Catastrophe
Massacre at Sand Creek
The kidnapping of the Eubank family was not the beginning of the story. It began with the betrayal of the Native Indians by the almost everybody, from Abraham Lincoln to the sinister Reverend Chivington, to General Curtis, Governor Evans, and almost everybody who wore a United States army uniform. Cheyenne Chief Black Kettle was also responsible, only because he either lacked the wisdom to see that the White Man was not to be trusted, or he was so farsighted that he recognised that the US army with its modern weapons was invincible, and that resistance would result in their complete annihilation. George Washington thought that Native Americans had mislaid their souls, and that the white Christians now running the country, had the means, and indeed the duty, to to re-route them on the righteous path of christianity and redeem them.
I, Silas Soule son of Amasa Soule, was a witness to the greatest massacre perpetrated on American land, the SandCreek massacre, and being dead, with no axe to grind, will tell you how it happened. It is in the nature of the events that they do not go in a straight line from a to z.
When Cheyennes and Arapahoes took prisoners they did not treat them with kid gloves. Living in harsh conditions, although they were of peaceful nature and lived by rules of decency, when cornered their violence knew no bounds. When their children faced starvation, they resorted to raiding isolated farms to steal food, killing when they met with resistance, but when they took hostages, it was usually with the intention of trading them after for commodities they needed.
Time was when the whole country had belonged to them, hundreds of millions of acres, where the buffalo roamed, as did deer, hares and other preys. They had all the rivers and lakes and coasts teeming with salmon, tuna, catfish, cod, halibut and hundreds of others. They were expert at harvesting wild berries, roots, fungi and greens. They did not have a word for starvation in their languages. Because of the size of the land, there were few conflicts, and they developed the first peace summits, the powwows, introducing concepts of the pipe of peace. The White Man saw them as savages, but they had codes of honour, and hated lies.
All that was to change when the White Man began invading their land. Little by little the Indians were driven out of their lands, forced into much smaller reservations by treaties made by White Man primarily for his benefit, in which promises never meant to be kept were readily made. The Fort Wise Treaty of 1861 was the final nail in the coffin of Indian wellbeing. Having already ceded most of the territory he considered his, Fort Wise shrunk what remained to one-thirteenth of its former size.
Imprisoned on his own land, with no access to the buffalo, the Indian faced starvation. Thus it was that the Natives were forced to break U.S. laws in which they had no say, raiding and stealing to feed themselves, resorting to killing when confronted by the white settlers.
Perhaps ill-advisedly, they thought that kidnapping might give them bargaining powers. Obviously there were many factors contributing to the Sand Creek massacre, but the kidnapping of wives and children of white settlers by Cheyennes and Arapahoes must have contributed.
Dog soldiers, so-called because their icon was the fighting dog which never let go of its enemy, and who were not minded to follow the dictates of their chief, Black Kettle, who they considered weak and easy to manipulate by the treacherous whites, had raided isolated farms in the Little Blue River region, and after killing some men, captured a few women and children, of whom Mrs Eubank and the much younger Laura Roper. They had not been well-treated by their kidnappers, having endured rapes, and passed round by the young braves.
Black Kettle and Dull Knife had been negotiating with Governor Evans, trying to convince him that if the government promised protection, he would make sure he would rein in his fierce dog soldiers until a new treaty was signed. The truth was that nobody, from Abraham Lincoln in Washington, to General Curtis, the Lincoln-appointed military supremo for the Plains area, comprising of the land between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains, certainly not Colonel Chivington a self-avowed Indian hater, was keen to help the deprived tribes. Obviously the fact that a civil war was raging was complicating matters further, often leading to misunderstandings.
It befell to Major Edward Wynkoop and myself_ Captain Silas Soule_ to convey the big group of Cheyennes and Ararahoes to Fort Lyon. It was not an easy mission, for the great majority of the natives were hostile to the peace negotiations due to take place. They did not trust the White Man, and viewed this exercise as a trick to inflict more damage on them. But Black Kettle and Dull Knife were committed to peace, and they had given us their word that we were under their protection. There was a difference between how my superior and I viewed our position. A little digression is needed here:
I was born in a family of abolitionists, and my dear father taught me that as there was one God, so we humans were all the same, that appearances, colour, shapes of head or nose did not define humanity. You have to die before you understand the point of your life, for Death is a key that opens the door to all mysteries. Charles Spicer would give it to me in the shape of a bullet in the head, just as my friend and ally Joe Cramer gave him the means of discovering his point. Was he meant to visit our earth only to kill and maim the harmless Arapaho and Cheyenne women and children sheltering in Sandy Creek? And follow it with Silas, as a pudding follows a stew?
My father Amasa Soule (I never knew why he was given this unique name) was a justice of peace, and few men I have come across had a greater sense of justice and fairness. All my life I have striven to lead my life in a manner worthy of this good man. Not that I always succeeded, but like him I abhorred the very idea of slavery, and aged seventeen, I killed a man who had captured a black family that I, as a railroader, had given shelter to. There wasn’t the slightest doubt about what he was planning to do to them. May God have pity on our souls, his and mine. But this aspect of my life is not relevant to Sand Creek, and I will not dwell upon it. I will just mention that I worshipped John Brown whose body lay a-molderin’ in the grave, but whose soul goes marchin’ on. I was a friend of the poet Walt Whitman. I did not share the instinctive fear or hatred of the Native Indians of the average white man, although when I joined the army, under orders, we had to fight marauding Indians. Any lingering negative sentiment I may have held when I was a raw recruit, vanished as I got to meet and deal with them. I learnt about their lives and their codes of honour, grew to understand them and felt no fear in their company.
Major Edward Wynkoop, my commanding officer, was a deeply moral man, but like the great majority of young soldiers, he had grown up with a deep suspicion of what he still believed to be savages. Things had been hotting up for a while, with the Cheyennes ending up kidnapping some women and children, and our party was marching with Cheyenne dog soldiers towards Fort Lyon for a powwow, in an effort to wrangle their release. We had but a small group of soldiers marching with us, vastly outnumbered, and if the Indians decided to turn against us, there would have been nothing we could do to save our skins. However, Black Kettle’s word had kept the lid on whatever doubt I might have entertained. Major Wynkoop, however, was very uneasy, and I thought it best to take him to Black Kettle. I explained Ed’s fears, and Black Kettle laughed.
Major Wynkoop, he said, my people do not believe in the treaty, but they believe in me, their chief. They know two things, first that when I have given my word, if they break it, I would have no alternative but to commit suicide, according to our Cheyenne code of honour. And nobody wants to be responsible for the death of his Chief. So rest assured, my fellow tribesmen have no great love for you, but they will respect the given word.
Sadly our efforts at gaining the release of the prisoners did not fructify. Worse, it was felt that nobody wanted it to.
Not Governor Evans. Surprisingly, he was an abolitionist, and believed that slavery was an abomination, but nothing would make him view native Indians as anything but savages who needed to be eradicated. He had acted honourably in the past, but with the situation in the Plains being in turmoil, he threw his principles to the dogs. He issued the proclamation to the Indians, You assemble near our forts, show that your intentions are non-hostile, and we will guarantee your freedom and welfare, if not, my men will give you no quarter.
Not Colonel Chivington who happened to be a man of God, having been ordained a Methodist priest. He had shown bravery on the battlefields, but did that mean that he was a man of honour? He was an irascible man, vain and ambitious. He expected that after one or two more military campaigns he would inevitably become a general, and boasted that he would certainly end up as a state governor, usually winking when he emitted this hope, and as his one-time adjudant, I interpreted this wink to mean that he had not discounted that the presidency would fall in his lap.
Not General Curtis, said to be President Lincoln’s personal friend and who was an Indian hater.
I was always perplexed by the venerated Abe Lincoln. He fought a civil war in order to liberate the slaves, he was a kind and fair man, but he did not deal with our Native Americans with the same generosity and understanding. People have said that his grandfather also called Abraham and his great uncle Mordecai, were killed by marauding Indians as they were ploughing their land to grow corn. I hesitate to point a finger at him for turning a blind eye to the perpetrators of the massacre at Sand Creek, Major Chivington, Governor Evans and the hundred- daysers, the rabble army of drunks and gamblers raised with the specific aim of killing peaceful Cheyennes and Arapahos.
Abraham Lincoln himself, though a man of great wisdom and generosity, who fought a war against slavery, had no great love for the original inhabitants of our continent. He had not been unaware of what drove Dakota Indians to go on the rampage and kill white settlers and federal soldiers. The Dakota Indians had signed a treaty which would guarantee them food and other facilities, but the Indian agents responsible for the distribution of the handouts were corrupt, and stole the merchandise, resulting in famine among the tribe. In an attempt to feed their children they attacked and killed white settlers, and federal soldiers when they came to their rescue. The president had it in his gift to pardon the culprits, but chose the gallows for them.
The bulk of the officers would have killed a native Indian with less compunction than if he were a hare or a squirrel.
In the year 1864, the Civil War was as its peak, and had necessarily contributed to the worsening of relations between the Indians and the Whites. The Homestead Act of 1862, a Lincoln initiative awarding every citizen the right to claim one hundred and sixty acres of land to start a farming project, must inevitably have meant land expropriation for the natives. At this point, the Cheyennes and Arapahoes had been driven out of their traditional land to an area of no more than one-thirteenth of what it had been before the one-sided treaties. The great majority of the tribe were angry at the chiefs for being like putty in the hands of the American authorities. However nothing would make them stop hunting and fishing in territory now legally barred to them, as the alternative was mass starvation. And at the same time white settlers and gold prospectors likewise never thought twice about trespassing over areas restricted to the natives. Governor Evans sent agents to warn the Indians about their law-breaking, and read them the riot act. Anybody who refused to abide by the law was reckoned to be a rebel and would be dealt with accordingly. Negotiations were arranged but never took place.
The discovery of gold on traditional native lands had been a serious factor in the impoverishment of Indian life. No settler or prospector thought twice about trespassing on Indian territory, with the result of the buffalos disappearing from traditional hunting grounds. On top of this, there was the ongoing construction of the railroad which bulldozed its way through the shortest route. The Indians recognised that they were hugely outnumbered and outgunned. They had high hopes that the great white father in Washington would find a solution, and the Chiefs appealed to him, often directly by travelling there to meet him. Abe received them with courtesy, and gave them the assurances that they were seeking. Black Kettle came back full of optimism, with the gift of an American flag, the Stars and Stripes. If you display this, the big white father had promised, you will be under my protection, and no one will touch you. Chief Lean Bear was given a Peace Medal by the president, and he was delighted in the knowledge that wearing this made him invincible.
If it was today, Chief Black Kettle would have received a Nobel Peace Prize for his effort. He never stopped trying to stop the inevitable war. Here is a letter he wrote:
Cheyenne Village Aug. 29th/64
Maj. Colley.
Sir
We received a letter from Bent wishing us to make peace.1 We held a consel in regard to it & all came to the conclusion to make peace with you providing you make peace with the Kiowas Commenches, Arrapahoes Apaches and Siouxs.
We are going to send a messenger to the Kiowas and to the other nations about our going to make with you. We heard that you some prisoners in Denver. We have seven prisoners of you which we are willing to give up providing you give up yours.
There are three war parties out yet and two of Arrapahoes. they have been out some time and exspect now soon.
When we held this counsel there were few Arrapahoes and Siouxs present. we want true news from you in return, that is a letter.
Black Kittle &other Chieves
Major Wynkoop was not a man who would allow an opportunity to resolve a problem slip through his fingers. On receiving this letter he and Black Kettle worked towards the successful release of four captive white children the Cheyennes and Arapahoes had with them. But otherwise matters were in the hands of men less dedicated to peace.
If there was a smell of gunpowder in the air, Black Kettle and Lean Bear must have both had blocked noses. They were encamped on their buffalo hunting ground near Ash Creek when the First Colorado Regiments, under the command of Lieutenant George Eayre appeared in their midst. Lean Bear was delighted. The big White Master in Washington had sent greetings to his new friends. He happily attached the Peace medal on his leather tunic, and grabbed the documents Abe had signed and given to him, and went to welcome the president’s delegates. When Lean Bear approached the lieutenant with a big welcoming smile, he was greeted by a volley of bullets. Eayre had received orders from Colonel Chivington to kill Cheyennes whenever and wherever found, and had given the order to his soldiers.
Chivington may have been a man of God, but a man of peace he clearly wasn’t. He did not believe that the original inhabitants of the American plains were children of a lesser god, more, a people God had nothing to do with. They had no soul, and feelings, they were put on earth so the likes of him could do target practice. He would only be happy when they had all been eradicated from God’s good earth.
When Governor Evans appointed him colonel of the 3rd Colorado Regiment, he knew that he had inched himself just a bit towards that gubernatorial seat he felt was his birthright. He had read Evans’ intention right. peace with the Indians was not a desirable aim, nobody wanted it. The natives had at the very least to be pacified, if total extermination was deemed impossible. By dint of several treaties, Fort Wise, Fort Laramie, they were restricted to an extremely narrow strip, but against the will of his Dog Soldiers, Black Kettle had decided to go along with the government wishes. He had urged his tribes and allies, the Arapahoes to camp near Fort Lyon in Sand Creek, in the hope that the government would be sending delegates to negotiate a new treaty, and food and supplies that he had requested.
Black Kettle had accepted that the shooting of Lean Bear by Lieutenant Eayre had been a mistake, due to a misunderstanding. He had been impressed by the language of the big whit chief in Washington.
Preoccupied by the civil war, Lincoln might not have been aware of all that was going on. Presumably he knew nothing of Governor Evans agreeing with Colonel Chivington to raise an army of volunteers, in view of the 60,000 Indians he claimed that needed to deal with, the 3rd Colorado regiment being deemed grossly undermanned.
The hundred daysers! Never was such a rabble given US army uniforms to wear, and the best rifles to bear, habitual drunks, jailbirds, gamblers. They were enrolled after the man of god sent his men to taverns and gaming houses, got the men drunk and listen to narratives of butchery by the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. Surprisingly they were told that they would only be paid after a hundred days after they had accomplished their mission, but that they were entitled to pick whatever they found in the native camps, jewellery, leather goods, tomahawks and artefacts, money. And tacitly, all the girls and the women who came their way. To a man this rabble thought it was going to be a picnic, and lustily they signed.
In the Indian camp, the braves were restless, and had parleys with Black Kettle, urging him to be less trusting of the white man. The chief pointed out that they were not properly armed for a fight, that if the army attacked, they would come armed to the teeth, with the latest and most modern weapons, artillery and canons, with the capacity of pulverising an army fighting with bows and arrows. But remember, he said, pointing at the prized Stars and Stripes Abraham Lincoln had given him. Any federal soldier looking at it as it fluttered over his teepee would be enough to curb any warlike intentions.
At the beginning of summer, Governor Evans issued a declaration, to the effect that all “friendly natives” should go to Fort Lyon, where they would be given supplies and protection. When Black Kettle and his fellow Cheyennes and allies the Arapahoes reached the fort, my Major Wynkoop, who was known for his fairness, and who was in charge, had received counter-orders: The Natives should not remain at the Fort, and need to be relocated. He was most disappointed by this state of affairs, and finally received instruction to direct the tribes to Sand Creek, but only the women, children and the elderly obeyed their chief’s orders to go with him to Sand Creek; only about seven hundred and fifty of them. Sadly after this, Edward had no influence over the events.
The young braves were illegally and stealthily hunting for food all over the territory, avoiding the federal troops, but Black Kettle and a small group of children, women and the elderly made their way to Sand Creek as they were told. Arriving at their new location, they were at the mercy of Chivington_ a man not known for his merciful nature, specially if it was regarding the native population.
On 28 November 1864, I was with Colonel Chivington with D Company of the First Colorado Cavalry, as we marched to within a few miles of Black Kettle’s encampment. The people there were mainly old men, women and children. After supper, as we were smoking a cigar in the veranda, I saw the Colonel’s eyes shine in the moonlight, and he told me that we needed to seize this excellent opportunity to solve the fucking native problem. I was uneasy even if I only half understood him. What do you mean Colonel, sir? Sitting ducks, he exclaimed slapping me on the knee. I was shocked, and pushed his hand away. That would be an abomination in the eyes of our Lord sir, I said. Our scouts have said that there are only women, children and the elderly, that would be murder. No, he assured me, he was only thinking aloud, he didn’t mean it. I still had a near sleepless night.
Early the following morning, I was startled when I heard the Colonel order the cavalry to attack. I tried to talk to him but he brushed me aside angrily. I ran after him and told him that I wanted no part in this massacre and would order my own men to stay put and hold their fire. He threatened me with a court martial and ordered his troops to charge.
The carnage which followed would give me nightmares for the rest of my life. To the former jailbirds, drunks and gamblers who formed the great majority of the hundred daysers, Christmas had come early, but they were feasting the birth of the child of Satan. They shot old men and young children, and raped the younger squaws before knifing them. I saw a man tear open the belly of a pregnant woman and lift a bloody foetus before throwing it up in the air. That was something that I would repeat under oath to the Commission of Enquiry later. I saw young children as young as six or seven on their knees begging to be spared, and then clubbed to death by our heroic soldiers.
Then there was scalping. We had learnt the practice from the native Indians, but we were very adept at it. We tore off the skins off the heads of one and all; they would be placed at the top of poles as trophies. At least 160 members of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes were hunted down and killed, mainly women and children.
At first Chivington was called the hero of the Battle of Sand Creek. He claimed to have killed six hundred Indian warriors, but as the rabble paraded their trophies of scalps and testicles and other body parts, and the Battle of Sand Creek soon became the Sand Creek Massacre.
A Military Commission was finally set up in Denver, where soldiers and officers were questioned, and many were those who corroborated my own testimony in spite of threats from Chivington and his accomplices. The findings were quite damning for the perpetrator, but as he had left the army, he was immune to punishment.
However, the testimony against the preacher caused quite a stir in the military authorities, and many reprehensible practices were modified in a way beneficial to the underprivileged natives, not that they ever regained the land which had been taken from them.
I had always known that my raising my voice had made me a marked man, but one did not have a choice. Still, I hoped I would avoid what friends warned me was going to happen to me, and unwisely fell in love with Hersa (my father was called Amasa). I became sheriff of Denver, and never stopped watching over my shoulders, but inevitably one of the many allies of Chivington, one Charles Spicer, who had sworn to get me succeeded in his endeavour, and gunned me down weeks after I had married.
Our American soldiers have not always behaved impeccably on the battlefield, but it was not until My Lai in the twentieth century that they would commit a war crime comparable to Sand Creek.
Post Script: In Arabic, catastrophe is nakba.
