Some Events in Sitting Bull's Camp
It was about the 25th of October, 1880, when we pulled out from Buford, reaching Camp Poplar Creek in two days, where I was met by an Indian runner from…
From: 1880 C.E. To: 1880 C.E.
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From The Surrender of Sitting Bull by Edwin Allison, 1891.
It was about the 25th of October, 1880, when we pulled out from Buford, reaching Camp Poplar Creek in two days, where I was met by an Indian runner from Bull’s Camp, sent with a message to me from Chief Gall, to the effect that I would find him, with the entire camp, at the mouth of Frenchman’s Creek, on the Milk River, about one hundred and fifty miles from Poplar Creek. Accompanied by the runner, whose name was Strong Hand, we proceeded on our journey, making only about twenty miles a day.
When we had reached within about six miles of the camp, we came upon a lone tepee, erected on a small mound near the trail; an old squaw stood near, observing our approach. Riding up to her, I learned that her son, who was in the tepee, had, the day before, quarreled with another Indian in the camp, over a horse trade, and that her son had killed the other Indian, and he was now, in compliance with the Indian custom, when guilty of the shedding of blood, performing an act of purification. She also informed me that during the preceding night, their Indian enemies, the Blackfeet, had made an attack on the camp, and had succeeded in running off twenty-six head of horses, without, however, doing any other damage, and that a war party was on their trail. This was most unwelcome news. The camp was sure to be in an uproar, and the warriors in a frame of mind, anything but favorable to my purpose: but this was mild intelligence compared with what we were about to witness in the next forty-eight hours.
About three o’clock, p. m., we reached the camp, which was on the west bank and near the mouth of Frenchman’s Creek, when I was rather agreeably surprised, and somewhat puzzled, by receiving a pressing invitation, which could easily be construed into a command, to make my home at Sitting Bull’s lodge, as long as I stayed in the camp. I accepted the invitation, but stipulated that Chief Gall should superintend the distribution of the provisions which I had brought them. To this Sitting Bull readily acceded, and notwithstanding the turbulent condition of the camp, I was soon comfortably housed, together with the soldier, in the tepee of the great Indian Priest and Prophet Sitting Bull. After an early supper, I sought and obtained a private interview with Chief Gall, who informed me that he had resolved to effect the surrender of the entire band, Sitting Bull and all, but to accomplish this, more time would be required than he had first anticipated. He must first go back to Canada, to enable Sitting Bull to keep an engagement to meet Major Walsh, of the Dominion forces, in a council, at the Woody Mountain Trading Post. And to insure success, and expedite matters, he advised that I should meet him again at Woody Mountain, as soon as possible, after reporting to Major Brotherton, at Fort Buford.
Considering the circumstances, I deemed it best to acquiesce in his plans. Yet I was anxious to make some kind of a showing on this trip, that would encourage Major Brotherton, and reward him for the confidence he had placed in me. I explained this to Chief Gall, who told me to remain in the camp two days, to rest my mules, and by that time he would have twenty families ready to send in with me; but he cautioned me not to let Sitting Bull know their real purpose, but to lead him to suppose they were only going in to the Agency on a visit to their friends.
Perfectly satisfied with these arrangements, I returned, a little after dark, to Sitting Bull’s lodge, where the soldier, who could not speak a word of the Indian language, was having rather a lonesome time of it, and was growing somewhat anxious for my safety. We were both very tired, and soon lay down to rest, while I engaged the old Chief in conversation. Sitting Bull’s family at that time consisted of his two wives, (sisters) two daughters and three sons, the eldest being a daughter of seventeen, the other daughter being next, about fourteen, the eldest son, Crow Foot, since dead, seven years old, and the two youngest boys were twins, born about three weeks before the battle of the Little Big Horn, and were, therefore, not more than four and a half years old; one of the twins was named Ih-pe-ya-na-pa-pi, from the fact that his mother “fled and abandoned” him in the tepee, at the time of the battle.
The accompanying cut shows the arrangement of beds, etc., in the lodge, while we were there.
I continued in conversation with Sitting Bull until about midnight, when I fell asleep. I must have been asleep less than an hour, when I was awakened by the sharp crack of a rifle ringing out on the still night air, and the simultaneous war whoop of contending savages. The camp was instantly in a state of the wildest confusion. Indian women, seizing their babes, fled, screaming, they knew not whither, for safety; warriors suddenly awakened from their slumbers, seized their arms and flew with the speed of the wind to the aid of their comrades, who were already engaged in conflict with an enemy, whose presence could only be determined by the sharp report and flashes of fire from their guns, as they fired in the darkness upon the Sioux camp.
Here was an opportunity for the soldier and myself to prove our friendship, by aiding the Sioux warriors in their defence of the camp, which we proceeded to do, by seizing our rifles and hastily joining the warriors, who, by this time, had turned the enemy, whose firing soon ceased altogether, and we all returned to the camp, where comparative quiet was restored; but no one slept any more that night. The fact that myself and companion took part in the defence of the camp, was favorably commented on by all, and in all probability saved our lives, for the Indians are very superstitious, and their blood was up; something was wrong; in fact, things had been going wrong for several days. There must be a “Jonah” in the camp, and how easy it would be to find a pair of “Jonahs” in the persons of the two white men in camp; but our prompt action had made a most favorable impression, and diverted their thoughts from the subject of “Jonahs,” and I improved the opportunity by comparing their uncertain, hunted existence with the happy life of their friends at the Agencies in Dakota, whose wives and little ones were even then sleeping peacefully in their beds, without fear of being disturbed by prowling bands of Indian foes.
A number of warriors followed cautiously after the retreating Blackfeet, but failed to come up with them. They returned to camp about ten in the morning, and reported finding blood-stained bandages on the trail, so there must have been some of the enemy wounded. Among the Sioux, no one was hurt, nor did they loose any horses on this occasion. But danger was yet lurking near. About two in the afternoon, a warrior came into camp, and reported the discovery of a small herd of buffalo, about four miles from camp. About thirty warriors mounted their horses and went out to kill them; among the number was Scarlet Plume, a popular young brave, who was a favorite with every one. The warriors approached the buffalo under cover, till they were within easy rifle range, when they opened fire and killed all but one, which struck out across the plain, seemingly unhurt. Young Scarlet Plume alone gave chase, following the animal and finally killing it near the head of a ravine running up from the Milk River which at that point was densely studded with timber. He had killed his last buffalo. He was alone and more than a mile from his companions. A party of Blackfeet braves, concealed in the timber, had been watching his movements, and now while he was busily engaged skinning the buffalo, they approached, under cover of the ravine, shot him, took his scalp, and made good their escape. His body was found by his father, Old Scarlet Thunder, and was brought by him into camp, a little before sunset that evening. Then indeed, there was weeping and wailing in that camp. Language utterly fails me when I try to describe the scene that followed. His old mother, his five sisters, and scores of friends and relatives tore their hair, slashed their limbs with knives, till the ground where they stood was wet with hot human gore, rent their garments, calling in a loud wailing voice upon the name of the lost son and brother.
Allison, Edwin H. The Surrender of Sitting Bull: Being a Full and Complete History of the Negotiations Conducted by Scout Allison Which Resulted in the Surrender of Sitting Bull and His Entire Band of Hostile Sioux in 1881. The Walker Litho. and Printing Co., 1891.
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