, thus compelling him to expose himself to the fire of the others while shooting his assailant. But the Crow merely poked his empty gun into his face and dodged back under cover. Then Sitting Bull stopped; he saw that no one had followed him, and he also perceived that the enemy had no more ammunition left. He rode deliberately up to the barrier and threw his loaded gun over it; then he went back to his party and told them what he thought of them.

“Now,” said he, “I have armed him, for I will not see a brave man killed unarmed. I will strike him again with my coup-staff to count the first feather; who will count the second?”

Again he led the charge, and this time they all followed him. Sitting Bull was severely wounded by his own gun in the hands of the enemy, who was killed by those that came after him. This is a record that so far as I know was never made by any other warrior.

The second incident that made him well known was his taking of a boy captive in battle with the Assiniboines. He saved this boy’s life and adopted him as his brother. Hohay, as he was called, was devoted to Sitting Bull and helped much in later years to spread his fame. Sitting Bull was a born diplomat, a ready speaker, and in middle life he ceased to go upon the warpath, to become the councilor of his people. From this time on, this man represented him in all important battles, and upon every brave deed done was wont to exclaim aloud:

“I, Sitting Bull’s boy, do this in his name!”

He had a nephew, now living, who resembles him strongly, and who also represented him personally upon the field; and so far as there is any remnant left of his immediate band, they look upon this man One Bull as their chief.

When Sitting Bull was a boy, there was no thought of trouble with the whites. He was acquainted with many of the early traders, Picotte, Choteau, Primeau, Larpenteur, and others, and liked them, as did most of his people in those days. All the early records show this friendly attitude of the Sioux, and the great fur companies for a century and a half depended upon them for the bulk of their trade. It was not until the middle of the last century that they woke up all of a sudden to the danger threatening their very existence. Yet at that time many of the old chiefs had been already depraved by the whisky and other vices of the whites, and in the vicinity of the forts and trading posts at Sioux City, Saint Paul, and Cheyenne, there was general demoralization. The drunkards and hangers-on were ready to sell almost anything they had for the favor of the trader. The better and stronger element held aloof. They would not have anything of the white man except his hatchet, gun, and knife. They utterly refused to cede their lands; and as for the rest, they were willing to let him alone as long as he did not interfere with their life and customs, which was not long.

It was not, however, the Unkpapa band of Sioux, Sitting Bull’s band, which first took up arms against the whites; and this was not because they had come less in contact with them, for they dwelt on the Missouri River, the natural highway of trade. As early as 1854, the Ogallalas and Brules had trouble with the soldiers near Fort Laramie; and again in 1857 Inkpaduta massacred several families of settlers at Spirit Lake, Iowa. Finally, in 1869, the Minnesota Sioux, goaded by many wrongs, arose and murdered many of the settlers, afterward fleeing into the country of the Unkpapas and appealing to them for help, urging that all Indians should make common cause against the invader. This brought Sitting Bull face to face with a question which was not yet fully matured in his own mind; but having satisfied himself of the justice of their cause, he joined forces with the renegades during the summer of 1863, and from this time on he was an acknowledged leader.

In 1865 and 1866 he met the Canadian half-breed, Louis Riel, instigator of two rebellions, who had come across the line for safety; and in fact at this time he harbored a number of outlaws and fugitives from justice. His conversations with these, especially with the French mixed-bloods, who inflamed his prejudices against the Americans, all had their influence in making of the wily Sioux a determined enemy to the white man. While among his own people he was always affable and genial, he became boastful and domineering in his dealings with the hated race. He once remarked that “if we wish to make any impression upon the pale-face, it is necessary to put on his mask.”

Sitting Bull joined in the attack on Fort Phil Kearny and in the subsequent hostilities; but he accepted in good faith the treaty of 1868, and soon after it was signed he visited Washington with Red Cloud and Spotted Tail, on which occasion the three distinguished chiefs attracted much attention and were entertained at dinner by President Grant and other notables. He considered that the life of the white man as he saw it was no life for his people, but hoped by close adherence to the terms of this treaty to preserve the Big Horn and Black Hills country for a permanent hunting ground. When gold was discovered and the irrepressible gold seekers made their historic dash across the plains into this forbidden paradise, then his faith in the white man’s honor was gone forever, and he took his final and most persistent stand in defense of his nation and home. His bitter and at the same time well-grounded and philosophical dislike of the conquering race is well expressed in a speech made before the purely Indian council before referred to, upon the Powder River. I will give it in brief as it has been several times repeated to me by men who were present.

“Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love! Every seed is awakened, and all animal life. It is through this mysterious power that we too have our being, and we therefore yield to our neighbors, even to our animal neighbors, the same right as ourselves to inhabit this vast land.

“Yet hear me, friends! we have now to deal with another people, small and feeble when our forefathers first met with them, but now great and overbearing. Strangely enough, they have a mind to till the soil, and the love of possessions is a disease in them. These people have made many rules that the rich may break, but the poor may not! They have a religion in which the poor worship, but the rich will not! They even take tithes of the poor and weak to support the rich and those who rule. They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse. They compel her to produce out of season, and when sterile she is made to take medicine in order to produce again. All this is sacrilege.

“This nation is like a spring freshet; it overruns its banks and destroys all who are in its path. We cannot dwell side by side. Only seven years ago we made a treaty by which we were assured that the buffalo country should be left to us forever. Now they threaten to take that from us also. My brothers, shall we submit? or shall we say to them: ‘First kill me, before you can take possession of my fatherland!'”

As Sitting Bull spoke, so he felt, and he had the courage to stand by his words. Crazy Horse led his forces in the field; as for him, he applied his energies to state affairs, and by his strong and aggressive personality contributed much to holding the hostiles together.

It may be said without fear of contradiction that Sitting Bull never killed any women or children. He was a fair fighter, and while not prominent in battle after his young manhood, he was the brains of the Sioux resistance. He has been called a “medicine man” and a “dreamer.” Strictly speaking, he was neither of these, and the white historians are prone to confuse the two. A medicine man is a doctor or healer; a dreamer is an active war prophet who leads his war party according to his dream or prophecy. What is called by whites “making medicine” in war time is again a wrong conception. Every warrior carries a bag of sacred or lucky charms, supposed to protect the wearer alone, but it has nothing to do with the success or safety of the party as a whole. No one can make any “medicine” to affect the result of a battle, although it has been said that Sitting Bull did this at the battle of the Little Big Horn.

When Custer and Reno attacked the camp at both ends, the chief was caught napping. The village was in danger of surprise, and the women and children must be placed in safety. Like other men of his age, Sitting Bull got his family together for flight, and then joined the warriors on the Reno side of the attack. Thus he was not in the famous charge against Custer; nevertheless, his voice was heard exhorting the warriors throughout that day.

During the autumn of 1876, after the fall of Custer, Sitting Bull was hunted all through the Yellowstone region by the military. The following characteristic letter, doubtless written at his dictation by a half-breed interpreter, was sent to Colonel Otis immediately after a daring attack upon his wagon train.

“I want to know what you are doing, traveling on this road. You scare all the buffalo away. I want to hunt in this place. I want you to turn back from here. If you don’t, I will fight you again. I want you to leave what you have got here and turn back from here.

I am your friend

Sitting Bull.

I mean all the rations you have got and some powder. Wish you would write me as soon as you can.”

Otis, however, kept on and joined Colonel Miles, who followed Sitting Bull with about four hundred soldiers. He overtook him at last on Cedar Creek, near the Yellowstone, and the two met midway between the lines for a parley. The army report says: “Sitting Bull wanted peace in his own way.” The truth was that he wanted nothing more than had been guaranteed to them by the treaty of 1868 — the exclusive possession of their last hunting ground. This the government was not now prepared to grant, as it had been decided to place all the Indians under military control upon the various reservations.

Since it was impossible to reconcile two such conflicting demands, the hostiles were driven about from pillar to post for several more years, and finally took refuge across the line in Canada, where Sitting Bull had placed his last hope of justice and freedom for his race. Here he was joined from time to time by parties of malcontents from the reservation, driven largely by starvation and ill-treatment to seek another home. Here, too, they were followed by United States commissioners, headed by General Terry, who endeavored to persuade him to return, promising abundance of food and fair treatment, despite the fact that the exiles were well aware of the miserable condition of the “good Indians” upon the reservations. He first refused to meet them at all, and only did so when advised to that effect by Major Walsh of the Canadian mounted police. This was his characteristic remark: “If you have one honest man in Washington, send him here and I will talk to him.”

Sitting Bull was not moved by fair words; but when he found that if they had liberty on that side, they had little else, that the Canadian government would give them protection but no food; that the buffalo had been all but exterminated and his starving people were already beginning to desert him, he was compelled at last, in 1881, to report at Fort Buford, North Dakota, with his band of hungry, homeless, and discouraged refugees. It was, after all, to hunger and not to the strong arm of the military that he surrendered in the end.

In spite of the invitation that had been extended to him in the name of the “Great Father” at Washington, he was immediately thrown into a military prison, and afterward handed over to Colonel Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) as an advertisement for his “Wild West Show.” After traveling about for several years with the famous showman, thus increasing his knowledge of the weaknesses as well as the strength of the white man, the deposed and humiliated chief settled down quietly with his people upon the Standing Rock agency in North Dakota, where his immediate band occupied the Grand River district and set to raising cattle and horses. They made good progress; much better, in fact, than that of the “coffee-coolers” or “loafer” Indians, received the missionaries kindly and were soon a church-going people.

When the Commissions of 1888 and 1889 came to treat with the Sioux for a further cession of land and a reduction of their reservations, nearly all were opposed to consent on any terms. Nevertheless, by hook or by crook, enough signatures were finally obtained to carry the measure through, although it is said that many were those of women and the so-called “squaw-men”, who had no rights in the land. At the same time, rations were cut down, and there was general hardship and dissatisfaction. Crazy Horse was long since dead; Spotted Tail had fallen at the hands of one of his own tribe; Red Cloud had become a feeble old man, and the disaffected among the Sioux began once more to look to Sitting Bull for leadership.

At this crisis a strange thing happened. A half-breed Indian in Nevada promulgated the news that the Messiah had appeared to him upon a peak in the Rockies, dressed in rabbit skins, and bringing a message to the red race. The message was to the effect that since his first coming had been in vain, since the white people had doubted and reviled him, had nailed him to the cross, and trampled upon his doctrines, he had come again in pity to save the Indian. He declared that he would cause the earth to shake and to overthrow the cities of the whites and destroy them, that the buffalo would return, and the land belong to the red race forever! These events were to come to pass within two years; and meanwhile they were to prepare for his coming by the ceremonies and dances which he commanded.

This curious story spread like wildfire and met with eager acceptance among the suffering and discontented people. The teachings of Christian missionaries had prepared them to believe in a Messiah, and the prescribed ceremonial was much more in accord with their traditions than the conventional worship of the churches. Chiefs of many tribes sent delegations to the Indian prophet; Short Bull, Kicking Bear, and others went from among the Sioux, and on their return all inaugurated the dances at once. There was an attempt at first to keep the matter secret, but it soon became generally known and seriously disconcerted the Indian agents and others, who were quick to suspect a hostile conspiracy under all this religious enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, there was no thought of an uprising; the dancing was innocent enough, and pathetic enough their despairing hope in a pitiful Saviour who should overwhelm their oppressors and bring back their golden age.

When the Indians refused to give up the “Ghost Dance” at the bidding of the authorities, the growing suspicion and alarm focused upon Sitting Bull, who in spirit had never been any too submissive, and it was determined to order his arrest. At the special request of Major McLaughlin, agent at Standing Rock, forty of his Indian police were sent out to Sitting Bull’s home on Grand River to secure his person (followed at some little distance by a body of United States troops for reinforcement, in case of trouble). These police are enlisted from among the tribesmen at each agency, and have proved uniformly brave and faithful. They entered the cabin at daybreak, aroused the chief from a sound slumber, helped him to dress, and led him unresisting from the house; but when he came out in the gray dawn of that December morning in 1890, to find his cabin surrounded by armed men and himself led away to he knew not what fate, he cried out loudly:

“They have taken me: what say you to it?”

Men poured out of the neighboring houses, and in a few minutes the police were themselves surrounded with an excited and rapidly increasing throng. They harangued the crowd in vain; Sitting Bull’s blood was up, and he again appealed to his men. His adopted brother, the Assiniboine captive whose life he had saved so many years before, was the first to fire. His shot killed Lieutenant Bull Head, who held Sitting Bull by the arm. Then there was a short but sharp conflict, in which Sitting Bull and six of his defenders and six of the Indian police were slain, with many more wounded. The chief’s young son, Crow Foot, and his devoted “brother” died with him. When all was over, and the terrified people had fled precipitately across the river, the soldiers appeared upon the brow of the long hill and fired their Hotchkiss guns into the deserted camp.

Thus ended the life of a natural strategist of no mean courage and ability. The great chief was buried without honors outside the cemetery at the post, and for some years the grave was marked by a mere board at its head. Recently some women have built a cairn of rocks there in token of respect and remembrance.

Major Marcus Reno ~ 7th Cavalry 1876

Marcus Albert Reno

November 15, 1834(1834-11-15) – March 30, 1889 (aged 54)
Marcusreno.jpg
Marcus A. Reno
Place of birth Carrollton, Illinois
Place of death Washington, D.C.
Allegiance United States of America
Union
Service/branch Union Army
Rank Brevet Brigadier General
Battles/wars Indian Wars
American Civil War

Marcus Albert Reno (November 15, 1834 – March 30, 1889) was a career military officer in the American Civil War and in the Black Hills War against the Lakota (Sioux) and Northern Cheyenne. He is most noted for his role in the Battle of Little Big Horn, which created controversy over his reputation.

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 Early life and career

Reno was born November 15, 1834, in Carrollton, Illinois, the fourth child of James and Charlotte Reno. According to one biographer, he was a descendant of Phillippe Francois Renault, who in 1777 accompanied Lafayette to America and was awarded a land grant by the U. S. (worth about $400 million by Reno’s time). At the age of 15, he wrote to the Secretary of War to learn about the qualifications necessary to enter the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York. He was admitted and attended West Point from 1851 until 1857, graduating 20th in a class of 38. He was brevetted second lieutenant, 1st Dragoons, on July 1, 1857, and assigned to duty in the Pacific Northwest in Oregon.

Reno served in the Union Army in the Civil War, leading as a captain in the U.S. 1st Cavalry Regiment at the Antietam. Reno was wounded at Kelly’s Ford in Virginia on March 17, 1863, and was given the brevet rank of major for gallant and meritorious conduct. Four months later, he served during the Gettysburg Campaign. That same year, he married Mary Hannah Ross of Harrisburg, who would bear him one son, Robert Ross Reno. They owned a farm near New Cumberland, Pennsylvania in Cumberland County. When she died in 1874, Reno was in the field in Montana. He rode all night to Fort Benton to request leave to attend her funeral, but his request was denied.

Reno participated in the 1864 battles of Cold Harbor, Trevilian Station, and Cedar Creek. After serving in a variety of staff positions, he was brevetted lieutenant colonel in October. In December, Reno became brevet colonel of the 12th Pennsylvania Cavalry, later commanding a brigade against John Mosby‘s guerrillas. On March 13, 1865, he was brevetted brigadier general for “meritorious services during the war.”

In 1866 Reno was ordered to Fort Vancouver, in the Pacific Northwest. He served as acting assistant inspector general of the Department of the Columbia.

Reno was promoted to major and in December 1868, joined the 7th Cavalry at Fort Hayes, Kansas. Later, he was transferred to Fort Abraham Lincoln, in the Dakota Territory, where he accompanied General George A. Custer on his Sioux campaign in 1876.

The Battle of Little Bighorn

Reno was the highest-ranking officer serving under Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn in June 1876. Reno with three troops, or companies, was to attack the Indian village from the south, while Custer with five companies intended to cross the Little Bighorn river farther north and come into the village from the opposite side; Custer ordered Captain Frederick Benteen with three companies to move below the Sioux camp to block the Indians from escaping to the South. Captain Thomas Mcdougall’s troop was to bring the packtrain with ammunition and supplies. Historians believe they did not understand how large the village was, as it contained thousands of warriors.

The plan quickly fell apart when Northern Cheyenne and Lakota Native American warriors, rather than fleeing as the cavalrymen expected, poured out of the village to meet Reno’s attack. Reno ordered his troops to dismount and form a skirmish line, but that was quickly outflanked by hundreds of Indians, and Reno fell back into the timber along the river.

As Indians began to infiltrate the timber, Reno realized that position could not be held either, and he led a disorganized, every-man-for-himself scramble across the river and up the bluffs on the other side. There the cavalrymen set up a defensive position on what is now called Reno Hill. By this time 40 of Reno’s 140 men already had been killed, 13 were wounded and 16 had been left behind in the trees (although most of these abandoned men would manage to rejoin Reno.) Bloody Knife, perhaps the foremost of the Arikara and Crow scouts attached to the 7th Cavalry, was shot through the head as he stood next to Reno. Most of the other scouts slipped away and escaped.

Benteen soon arrived at Reno’s position with his three companies, and McDougall’s company came along with the supply train shortly afterward. Sporadic fire continued to be directed at the hill, but heavier gunfire off to the northeast made it clear Custer was engaged in a raging battle. It is still hotly debated why Reno and Benteen did not press forward and attempt to join forces with Custer. Captain Thomas Weir, commander of D Troop under Benteen, led his men to the high bluffs now called Weir Point, but he soon came under heavy attack and was barely able to regain the safety of Reno’s position.

Having destroyed Custer’s force—although Reno and his men had no way of knowing about what happened to Custer—the Indians took up the high ground above Reno Hill. They poured down constant fire on the exposed soldiers until dark. The firing resumed at dawn and continued until late in the afternoon, when the soldiers saw the distant village being broken up and the Indians’ moving off. The next morning, the 27th, the surviving troops moved closer to the river, where General Alfred Terry and Colonel John Gibbon and their forces found them. Thirteen of Reno’s soldiers were awarded the Medal of Honor for their bravery in the battle.

Postbellum career

Marcus A. Reno

After the Battle of the Little Big Horn, Reno was assigned the command of Fort Abercrombie where, in December 1876, he was charged with making unwanted advances toward the wife of another officer of the 7th Cavalry, Captain James Bell, while Bell was away from the fort. An Episcopal minister, the Rev. Richard Wainwright, was staying with the Bells, and became concerned enough about Reno’s behavior to persuade Capt. Bell to file charges against Reno for immoral conduct.

What really happened is unknown, but Reno certainly displayed public drunkenness on several occasions and denied Rev. Wainwright permission to preach at the fort. On the other hand, Bell had been on detached service during the Battle of the Little Big Horn, when his company had been wiped out in a debacle which many were blaming on Reno. Complaints of public indecency were filed with the commander of the Seventh, Colonel Samuel D. Sturgis, who forwarded the complaints, but dismissed any particular fault of Reno’s. (Most of the incidents had occurred at parties or on holidays when other officers also had been drinking.) Reno was ordered to surrender command and report to a board of inquiry at St Paul. The Army board recommended dismissal, but President Rutherford B. Hayes commuted this to suspension from rank and pay for 2 years.

Responding to charges of cowardice and drunkenness at the Little Big Horn, Reno later demanded and was granted a Court of Inquiry. This inquiry is typically referred to by the acronym RCOI. The court convened in Chicago in January 1879, and called as witnesses most of the surviving officers who had been in the fight. Enlisted men later stated they had been coerced into giving a positive report to both Reno and Benteen. The court reporter in contacting General Nelson Miles, head of the Army, wrote that the entire inquiry was a whitewash. While the court did not sustain any of the charges against Reno, neither did it single him out for praise. Later, in public requests for the trial transcripts, pages were missing and the writing was in the hands of two different people and not the one secretary. See following footnote for a complete scanned transcript of investigation.[1]

In 1880, Reno was court-martialed a second time for conduct unbecoming an officer because of his drinking. He was supported by his commanders, but nevertheless was convicted and dismissed from the service. Reno moved to Washington D.C., where he was hired by the Bureau of Pensions as an examiner. He married a government clerk named Isabella Ray in January 1884, but she left him after a few months. When his son married in Nashville to a whisky heiress, Reno wrote that he was too busy to attend the wedding. In reality, he could not afford the train fare. Reno offered to write his memoirs, but the New York Weekly Press rejected the offer. When he submitted the portion of his diary concerning the Battle of the Little Big Horn, it was returned unpublished. (It later was published posthumously.)

Death, subsequent events and 1960’s reburial

Marcus Reno died in Washington at the age of 54 on March 29, 1889, following surgery for cancer of the tongue.

Fifty years after what was then known as Custer’s Last Stand, Custer’s widow Elizabeth Bacon Custer spoke out against a memorial to Reno at the site. She had long campaigned in her husband’s memory. Writing in 1926 in her 80’s, she stated “I long for a memorial to our heroes on the battlefield of the Little Big Horn (sic) but not to single out for honor, the one coward of the regiment.”

In 1967 at the request of Charles Reno, the Major’s great-nephew, a US military review board reviewed the original documents and testimony of Reno’s 1880 court martial. It reversed the decision, ruling Reno’s dismissal from the service improper. His “general discharge” status to was changed to “honorable”.

Major Reno was originally buried in an unmarked grave in Washington’s Oak Hill Cemetery. On September 9, 1967 his remains were reinterred with honors (including a church ceremony in Billings, Montana and an eleven-gun salute at his gravesite) in the Custer National Cemetery, on the Little Bighorn Battlefield. Reno was the only participant of the Little Bighorn battle to be buried with such honors at the cemetery named for his former commander.[2]

Senseishaw’s notes:  Major Reno’s survival of the Battle of Little Bighorn had very negative consequences for his Military and life in the years following the war.  There are many reports telling of Reno’s complete inability to properly command his troops on Reno’s hill that day.  Reports of him falling apart and ” losing his cool” were widespread.  And from what I read it was Captain Benteen who led the defense and saved the surviving members.  A sad ending for a guy who had a pretty distinguished military career.

June 24-28,2010 ~ Riding with History, Battle of the Little Bighorn

Most of the people who know me pretty well know that I have a real passion for Military History.  And my love of this subject has propelled me into Civil War Re-enacting as a mounted Cavalryman.    There is something very exciting about taming a 900 lb horse and have it trust you to the level of firing a pistol off of it’s back.  And the bond that I’ve been able to development towards my friends in the hobby and the horses I’ve been blessed to ride is truly a wonderful experience.

After learning the ropes and moving up in rank, I was elected Commanding Officer of the 1st US Cavalry and have been in that position for the past 3 years.  I’ve truly enjoyed this experience and will always take pride in the fact that I’ve been able to do it for so long.  It’s just not something that people  do everyday, and you never take the power of these beautiful animals lightly.  It’s damned un-natural to gallop a perfectly good horse and fire weapons off of their back.  They have a tendency to just not like it too much.  But when you get that special one, that horse that trusts you, and you and that horse become one….  It’s truly magical.

 I’m retiring from this hobby after this season ends in September.  And for the past 3 years, I’ve been trying to organize a trip back to eastern Montana and participate in the Battle of The Little Bighorn, reenactment.  Otherwise known as

” Custer’s Last Stand “.

Logistically this is the toughest thing we’ve ever tackled as a group.  The 1000 mile estimated trip just seemed to much for us to handle and when it was brought up year after year, I could not get commitments to put it together…. Until THIS year.  This year we’ve been encouraged by the US Cavalry School in Twisp to please attend and that we’d be  welcomed with open arms.  The US Cavalry School in Twisp, WA is the organizers of this event.  They have been running it for some time now and it continues to grow year after year.   This school is a fantasy camp for 19th century Cavalry riding, training and tactics.

http://www.uscavalryschool.com/

 The Sgt Major, John Doren, my first Sgt, Jim Daily and I have planned, scheduled and I’m proud to say that we’ll have 10 people, and 9 horses representing our unit at this years function.

This is held on the Indian Reservation outside the town of Garryowen, MT and promises to be a trip for the ages.

The thought of galloping through the Little Bighorn river, and being on the field with 80 + Indian Braves and 70+ mounted Cavalry riders is a chilling thought.   The thought of just being on that hallowed ground where General George Armstrong Custer and 200 of his men were slaughtered in battle, does raise the hair a bit on the back of ones neck.  Many movies, books, stories have been written about this famous moment of US history and the preferred US version is one of the heroic 7th Cavalry riding into battle against the hated ” hostiles”.  But further digging into this story tells a totally different reality.  It is my intent to focus on the history of this incredible tragedy and our impressions and thoughts before  and after we actually go on the dates above, and I plan to share them with regularity in the month of  June.

Like many Americans, we first learned about Custer and the Battle not in school, but at the movies.  For me, it was Custer the deranged manic of the Dustin Hoffman movie  Little Big Man. For others, in a later generation, it was the noble hero played by Errol Flynn in  They died with their Boots on.

When it comes to the Little Bighorn, most Americans think of the Last Stand as belonging solely to Custer.  But the myth applies equally to his legendary opponent, Sitting Bull.  For while the Sioux and Cheyenne were the victors on that day, the battle marked the beginning of their end.   The shock and outrage surrounding the stunning defeat allowed the Grant administration to push through new funding to assure that this would NEVER happen again.

And as I delve through the newest book on the matter, ” The Last Stand” by Nathaniel Philbrick , I”m just in awe of the events leading up to and after this incredible event.

From the book:

” Custer and his men were last seen by their comrades galloping across a ridge before they disappeared into the seductive green hills.  Not until two days later did the surviving members of the regiment find them:  more than two hundred dead bodies, many of them hacked to pieces and bristling with arrows, putrefying in the summer sun.  Amid this ” scene of sickening, ghastly horror,” they found Custer lying face up across two of his men, with Private Thomas Coleman wrote, ” a smile on his face.”  Custer’s smile is the ultimate mystery of this story of how America, the land of liberty and justice for all, became in its centennial year the nation of the Last Stand.  Please keep checking in as I’ll dive into this story often and deep. 

New Season is about to begin…..

Another reason why springtime is so cool is that it begins our Cavalry show season. 

 I’ve always been fascinated by History, and Civil War history in particular.  So about 10 years ago, I was just surfing the web, wondering if there was any Civil War reenacting groups here in my state.  I didn’t think there would be, but what the hell, I thought I’d try.  Well, there sure was, and as I scanned the different units available I became fixated on the Cavalry.  Don’t know why, except to say I’ve always liked horses and have never been afraid of them.  And since my family roots were from Georgia I zeroed in on the 14th Virginia Cavalry.   I always seem to root for the underdog anyway, and the Grey Cavalry had a history of being quite the riders and fighters.  So I contact them, and join up.  We later changed to the 1st US Cavalry cause the club had no Federal Cav.

  Now keep in mind, I don’t have a horse, any gear, or know the first hand thing about Cavalry.  But I’m willing to learn.  I’m lucky enough to become friends with the best horse/rider trainer I’ve ever known, and I drive 3 hours, every other week to his place to train, and by god, we get me past all of the safety tests and I’m a Cavalry Trooper.   My wife just couldn’t figure out what the hell I was up to, she was really confused, as this was SOOOOOOO out of my comfort zone.  I’d never shown an interest in horses B4 and it just blew her away.  So, I bought my uniforms, weapons, saddles, etc…. Thank god the business was going well at the time, so we could afford it fine.  And I was also lucky enough to have been allowed to ride this fireplug Mare(female) all white Arab horse named Whisper.  Now Whisper at that time, was a typical Mare, and Arab breed.  She was full of piss and vinegar, hard to handle and unpredictable at times.  In hindsight, I’m wondering if they were trying to discourage me from riding….    she was a handful for all who rode here, and I was the FNG.  ( Friggin New Guy )  But something amazing happened the minute I got on her back.   Also keep in mind that I was too inexperienced and dumb to be afraid of her.   The minute I got on her back, we bonded.  We became a team…. she knew what I wanted to do B4 I did it.  It was remarkable.   I fell in LOVE with this beautiful animal, and I was one of the few people she or her owners would allow to ride her.  She just hauled ass, and did all the moves, and didn’t freak out with all the crap we were throwing at her.  Everyone of  the experienced Cav guys later on told me that there was NO way Whisper was going to be able to handle the guns, flags, tents and all that the Cav dishes out.  But she did and them some.   And I was blessed to ride her for about 4 years until a vet inadvertently killed her by mistake during a routine exam.  It was heart breaking for sure, but I’ll NEVER forget Whisper… I have many pictures of her, and a lock of her mane in my office to this day, and she’s been gone for 6 years or so now. 

Well, to cut this novel short, I was blessed with the opportunity after that to ride Shawnee, a gorgeous Jet Black pure bred Morgan for the last 3 years and I can’t believe what a great animal she is, again, I’m very fortunate to be allowed to ride her as well.  Something about Mares… most people don’t like ’em, as their moody and pissy.  But I like the spunk in them, the fire, the passion.

Well, as time went on I made Corporal, then Lt.  and was elected the Unit’s Commanding Officer, and this experience has made me a better person and a better leader.   As I enter my final year as a Cavalry Officer and reenactor, I wouldn’t change a thing (except for being that jerk horse that reared and pasted me into the ground, sending me to the hospital with a crushed leg)   But you can’t imagine what a thrill it is to gallop by a crowd at full speed, eyes watering, smoke, all hell breaking loose, and you’re in control of a 900 pound keg of fire.  What a friggin head rush.

This weekend we put on a Living History encampment and Cavalry show for 600 school kids, teaching them about what life was like in 1862 for Soldiers. 

This final year will also see us ride the battlefield of the Little Bighorn in Montana, joining over 70 other Cavalry riders from the US and engaging around 100 Indian Braves in one of the largest reenactments in the Western US.

A season of Lasts and firsts for this boy, and I’ll savor each and every last-minute of it.