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THE STORY OF CHIEF TWO MOONS – CHEYENNE LEADER, AS TOLD WHERE CUSTER FELL

It was a September day. The hoarfrost had written the alphabet of the coming winter – there was promise of snow. With Chief Two Moons and his interpreter we climbed the dreary slopes leading to the monument and graves of the Custer dead. Chief Two Moons took his position by the stone which reads: “Brevet Major General George A. Custer, 7th U. S. Cavalry, fell here June 26th, 1876.” A tiny flag waved by this stone, marking the spot where the hero made his last stand. The hills all about us wore a sombre hue; the sky kept marriage bonds with the scene. Cold, gray clouds hung over the ridges along which Custer rode with the daring Seventh. They draped the summits of the Big Horn Range on the far horizon in gray and purple. The prairie grass had come to the death of the autumn and it too creaked amid the stones. The heart beat quick at the sight of Chief Two Moons, a tall and stalwart Roman-faced Indian, standing amid the white slabs where thirty-three years before, clad in a white shirt, red leggings, without war-bonnet, he had ridden a white horse, dealing deathblows to the boys in blue, and with these deathblows the last great stand of the Red Man against the White Man. The battle echoes are heard again as Two Moons tells his story:

“Custer came up along the ridge and across the mountains from the right of the monument. The Cheyennes and the Sioux came up the coulee from the foot of Reno Hill, and circled about. I led the Cheyennes as we came up. Custer marched up from behind the ridge on which his monument now stands, and deployed his soldiers along the entire line of the ridge. They rode over beyond where the monument stands down into the valley until we could not see them. The Cheyennes and the Sioux came up to the right over in the valley of the Little Big Horn. Custer placed his men in groups along this ridge. They dismounted. The men who had dismounted along the ridge seemed to have let their horses go down the other side of the ridge. Those who were on the hill where the monument now stands, and where I am now standing, had gray horses and they were all in the open. The Sioux and the Cheyennes came up the valley swarming like ants toward the bunch of gray horses where Long Hair stood. I led the Cheyennes up the long line of ridge from the valley blocking the soldiers, and I called to my Cheyenne brothers: ‘Come on, children; do not be scared!’ And they came after me, yelling and firing. We broke the line of soldiers and went over the ridge. Another band of Indians and Sioux came from over beyond the ridge, and when I got over there, I got off my white horse and told my men to wait, and we loaded our guns and fired into the first troop which was very near us. At the first volley the troop at which we fired were all killed. We kept firing along the ridge on which the troops were stationed and kept advancing. I rode my horse back along the ridge again and called upon my children to come on after me. Many of my Cheyenne brothers were killed, and I whipped up my horse and told them to come on, that this was the last day they would ever see their chief, and I again started for the bunch of gray horses on the hilltop. The Indians followed me, yelling and firing. I could not break the line at the bunch of gray horses and I wheeled and went to the left down the valley with the line of soldiers facing me as I went, firing at me, and all my men firing at the soldiers. Then I rode on up the ridge to the left. I met an Indian with a big war-bonnet on, and right there I saw a soldier wounded. I killed him and jumped off my horse and scalped him. The Indian I met was Black Bear, a Cheyenne. I then rode down the ridge and came to a group of four dead soldiers; one of them had on a red flannel shirt, the other three had red stripes on the arm, one had three stripes, the other had three stripes and a sword. They all had on good clothes, and I jumped off my horse and took their clothes and their guns. When I turned back I could not see anything but soldiers and Indians all mixed up together. You could hardly tell one from the other. As I rode along the ridge I found nearly all the soldiers killed. I again rode up to the ridge along which Custer's troops had been stationed. I found two or three killed and saw one running away to get on top of the high hills beyond, and we took after him, and killed him.”

“The whole valley was filled with smoke and the bullets flew all about us, making a noise like bees. We could hardly hear anything for the noise of guns. When the guns were firing, the Sioux and Cheyennes and soldiers, one falling one way and one falling another, together with the noise of the guns, I shall never forget. At last we saw that Custer and his men were grouped on the side of the hill, and we commenced to circle round and round, the Sioux and the Cheyennes, and we all poured in on Custer and his men, firing into them until the last man was shot. We then jumped off our horses, took their guns, and scalped them.”

“After the fight was over we gathered in the river bottom and cut willow sticks, then some Indians were delegated to go and throw down a stick wherever they found a dead soldier, and then they were ordered to pick up the sticks again, and in this way we counted the number of dead. It was about six times we had to cut willow sticks, because we kept finding men all along the ridge. We counted four hundred and eighty-eight with our sticks along the ridge. We were trying to count the dead there in the valley when General Terry came up from the other side, and we fled away. After the battle was over the Indians made a circle all over the ridges and around through the valley to see if they could find any more soldiers, as they were determined to kill every one. The next morning after the fight we went up behind the Reno Field and camped at Black Lodge River. We then followed the Black Lodge River until we came back to the Little Big Horn again. Then we camped at the Little Big Horn, moving our camp constantly, fearing pursuit by the soldiers.”

“Before the Custer fight we went over on the Tongue River and found a camp of soldiers. We rushed upon them and took all their horses away, and the soldiers ran into the brush. We knew there would be other soldiers after us; we knew about where they were, and we felt they would pursue us. At Powder River the soldiers attacked our camp and destroyed everything, and that made us mad. When the soldiers came after us, on the day of the Custer fight, we were ready to kill them all. The soldiers were after us all the time, and we had to fight.”

The lonely stretches of prairie, the lonelier graves, the pathetic remnant of Red Men – victors on this field – the hollow silence of these dreary hill slopes, the imperishable valour of two hundred and seventy-seven men who laid their lives on a blood-red altar, until the one lone figure of the great captain lifted his unavailing sword against a howling horde of savage warriors – glittering for a moment in the June sunlight, then falling to the earth baptized with blood – is the solemn picture to forever hang in the nation's gallery of battles.

CONCLUSIONS

Fair play is an all compelling creed. Justice to the dead is one of the commandments in that creed. Let the controversy rage. Let the sword be unsheathed in the face of misrepresentation and wrong. General Custer was a daring and chivalrous officer. He had won laurels on many a hard fought field under Southern skies – he was a strategist, brave and unfaltering. He had served in Western campaigns with distinction and success. He knew how to deal with the masterful generalship of his wily Indian foes. Hitherto his tactics had been victorious. The orders under which he now marched to battle were definite up to a certain point – then, so the record in the War Department reads – he was to use his own discretion and initiative. He was compelled to follow this course – for he marched over a wild and trackless waste, far distant from his base of supplies and absolutely without means of communication with headquarters, and without ability to ascertain the movements of any military force in the field. It is fair to state that the ranking General in charge of this campaign against the Indians reposed this confidence in General Custer, otherwise, knowing the Indian as a fighter, knowing the character of the desolated wastes of country to traverse – the difficulties to be encountered in the simple movement of troops – the annihilation of any body of troops, when once they reached the unmapped plains cut in twain by gorges and piled high with impassable buttes, he would have stultified himself had not orders been given allowing discretion at the moment of emergency. Custer was strong enough, brave enough, and sufficiently masterful to see and seize the situation. His tactics were the tactics he had previously and many times employed, and always with brilliant success. On this June day he would have led the daring “Seventh” to victory and routed, if not conquered, the great Indian camp. He was defeated and slain with his entire command. They fell at their posts in battle formation. Why? The entire group of Indian warriors participating in this grim battle all testify that had Reno pushed his charge when first he attacked the Indian camp that they would have fled in confusion, for the attack was unexpected. The Indian always expected a night attack. They further testify that after Reno made his attack with a portion of his men, thus depleting his effective fighting force by one half and in desperation made his bungling retreat, had he later come to the aid of Custer with the added reinforcements of Benteen, French, and Weir, who begged him to hear the appeal of Custer's rapid volleys, Custer would have broken the Indian camp. Reno remained on the hill until every gun was silent. Reno failed. Custer was slain. This conclusion is the voice of the Indian.

THE LAST GREAT INDIAN COUNCIL

Kabibonok Ka, the North Wind, came marching out of the caverns and snows of the north, whipping and driving blinding gusts of rain and sleet. Nee-ba-naw baigs, the Water Spirits, unsealed their fountains, and the turbulent waters of the Little Big Horn River rushed on, tearing out the banks along which on the plain were huddled the myriad tepees of the Indian camp. The wind in the trees roared like distant thunder. The dogs were crouching in any shelter. Horses were standing with their backs to the storm, their tails drenched and driven between their legs. The flaps of the tepees were closed, and the rawhide streamers from the poles cracked like the sharp report of a rifle. The women and children were closely huddled around the lodge fire. It was the great spring storm, the last triumphant blast of winter. Yonder in the centre of all this dripping circle of tepees stood the council lodge. Inside were gathered the great chief and his medicine men and warriors. They encircled the blazing logs, heeding little the melancholy night that kept tune with the sorrowful thoughts of their own hearts. The ashes had cooled in the bowl of the council pipe, when, at the head of the circle, Chief Plenty Coups, chief of all the Crow Nation, arose from his blankets, laid down his coup stick, and addressed his brothers:

“The ground on which we stand is sacred ground. It is the dust and blood of our ancestors. On these plains the Great White Father at Washington sent his soldiers armed with long knives and rifles to slay the Indian. Many of them sleep on yonder hill where Pahaska – White Chief of the Long Hair – so bravely fought and fell. A few more passing suns will see us here no more, and our dust and bones will mingle with these same prairies. I see as in a vision the dying spark of our council fires, the ashes cold and white. I see no longer the curling smoke rising from our lodge poles. I hear no longer the songs of the women as they prepare the meal. The antelope have gone; the buffalo wallows are empty. Only the wail of the coyote is heard. The white man's medicine is stronger than ours; his iron horse rushes over the buffalo trail. He talks to us through his ‘whispering spirit.’ ” (The Indian's name for the telegraph and telephone.) “We are like birds with a broken wing. My heart is cold within me. My eyes are growing dim – I am old. Before our red brothers pass on to the happy hunting ground let us bury the tomahawk. Let us break our arrows. Let us wash off our war paint in the river. And I will instruct our medicine men to tell the women to prepare a great council lodge. I will send our hunters into the hills and pines for deer. I will send my runners to the lodges of the Blackfeet, where in that far north flowers border the snow on the hills. I will send them across the fiery desert to the lodges of the Apaches in the south. I will send them east to the lodges of the Sioux, warriors who have met us in many a hard battle. I will send them to the west, where among the mountains dwell the Cayuse and the Umatillas. I will have the outliers build smoke signals on all the high hills, calling the chiefs of all the tribes together, that we may meet here as brothers and friends in one great last council, that we may eat our bread and meat together, and smoke the council pipe, and say farewell as brothers, never to meet again.” The storm abated. The urn of the morning seemed overturned, and the spices of a new spring day, redolent with the perfume of growing things, bright with sunshine and song of birds, flowed over the busy Indian camp. Weeks passed on. Runners came into camp, rushing into the lodge of the great chief, announcing the approach of a procession of chiefs from the north; other heralds told of a great company on the hills coming from the east, and from the west, and warrior chiefs from the south halted outside the camp. Chiefs from all the great tribes had heard the call, had seen the smoke signal, and now the plain is full of horses and gayly coloured riders as they dismount before the council lodge.

A wonderful blaze of colour meets the eye. Excitement and interest fill the air as these veterans of the plains enter the council lodge. Chief Plenty Coups then receives the chiefs; they are greeted one by one with a courtly and graceful dignity. When the council had assembled Chief Plenty Coups laid his coup stick and pipe sack on the ground, and in the sign language gave welcome to the chiefs from many lands.

“I am glad at heart to stand here to-day on this Indian ground and give a hearty welcome to all the chiefs assembled from the various tribes from all over the United States. It is a day of beauty, and bright sunshine; it is a glad day for me. I rejoice that on this happy day we can all meet here as friends, eat our bread and meat in communion, smoke the council pipe, and the pipe of peace. I am rejoiced to give you all a great heart of welcome. And then we must say farewell, but we go away as friends, never to meet again. I am glad to have you here.”

Then Chief Two Moons, the leader of the Cheyennes in the Custer fight, arose and shook hands with Chief Plenty Coups, and said:

“This is a glad day for me, and I am glad at heart that we can all meet as chiefs from the various tribes from all over the land. It is a great day for all of us, because there are no more wars between us, and we meet in peace to hold this last great council of the chiefs, and smoke the pipe of peace. I am glad at heart that this great picture is to be made of us, as we are assembled here, because our old chiefs are fast dying away, and our old Indian customs soon will pass out of sight, and the coming generations will not know anything about us, but this picture will cause us to live all through the years. And our children and their children will reap the benefit. I am glad we are here.”

Tottering with age, and nearly blind, Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa, head chief of the Umatilla Indians, pulled himself up on his walking-stick, took Chief Plenty Coups by the hand, and said:

“I have come here to-day and am glad to meet all the chiefs and especially Chief Plenty Coups, chief of the Crow tribe. And I am greatly satisfied to meet you all and be at peace. On this day we meet as Indians and as brothers, and now we sit here on this ground and smoke the peace pipe. We meet as brothers that have been away from one another for many years. Some of us have never seen each other before, and to-day we meet and shake hands with these chiefs whom we shall never see again. Although these people were our enemies at one time, to-day we are in peace, and I think very much of this chief, and I think very much of all the chiefs. I think it is a great day for all of us. I cannot give you any more words, as I am of old age.”

Umapine, head chief of the Cayuse tribe, wearing perhaps the finest regalia of any chief in the council, with great dignity and grace addressed Chief Plenty Coups:

“We all chiefs of different tribes meet here in this country, the country that some of us perhaps will never see any more. I appreciate your kindness in greeting us. We all Indians are in peace toward each other as well as toward our white brothers. I am very glad to meet you all. I hope that we will in the future days respect one another, also respect our white brothers, because we all, each one of us, belong to the animal kingdom. This is all to you, my dear friends; wishing you a good health.”

Red Cloud, head chief of the Ogallalla Sioux Nation, with his captivating way, addressed Chief Plenty Coups:

“I stand here to-day to shake hands with the chief of the Crow Nation, and all the chiefs of the tribes assembled from the various quarters of our country. I stand here on this great plain, with the broad sunlight pouring down upon it. I want you to look me in the face, and I hope the Great Heavenly Father, who will look down upon us, will give all the tribes His blessing, that we may go forth in peace, and live in peace all our days, and that He will look down upon our children and finally lift us far above this earth; and that our Heavenly Father will look upon our children as His children, that all the tribes may be His children, and as we shake hands to-day upon this broad plain, we may forever live in peace. We have assembled here to-day as chiefs from all over the land; we eat the bread and meat together, we smoke the pipe of peace, and we shake the hand of peace. And now we go out as one chief, and I hope we shall be as brothers and friends for all our lives, and separate with kind hearts. I am glad to-day as I shake hands with my brothers and friends, although I shall never see them again. When the white man first came across the ocean, the Indian took him by the hand and gave him welcome. This day makes me think of that time, and now I say farewell.”

Mountain Chief, head chief of the Blackfoot Indians, perhaps the most vigorous talker in the sign language in the council, greeted Chief Plenty Coups with these words:

“I have come clear across the plains and from behind the distant mountains to meet these chiefs assembled in council, and I am very glad that I am here to see these Indian chiefs from all the various tribes, and my heart is open to you all as to my own brother. We smoke the pipe of peace and take the hand of all the different chiefs, and I shall be glad forever, and shall look upon this as one of the greatest days of my life. We separate from each other in peace, and with a kind heart, but never to meet again.”

Bear Ghost, Chief of the Yankton Sioux, with great calmness and deliberation said:

“I am glad that I am here to shake the hand in peace with all the chiefs of the various tribes assembled. It is a great day for me, and a great day for us all. I rejoice that a record is to be made of this council that it may live for future generations. I am glad that I can smoke the pipe of peace, and that with a sad but satisfied heart I can say farewell to all the chiefs.”

The commanding figure of Koon-Kah-Za-Chy, an eminent Apache chief, stood before Chief Plenty Coups compelling the attention of the entire council: “As I stand before you to-day my mind runs over the many fierce battles that my own tribe, the Apaches, have had with the Kiowas, Cheyennes, Sioux, and other tribes. Many of the chiefs present to-day I have met before on the battlefield, but my heart is glad as I shake hands with all the chiefs to know that now we are all at peace. We smoke the pipe of peace. We meet as friends and brothers. I am glad to meet all these chiefs before I die, in peace, as I have before met them in war. It is a great day for me, for I have come far across the plains of the south, and I shall go back home carrying with me the memory of this council, and of these chiefs whom I shall never see again. I say farewell!”

Curly, Custer scout, advanced with great readiness and ease, and took the hand of Chief Plenty Coups. According to the custom of the Crows he did not lay down his coup stick, but gestured with one hand. He said:

“Dear Brother Plenty Coups, I am here to-day to greet you, and to greet all these other chiefs, chiefs who were once my enemies. My heart goes out to that great battlefield and that great monument erected to my dear Custer, with whom, and for whom, I fought. He fell on yonder hilltop almost within reach of our arms from this council lodge. And my heart is glad that I can shake hands with these chiefs, some of whom I fought against with Custer on that great battlefield. I have pledged myself never to lay aside this coup stick so long as the blood runs through my fingers, but I have resolved this day, as I look into the faces of these great chiefs who were once my enemies, that I will never lift the coup stick again, that I will live as a brother to all the tribes, and at peace with all men. I say farewell to the chiefs, a last, sad farewell.”

After these and other eminent chiefs had made reply to the address of welcome given by Chief Plenty Coups, according to Indian custom they were all seated in rows on the ground in semicircles, the more eminent chiefs in the first row, the lines falling back until they reached the wall line of the lodge. Every chief wore his full war regalia and carried with him all of his ceremonial and sacred insignia. The small army of coup sticks, always held aloft, presented a suggestive picture, for these coup sticks of the many chiefs from many lands each told a story of struggle and achievement, but in the speeches made by the chiefs each coup stick was to become a pledge of peace.

Now, following the ancient custom, while still seated, an Indian woman belonging to the Blackfoot tribe and wearing the full costume of her people, together with two Cheyenne maidens, dressed in the costume of their particular tribe, entered the council lodge carrying wooden bowls filled with meat and bread. This they served to the chiefs with a wooden fork. This to them answered as a ceremony of communion. When all had partaken, Chief Plenty Coups took the two long-stemmed pipes with red sandstone bowls containing emblematic decorations the whole length of the stems – pipes that had been filled by the medicine men and placed on the ground before the standing place of the great chiefs in the centre of the lodge. Chief Plenty Coups then lighted one pipe and passed it to the chiefs at his left, and lighting the other he smoked it himself for the first, and then passed it on to the right, each chief in turn smoking the pipe, then passing it on to his brother chief, until all had smoked the council pipe. When the pipes were returned to Chief Plenty Coups they were again filled and lighted, smoked by the Great Chief, and passed on to the others. And this became the Pipe of Peace.

These Indian councils were the legislative halls of the tribes; thither all matters of importance were brought by the chiefs and the warriors. Here all tribal problems were discussed. Here the destiny of any particular tribe was settled. Here the decision to make war was reached. In these council lodges, around the blazing fire, the Indians have uttered speech more eloquent than a Pitt or a Chatham in St. Stephens or a Webster in a Senate hall, an oratory that aroused the disintegrated Indian tribes and far separated clans into such a masterful and resistful force that the Indian against odds many times mightier than himself has been able to withstand the aggressions of civilization.

When questions of such moment made the necessity, chiefs of all the tribes attended and entered into solemn council. Then the council meant war. The day finally dawned when the Indian as a race was conquered by the white man. The ranks of the chiefs became thinner and thinner until in this day only a few of the great warriors remain. These representatives of former greatness and prowess gathered from their peaceful wigwams from many and faraway lands to hold once again and for the last time a council of the old days. On this day the council was for peace, and the dominant, resonant note ringing through every sentiment uttered; if we did not know they were Indians and did not know that this was an Indian council, we would have said this was a Peace Conference at The Hague.

To stand in the presence of these mighty men of the plains, to witness their nobility, to listen to their eloquence, to think with them the mighty thoughts of their dead past, to watch their solemn faces, to tremble before the dignity of their masterful bearing, to cherish the thought of all that they have been and all that they might have been, to realize that as their footfalls leave this council lodge they have turned their backs on each other forever, and that as they mount their horses and ride away to their distant lodges they are riding into the sunset and are finally lost in the purple mists of evening, is to make the coldest page of history burn with an altar fire that shall never go out.