While we know our northern friends may not feel it, in the South, Spring is
here. So we thought we'd share a few of our gardening sites appropriate
for this time of the year. Along with gardening, there's grilling, and getting
ready to diet so that you can fit back into that bathing suit this summer!
Bishop Whipple on the Outbreak and the
Nation's Duty to the Red Man
Bishop Whipple On The Outbreak And The Nation's Duty To The
Red Men. Fresh Maneuvers In The Spring. Death Of Little Crow. Sibley's
Expedition Into Dacotah. Defeat Of The Indians At Big Mound. Cavalry Charge
Averted By A Stroke Of Lightning. Fight At Buffalo Lake. The Army Reaches The
Missouri. Escape Of The Indians. Return Of The Expedition. Final Results.
Bishop Whipple, of Minnesota, who
foretold this very outbreak, and who
obtained the names of all the bishops in the
Northern States to a petition to the
government to have justice done to the red
man, has issued a noble appeal in their
behalf, in which he tells some humiliating
truths. In speaking of this massacre, he
says, " The nation has heard of the most
fearful Indian massacre in history; but
those who live remote from the border can
have no idea of the awful horrors which have
accompanied the desolation of two hundred
miles of the fairest country on the earth.
Many of these victims of savage ferocity
were my friends. They had mingled their
voices with mine in prayer; they had given
me such hospitality as can only be found in
the log cabin of the frontier. It fills my
heart with grief, and blinds my eyes with
tears, whenever I think of their nameless
graves." And yet he adds, "There is not a
man in America who ever give an hour's calm
reflection to this subject, who does not
know that our Indian system is an organized"
system of robbery, and has been for years a
disgrace to the nation. It was under this
Indian system that the fierce, warlike Sioux
were fitted and trained to be actors in this
bloody drama, and the same causes are today
slowly but surely preparing the way for a
Chippeway war. The people here on the
borders, and the rulers at Washington know
how that faith has been broken. The constant
irritation of such a system would in time
have secured an Indian massacre. It was
hastened by the sale of nearly 800,000 acres
of land, for which they never received one
farthing, for it was all absorbed in claims.
Then came the story (and it was true,) that
half their annuity money had also been taken
for claims. They waited two months, mad,
exasperated, hungry the agent utterly
powerless to undo the wrong committed at
Washington and they resolved on savage
vengeance. For every dollar of which they
have been defrauded, we shall pay ten
dollars in the cost of this war. It has been
so for fifty years; it will be so again. God
s retributive justice always has compelled a
people to reap exactly what they have
permitted to be sown. Deeply as our people
feel on the question of slavery, they may
here see, on the border, a system which in
curses to body and soul, in the loss of
manhood, home and heaven, has worked out a
degradation to red men which slavery has
never done for the African race."
But though the massacre had ended with the
flight of Little Crow, not so the war. This
chieftain made his way to near Devil Lake,
in the Dakota territory, some five hundred
miles north-west of St. Paul. Here, too,
collected the fugitives who had fled from
the avenging whites, numbering in all over
four thousand. He spent the winter in trying
to induce the neighboring tribes to join
him, so that in the spring he could take the
field again against the whites. He also sent
to the British forts for ammunition, but
they refused to listen to his solicitations.
General Pope, after his defeat in front of
Washington, had been assigned to the North-
Western Department, and spent the winter in
organizing a large force to penetrate into
the Indian Territory, and make an utter end
of the hostile tribes. But before it was
ready to march, the Indians were again on
the warpath, and small bands hovered along
the frontier of Minnesota, killing every
unarmed emigrant or settler they could come
across. Knowing they could not keep the open
field, they avoided assembling in force.
Small squads, by the secrecy and rapidity of
their movements, were able to elude the
armed bodies of whites, that now lined the
border. They thus succeeded, during the
spring, in murdering some thirty whites,
though not always with impunity. With all
his cunning the Indian could not always
escape the keen eye of the western man, and
here and there a painted corpse became the
prey of the prairie fox. The worst massacre
during this spring, was that of the family
of Mr. Dustin, consisting of the father and
mother, two children, and their grandmother.
They were traveling in a common lumber box
wagon, when they were suddenly attacked, and
all killed, or left for dead, with the
exception of one child, who hid under the
seat. They were not discovered for two days,
and when found, the head less trunk of Mr.
Dustin was sitting braced up in the front
part of the wagon, an arrow sticking in it,
and a great gaping wound, made by a
tomahawk, in his heart. The grandmother hung
head downwards over the side of the wagon,
her long hair clotted with blood, streaming
to the ground. The mother and remaining
child lay in the wagon, still breathing, but
unable to move.
But in the fore part of July, Little Crow
himself was killed, without the least
suspicion at the time, that it was he. Mr.
Lampson and his son were passing along the
road, about six miles from Hutchinson, when
they saw two Indians picking berries in a
little opening in the woods, on the prairie.
Fortunately, the Indians did not see them,
and concealing themselves behind some
bushes, they crept cautiously forward till
within close rifle shot, when Mr. Lampson
took deliberate aim and fired. The older
Indian gave a sudden yell, and flinging his
hands into the air fell back on the ground.
Recovering himself, however, he began to
creep forward towards the spot from which
the shot had come. Mr. Lampson and his son
then stole away, but being compelled to
cross a little open space in their retreat,
they became exposed, when the Indian,
partially lifted himself and fired. At the
same instant Mr. Lampson discovered the
Indian, and fired also. The wounded Indian
fell back dead, while his ball whistled
harmlessly by the father. The younger Indian
now also fired, and one of the buckshot
struck Mr. L. in the shoulder, fetching him
to the ground. He then jumped on his horse
and fled over the prairie. The young Mr. L.,
thinking his father dead, and supposing the
woods to be full of Indians, fled also, and
reaching Hutchinson late at night, gave the
alarm. A company of soldiers at the place
immediately started out, and on coming to
the spot found the dead body of the Indian,
but could discover no traces of Mr. Lampson.
He, after lying for some time in the bushes
into which he had crawled, and seeing no
signs of any more Indians around, took a
circuitous route for home, where he arrived
at two o clock in the morning. The dead
Indian was carried to Hutchinson, where its
singular appearance caused a good deal of
wonder. Both arms had been broken, and one
never set, while the front teeth were
double, like the back ones. It was finally
thrown into a pit amid the offals of
slaughtered cattle. It was afterwards
ascertained that this was the body of the
famous Little Crow, and the young Indian who
escaped was his son. The latter was
subsequently captured, and revealed the
fact, that the great warrior and orator, his
father, had died in this ignominious way.
The imposing expedition, which in the spring
was to end the war by one great blow, did
not get under way until the fore part of
June. This long delay caused much
dissatisfaction, for the western people
especially, wanted to see swift vengeance
visited on the Indians, and their
northwestern frontier no longer drenched in
blood. Rumors were freely circulated, that
rebel emissaries were among the Indians,
stirring them up to hostilities, and though
utterly without foundation, many believe it
to this day.
Sibley, who had been made general the
previous fall, started early in June with an
army, over two thousand strong, for Devil
Lake, by the way of the Minnesota River
while General Sully, with a large body of
cavalry, moved up the Missouri, to cut off
the Indians as they retreated before the
former. But the whole expedition, though
imposing in appearance, was not properly
organized to operate with success against
fleet-footed savages, who had no villages to
burn, or fields to lay waste. For a time it
threatened to be a total failure, but
Sibley, having reached Fort Atchison, near
Devil Lake, left all but 1,400 of his men
there, and taking these and 500 cavalry,
started off on the 20th of July, in search
of the Indians. After four days march over
the prairie, he came upon a camp of them on
the "Big Mound." Entrenchments were
immediately thrown up to protect the camp
and trains, and the whole army drawn up in
line of battle. Very soon the Indians
appeared, when some of our scouts went
forward and began to talk with them. Dr.
Weiser, surgeon, ob serving this apparently
friendly interview, rode forward and joined
them, and shook hands with one or two
Indians, whom he had formerly seen on the
reservation. Almost the next moment an
Indian stepped forward, and raising his
musket, shot him deliberately through the
heart. The others then scattered, the scouts
fired, and several shots were exchanged. A
part of the cavalry immediately dashed
forward, and the conflict began. The
infantry, under Lieut.-Colonel Marshall,
advanced up a ravine that extended from the
camp to the Big Mound, and the Indians fell
back three or four miles, pushed resolutely
by the whites, till they were driven out of
the broken country, in which the cavalry
could not charge, into a broad plain. It was
a wild and lonely place for a fight, and
while it was raging, a thundercloud rolled
heavily up over the prairie, throwing into
still stronger relief the painted forms,
that dotted the green surface. The lightning
rent the gloom with strange fury, followed
by thunderclaps that burst like the report
of a thousand cannon. But the combatants did
not heed this wrathful gathering of the
elements, and Col. M'Phaill, seeing the
Indians breaking into the plain, put himself
at the head of two companies of cavalry, and
ordered the bugle to sound the charge. As
the stirring strains rang over the prairie,
they dashed forward, and broke with a shout
into the savage crowd, their sabers shaking
above their heads. Just at this moment, as
if it were an interposition from heaven,
came a blinding flash of lightning, and
struck right in the midst of that charging
body of cavalry. One rider and his horse,
while in full gallop, fell dead on the
plain. M'Phaill s grasp unloosed from his
sword, and the whole force stopped in full
career, as though an earthquake had opened
at their feet, for the peal of thunder that
followed seemed to rend the very frame work
of nature. The charge was broken, and the
Indians got off. Before the rest of the
cavalry could be brought up, they were miles
away. They, however, started in pursuit, and
coining up with them before dark, charged
again and again on their rear, sabring a
large number. The Indians had their women
and trains ahead, and fought desperately.
"One stalwart warrior, with an American flag
wrapped around him, fired twice while the
cavalry were within twenty yards, charging
upon him. He got the powder down but not the
ball, for the third load, which he
discharged at the heart of Archy M'Nee, of
course, without effect. He then clubbed his
gun, and struck Carlson, nearly unhorsing
him. A dozen carbine balls were put into
him, and then he had to be sabred to finish
him." Lieut.-Col. Marshall had a narrow
escape in this fight. At the head of the
rangers he was charging furiously down a
slope, when the same thunder clap that had
so suddenly arrested the other companies,
made the rangers fetch up with a jerk. He,
however, kept on, and before he was aware he
was surrounded by a dozen Indians. Wheeling
his horse, however, he dashed back to his
followers unhurt.
The cavalry took twenty-one scalps in this
fight. Col. M'Phaill told his men it was
barbarous to take scalps, but he would not
believe that any one had killed an Indian,
unless he saw his scalp.
The Indians, in their flight, threw away
buffalo skins and meat in immense
quantities, and their trail looked like that
of a routed army. Owing to a mistake in
understanding orders, the advance cavalry,
instead of pursuing on, returned to camp,
and thus gave the Indians a long start in
advance, so that ten days heavy marching had
to be endured before they were come up with
again. The army made but three miles next
day. On the 26th it reached Dead Buffalo
Lake about noon, and went into camp. Soon
the Indians were seen in the distance,
advancing towards them, when the six
pounders were pushed forward a half a mile
to a hill, to hold them in check. The former
kept out of range, but all the knolls around
were covered with them, watching our
movements, and looking to find a place where
they could make a successful dash. Thus
several hours passed away, when a large body
on ponies, suddenly appeared on the north
side of the camp, and came down like the
wind. But their movement being observed by
two companies of cavalry, they sprang
forward to the sound of the bugle, and came
down on a tearing gallop. The Indians did
not wait for the shock, but wheeling their
ponies, made off at the top of their speed,
but not fast enough to escape the revolver
and carbine, which rolled several of them
over on the prairie.
The next day the march was resumed, the
trail being plainly marked by the skins and
other articles, that cumbering their flight
had been thrown away. The following morning,
as they were winding around a small lake,
they suddenly came upon two thousand
warriors, who were moving rapidly back, as
if to get in their rear. The artillery was
hurried forward and opened on them, and the
line of battle quickly formed. The Indians
had evidently intended a surprise, but
finding the troops prepared to receive them,
began to hesitate. Then seeing the column
resume its forward inarch, pressing in the
direction of their camp, they wheeled and
passed out of sight. This day, a boy and an
old squaw were taken captive, the only
prisoners that were spared. The remembrance
of the bloody massacres were still fresh in
the minds of the soldiers, and they gave no
quarter. The cry for mercy was in every
instance hushed by the flashing saber,
cleaving the suppliant to the earth. A
wounded Indian, in one instance tried to
escape, by hanging on to the tail of his
poay, but a carbine shot striking the
animal, he was over taken by a trooper, who
drew his revolver upon him. But the piece
missing fire, the savage turned and shot
him. At the same instant, a shot from a
scout pierced the savage, and he fell in the
agonies of death. The dead trooper's comrade
coming up, dismounted and tore scalp of the
Indian from his head, while he was still
breathing.
After the last fight, the column kept on
unmolested until it reached, on the 24th,
the banks of the Missouri river. The
Indians, during the night had got their
families over, but their wagon train,
composed of over a hundred teams, was left
on the bank, and fell into our hands. The
army went into camp here for two days, and
then started on its homeward march. It would
take two or three days at least to cross the
river, while but fifteen days rations were
left, and a vast prairie had to be traversed
before other supplies could be reached.
Not as much had been accomplished as was
anticipated, and to the public the results
seemed but a poor equivalent for the expense
of the expedition. Still, the Indian sup
plies for the season had been destroyed,
together with their means of transportation,
and over a hundred warriors killed. Under
the circumstances, it is difficult to see
how more could have been accomplished; the
troops had certainly behaved well, driving
the Indians wherever they found them, and
meeting the hardships of the campaign with
unflinching fortitude. They had marched six
hundred miles from St. Paul, and all this
distance had now to be traversed again.
The power of the Sioux tribe is broken, but
whether they will be able to enlist in their
favor other powerful tribes on our frontier,
will probably depend very much on
circumstances. Our Indian wars are
proverbially long ones, and unless we change
our policy entirely, our troubles from this
source have only as yet begun. As we drive
them back before our advancing civilization,
we concentrate them, and at some future
time, a Pontiac or Tecumseh may band them
together, and present a formidable array
along our frontier, and another bloody
chapter in our border history be opened.
That they are doomed to extinction is
evident, but the stern retributive justice
of heaven, in the mean time, may exact its
full measure of punishment from the nation
for its misuse of power, and its cruel
treatment of a barbarous, degraded race,
which providence has placed in our charge.
The trust thus reposed in us must be met in
a different spirit from what it has been, or
a day of reckoning will be required. Proud
of our strength, it may seem a matter of
indifference to us, whether we are just or
not to the feeble and helpless, but the
Great Father of us all, measures things by a
different standard than short-sighted man,
and in the end sets all things even.
This site
includes some historical materials that may imply negative stereotypes
reflecting the culture or language of a particular period or place. These
items are presented as part of the historical record and should not be
interpreted to mean that the WebMasters in any way endorse the stereotypes
implied .
Indian Races of North and South America, By Charles De Wolf Brownell, 1865
