“Right after the sun dance was over, some of our scouts came in from
the south, and the crier went around the circle and said:
“the scouts have returned and they have reported that soldiers
are camping up the river. So young warriors, take courage and
get ready to meet them”.
While they were all getting ready, I was getting ready too,
because Crazy Horse was going to lead the warriors and I wanted to
go with him; but my uncle, who thought a great deal of me, said:
“Young nephew, you must not go. Look at the helpless ones.
Stay home, and maybe there will be plenty of fighting right here.”
So the war parties went on without me. Maybe my uncle thought
I was too little to do much and might get killed.
The the crier told us to break camp, and we moved over west
towards the Greasy Grass[Little Bighorn] and camped at the head
of Spring Creek while the war parties were gone. We learned later that
it was Three Stars[General Crook] who fought with our people on the
Rosebud that time[June 17, 1876]. He had many walking soldiers and some
cavalry, and there were many Crows and Shoshones with him. They were
all coming to attack us where we had the sun dance, but Crazy Horse
whipped them and they went back to Goose Creek where they had all
their wagons. My friend, Iron Hawk, was there that day and he
can tell you how it was.
Iron Hawk speaks:
I am a Hunkpapa. I was fourteen years old that summer, and I
was a big boy. Two war parties went out, a very large one from
the south end of the camp, and a small one from the north end.
I went with the small one, and there were only about forty of
us. The big party got there early in the morning, and when we
came, they had been fighting a long while. There is a wide valley
there at the bend of the river with some bluffs and hills around
it, and it looked as though people were fighting all over that
place. There were Crows with the soldiers, and we began fight-
ing with some of them. It looked as though we were getting the
best of them. Then the soldiers began to advance on the other
side of us, and we had to retreat. We were heading for where the
big party was, but the soldiers were after us, and the Crows got
braver and fought harder because of the soldiers. When we got
to the bend, the Crows were right among us, and it was all mixed
up fighting there. I don’t know whether I killed anybody or not,
but I guess I did, for I was scared and fought hard, and the way
it was you couldn’t keep from killing somebody if you didn’t get
killed, and I’m still alive. There was a Lakota with me by the
name of Without-a- Tepee, and a big Crow pulled him right off
his horse and he disappeared. Of course, me–I ran for my life,
because we could not fight all those Crows and the soldiers too,
and I was scared. But I was not running alone. We were all run-
ning with the Crows after us. Then all at once we saw a band
of cavalry coming right ahead of us–about thirty of them. I do
not know how they got there. Maybe they were returning from
a scouting trip. It looked bad for us. Then I heard voices crying
in our language: “Take courage! This is a good day to die!
Think of the children and the helpless at home!” So we all yelled
“Hoka hey!” and charged on the cavalrymen and began shooting
them off their horses, for they turned and ran. They were
running toward their big party, and I could see many people
were fighting over there, but everything was all mixed up, and
you could not tell what was happening. It was a pitiful, long-
stretched-out battle. They fought all day. Then the Crows were
on us from behind, and we turned around and charged back on them.
But many soldiers were behind them, coming. So we all
had to run, crying “yea-hey” because there were not enough of us.
By now I was very scared, and I ran for my life. I came to a rocky
place, and my pony stepped between two stones and nearly
tore his hoof off.
There was a very brave Shyela by the name of Sitting Eagle.
He was a friend of mine and he had been with me in the fight.
When I got off my pony to look at his hoof, a single Crow was
coming after me. Then I saw my friend, the Shyela, going to meet
the Crow. They fought hand to hand, and the Crow went down.
I wish I had stayed with Sitting Eagle, because then I could have
been the first to coup that Crow. But another man did it.
I ran on foot, leading my horse, who was hopping on three
legs. Then I saw smoke coming out of a deep gully where there
was a creek. I went over to the smoke, and there was three Lakotas
who had killed a bison and were having a feast right there
while all the fighting was going on over the hill. They invited me,
so I sat there and ate, for I was about fourteen years old and
I was always hungry. We had to watch out while we ate. One of
the men took some clotted blood from the bison and put it in
some raw bison hide and fastened it around my pony’s hoof
so that I could ride.
After we had been eating there a long time, a Lakota came
upon his horse with blood and dirt all over his face, and he was
angry. He said: “What are you doing here? Were fighting!
All you think of is to eat! Why don’t you think about the helpless
ones at home? Come, make haste! We have to stand our ground!”
I felt ashamed, so I got on my horse and we started. My horse
could go better with his hoof tied up that way. We came to a
ridge, and I could see all over the valley of the Rosebud where
the fighting was going on. You could not tell who was getting
whipped. It looked all mixed up. Some Crows attacked us there
and I never got to the big party that was doing the hard fighting,
but it was hard enough where I was, except when I was eating.
I must have eaten a great deal, for it was evening now. Of course,
when we got there, they had been fighting a good while already.
We all came away when it was dark, to guard the women and children,
and the enemy did not follow us. Of course, I thought the Wasichus
whipped us; but I learned it was not so. It was not a finished
battle because the night stopped it, but the Wasichus got whipped
anyway, and did not attack our village. They went back to their
wagons on Goose Creek and stayed there.”
Excerpted from “Black Elk Speaks”,
as told through John G. Neihardt, author.
Publisher, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln and London.
TO BE CONTINUED:
Islander.