Chief Joseph & the Flight of the Nez Perce (31 page)

But the sight of the warriors and their numbers had given him pause. He shook hands with the Indian leaders and accepted their declarations of friendship but steadfastly refused to allow them to approach any closer to his men, who were lying in the trenches around their tents a hundred yards downriver.

The young civilian who had first tried to communicate with the Indians was convinced that the men with whom they were dealing were Joseph and Looking Glass, the chiefs they had been reading and hearing about. He tried to serve as interpreter, but the Indians dismissed him. They did not need the assistance of this young man to make their wishes known.

They asked again for food, explaining that the people were tired and hungry and weak. If they could have some supplies, there would be no fighting and no raids on the goods. They only wished to pass peacefully and to obtain enough food to keep their people fed.

Captain Moelchert again refused, explaining that the goods were not his to disburse.

The Indians brought out handfuls of gold and silver and offered to pay for anything he gave them. But he still would not give them goods that were not his to sell.

Finally, after much pleading, the Nez Perce emissaries managed to convince him to give them one bag of hardtack and one bag of bacon. Though it wasn't what they had hoped, they accepted it and returned to the camp.

When they arrived with their meager bags of goods, the young warriors were incensed. This was hardly enough to feed 650 hungry people. From the time of their ancestors, hungry people, especially women and children, had never been refused food. These bags of hardtack and bacon were more an insult than a gift. It was once again white men being stingy, as they had been since the time of the Reverend Spalding, as they had been in all things at all times involving Indian people.

The warriors looked at the piles of goods as tall as a white man's house. The chiefs' admonition to avoid fighting now meant nothing to them. They would take what was needed, then they would show these white men not to insult Nez Perce and leave their women and children with empty bellies.

Some stripped down to their breechcloths and moccasins and began moving down the riverbank toward the soldiers. When the soldiers in their distant trenches saw this, they knew that a fight was near. They dug down deeper behind the barricades and prepared to open fire.

The Nez Perce had established their camp several miles on the upstream side of the piles of goods. The soldiers' tents and trenches were on the downstream side. The goods were in a kind of no-man's-land between the two, piled up under the overhang of a bluff. The warriors believed that if they could keep the soldiers pinned down in their trenches, the people could sneak up to the back side of the pile and take what they wanted, keeping the pile between them and the soldiers' line of fire.

At first it seemed likely that the raiding could take place without violence. But soon a shot rang out, then another, and a sporadic engagement of long-distance sniping began. The Nez Perce warriors had hidden themselves well in the creases and folds of the eroded landscape, and the soldiers were well protected by their earthen fortifications. There was little chance that either could do much damage to the other unless there was a charge. The dozen frightened and outnumbered soldiers were certainly not going to attempt anything so foolhardy, and the Nez Perce warriors were more interested in sport than warfare. For them, the encounter was essentially a chance for long-range target practice while the women from the camp hurried up to the back of the pile and helped themselves to whatever their families needed.

The standoff continued past sunset, with the warriors squeezing off an occasional shot and the women running back and forth between the pile and the camp carrying sacks of flour, rice, coffee, sugar, hardtack, beans, and various pots and pans and household goods. After everyone had taken what they wanted, a few of the warriors decided to light the piles on fire. Any goods—even those clearly intended for civilians—could be commandeered by troops or used to give aid and comfort to the soldiers. Though the chiefs counseled them against it, they proceeded to ignite the remaining goods.

Since the piles contained cloth and wooden implements and hundreds of bags of greasy bacon, the fire soon rose dark and smoky into the evening sky. Some of the warriors had found liquor in the pile and, under its influence, were becoming more and more intrigued with the idea of attacking the soldiers. But the rising flames illuminated anyone who tried to move across the open river bottom, so they had to keep their distance, contenting themselves with alcohol and the occasional gunshot while watching the fire cast unearthly dancing shadows on the bluffs and mounds and making the river itself seem as if it flowed with flames.

The chiefs had remained back in camp with the people, where a feast was being prepared with the goods that had been taken from the pile. The sound of gunshots and the sight of the fire down the river did not please them. It meant that the ones they called the “bad boys” had been at work again. They sent a messenger down to tell the warriors to stop the fighting. No one had been killed, and the camp had the food it needed. They were not going to succeed in killing soldiers dug in behind earthen banks, and there was nothing to be gained even if they did. Leave them there and come back to camp.

The older warriors, more inclined to listen to the counsel of the chiefs, agreed. Slowly, the fighters made their way back to camp, keeping up sporadic rear-guard fire. By the time they had all returned, the sky was lightening with another high plains morning, and the whole camp had packed to move.

As the morning grew, the people began the climb along the narrow trails through the breaks and badlands toward the buffalo plains above. The going was difficult, but hearts were light. They now had food supplies and camp goods, and the border to the Old Woman Country was only several days' journey ahead. The country through which they had to pass was well known to the buffalo hunters among them, including Poker Joe and Looking Glass, and Howard was far behind, facing the almost impenetrable terrain of the breaks. Though the weather was cold and winter was on the edge of the wind, for the first time since they had left the Big Hole they felt truly secure.

Early in the afternoon they came upon the bull train that had left the Cow Island landing the previous morning. It was camped at the top of the breaks in a clump of trees near a small creek. This was good fortune beyond anything the Nez Perce had hoped. These were civilians with no military guard, and their thirteen wagons of goods would surely contain any provisions that the people had not been able to obtain in their hurried raids on the tarp-covered piles at the river's edge.

Their big hope was for ammunition, since that was the one commodity they needed most. Many of the older men still had a good supply of bullets for their guns, but the younger warriors, quicker to the trigger, had expended most of theirs. The rounds that had been captured at the Big Hole were almost exhausted, and without bullets, the warriors were severely limited in their capacity to hunt and to protect the people.

The problem was compounded by the fact that the people now were carrying many different kinds of weapons. They had built up a substantial arsenal by stealing settlers' weapons and stripping guns from the bodies of soldiers and volunteers killed along the way. But these were of various calibers and makes, and ammunition was not always interchangeable. So this opportunity to go through the wagons unmolested and unchallenged in search of ammunition was a rare stroke of good fortune.

Since these bull trains brought goods to the military posts throughout buffalo country, the Nez Perce were certain at least that there would be ammunition to fit their military rifles. Once resupplied with bullets, they would have the three things they needed to remain self-sufficient in the Old Woman Country: horses, functional weaponry, and camp goods. They would not have to impose or depend upon the good graces of Sitting Bull and his people, who themselves were living in exile and surviving on limited means.

Once again, the chiefs sought to get these supplies without violence. But they knew that the young warriors were impatient and unpredictable. So Poker Joe took the lead in trying to keep the encounter amicable.

The wagon drivers were justifiably nervous, watching a group of what they guessed to be 800 Indians gradually overtake and surround their unprotected wagons. But Poker Joe, using all the knowledge of English at his command, spoke to the men in a friendly and relaxed manner. He asked them if they knew of any soldiers in the area and if they knew of any good places for the horses to graze. The men responded civilly but kept a close eye on the young braves, who were examining the contents of the wagons with great interest.

Poker Joe continued his friendly banter, expressing the Nez Perce friendship for the whites and casually mentioning that his scouts had just reported the presence of 300 Sioux warriors a distance away on the other side of a low range of mountains. It would be wise, he said, if the wagon men abandoned the bull train and hid themselves, for the Sioux warriors would surely attack during the night and kill them all.

The wagon men were skeptical, but the merest mention of Sioux warriors struck fear into their hearts. They knew that this area north of the Missouri River was a kind of neutral zone between the American and Canadian territory, so military presence was small and freedom of movement for Indians was great. It was possible that Sitting Bull and his men were indeed ranging this far south from their sanctuary across the border. This was, after all, the best remaining buffalo hunting country, and winter was coming on.

So the wagon men took this information under advisement, all the while trying to keep on the good side of the remaining Nez Perce warriors, who now were asking if they would be invited to stay for dinner. The wagon men replied that they could offer food to some but not to all. This penurious gesture did not sit well with the warriors, who immediately assumed a decidedly unfriendly demeanor, then rode off.

With the distant, though probably fictional, threat of the Sioux, and the immediate threat implied in the irritation of the young warriors, the drivers decided that they had best follow Poker Joe's advice and move away from the wagons. They quietly went off to spend the night in the nearby hills, hoping the Indians would take what they wanted and leave the rest of the goods alone.

In the morning, they made their way cautiously back toward the wagons. The Indians, who had camped nearby, seemed indifferent and preoccupied with packing for departure. But the drivers found it unnerving that their return was announced by a shrill whistle from one of the young boys and that this signal, whatever it meant, was picked up and sent along through the entire campsite as they passed by on foot.

Soon they heard one of the chiefs yelling out commands and saw the warriors stripping for battle. Convinced that they were now to be killed, the men again ran off into the brush. From their hidden vantage point they watched the activity in the camp, until suddenly they heard shots, then saw Indians tearing the sheets off the bull wagons and setting the goods on fire. Knowing that the wagons were beyond protection, they jumped into a ravine and scrambled down the breaks toward the river and the small contingent of soldiers they knew to be camped there.

But it was not the wagon men who had drawn the attention of the Nez Perce. While the young men were clambering over the wagons, a new group of soldiers had been sighted. The warriors had just discovered barrels of whiskey and had begun to celebrate their good fortune when some of the scouts reported that white men with guns were coming up the trail from the river. It did not seem likely that these were part of Howard's army, which was still several days behind. They must be a new force arrived from somewhere else. But the warriors reported that, like the men at the river, these soldiers did not appear to be interested in attacking. So they held them at bay with long-range fire while the rest of the camp finished packing and began to move north. Then the warriors ignited the wagons and rode off to join their people.

The soldiers who had been making their way up the trail were a small group of volunteers under the command of a Major Guido Ilges, who was in charge of Fort Benton. He had heard of the Nez Perce arrival and had ridden down to help protect the goods at the Cow Island landing. When he had arrived and seen that all was destroyed, he and his men had moved up the trail from the river toward the high plains in an attempt to protect the bull train and its supplies. It was then that the Indians had seen him and opened fire.

Ilges was a seasoned commander and immediately recognized that his numbers were inferior and that his position below the Indians was good only for defense. His men too were only volunteers and had been frightened even before encountering the Nez Perce. So he ordered his troops to retreat to the river and leave the Indians to whatever looting and destruction they saw fit to commit. The most he could do was pass information on to Miles, who was still eighty miles to the east, making his way toward the Cow Island crossing.

W
HILE ALL THIS
was taking place, Miles was camped on a small creek that fed into the Missouri River a short distance from a confluence where the Musselshell and the Missouri met in a
T
. He had marched his men hard through wild, open, high plains country that held little water, and they had suffered for it. Here at this campsite they had finally been able to rest in a protected setting with abundant water for cooking and drinking.

But Miles was now faced with a difficult decision. He could cross the Musselshell, which ran north and south, and continue directly to the west along the south side of the Missouri, hoping to intercept the Nez Perce before they crossed the Missouri farther up. Or he could try to cross the Missouri here and be prepared to intercept them on the north side of the river as they made their last dash toward Canada. He believed from his scouts and his calculations that the Nez Perce were still at least seventy-five miles south of the Missouri, but he could not be sure. He had sent scouts out every day, some of whom traveled two hundred miles before returning, and almost all of whom ranged at least twenty-five miles ahead, sweeping in all directions, searching for signs of the Nez Perce. But thus far they had encountered nothing.

His dilemma was this: If he crossed the Missouri, he might be far ahead of the Nez Perce but could easily miss them as they maneuvered their way through the complex, rumpled landscape of the Missouri Breaks on the north side of the river. But if he crossed the Musselshell and stayed to the south, they might get past him and cross the Missouri at some point unknown to him. He would be forced to slow his pursuit while his men undertook the difficult task of fording the roiling Missouri. An added complication was that his direct superior, General Terry, commander of the Department of the Dakota, still begrudged Howard the victory that the Christian general had won during their seniority battle and was not inclined to give significant support to Howard's ineffectual efforts to catch the Nez Perce.

Terry could not openly snub Howard's requests for support. After all, Howard's pursuit of the Nez Perce was being carried out under General Sherman's direct instructions. But he did not have to commit his entire command to Howard's impotent pursuit. In fact, he had strongly hinted to Miles that he should not devote all his troops to Howard's support but keep men available for Terry himself, who was 150 miles to the west and marching toward Canada from Fort Benton to parley with Sitting Bull. Miles did not wish to disregard his superior's “strong suggestion,” but neither did he wish to lose his chance at the Nez Perce. So he made a decision to split his troops. Some would cross the Missouri and march to the northwest toward Terry, staying close to the edge of the badlands that bordered the river to make sure that the Nez Perce had not moved across at some unknown ford and begun their last run toward Sitting Bull. The others would cross the Musselshell and continue to the west on the south side of the river, hoping to encounter the Nez Perce before they made it out of the open country and down into the badlands and the river bottom.

However, neither of these crossings was going to be easy. The Missouri at this point was no small river, even in autumn. It was a wide, dark, muddy expanse that roiled and churned with a powerful current. Just the day before, one of his experienced scouts had been swept away trying to ford it on his horse. But he knew of no good crossing place between here and Cow Island sixty miles farther on, so this had to be the place to move his men and equipment to the other side.

The Musselshell, though not as dangerous to cross, was bordered by a particularly onerous stretch of the dreaded breaks, which made travel so difficult that wagons often overturned simply trying to navigate the crevasses and canyon trails. However he did this, it was going to be a challenging and time-consuming task, and time was the one thing that Miles did not feel he had on his side.

But Miles did have good luck on his side. As he was making his plans, one of his scouts returned with news that a steamer was coming down the river from the direction of Cow Island. This was the boat that had dropped off the goods that the Nez Perce had looted and burned and, as it happened, was the last scheduled steamer of the season. It had started on its return trip down the river before the Nez Perce had arrived, so the captain had no information to pass on to Miles. But it did offer Miles the opportunity to cross the river by boat rather than by an arduous and treacherous fording.

Miles took advantage of this bit of good fortune to move his one group of men and supplies across to the north side of the Missouri, a task that otherwise would have slowed him greatly and possibly cost him the lives of some of his horses and soldiers. He then used the steamer to ferry artillery and a complement of men across to the west side of the Musselshell. When he no longer needed the steamer, he released it to its captain to continue on its journey.

While he was preparing his one group of men for their march along the south side of the Musselshell, a small rowboat was sighted coming down the river. In it were two wounded men floating down from Cow Island in hopes of reaching a fort where they could get medical treatment. The men told Miles about the looting at the landing and that the Nez Perce had already crossed the river and were on their way north toward Canada.

This information changed Miles's plans completely. There was now no need to continue on the south side of the Missouri. It was imperative that he get his remaining men across to the north side of the river as quickly as possible and begin moving northwest on an angle to intercept the fleeing bands.

Miles looked frantically for the steamboat, which was churning out of sight down the river. His men tried shouting and hailing, but the distance was too great to catch the boat captain's attention. Some of his men, however, had an idea. They turned a cannon in the direction of the disappearing steamer and began lofting shells in its direction. The booming reverberations echoing off the bluffs along the river soon caught the attention of the steamer's captain, who realized that something was wrong back at the camp. He turned the boat around and quickly churned back to Miles and his troops, who stood cheering and waving on the riverbank.

The rest of the men and supplies were then ferried across the Missouri to join their comrades, and they all marched off, in high spirits, toward an anticipated rendezvous with the Nez Perce and great military victory.

The Nez Perce, by now, had made their way out of the breaks into the great openness of the last northern buffalo range. Nothing stood between them and the border except the cold, blowing grasslands of the high, windswept plains. Off to the left and the right, in the far distance, they could see the outcroppings of two small, snow-covered mountain ranges. Directly between these lay the route to Sitting Bull and safety.

The people felt no real fear now, only anticipation and exhaustion. They had new supplies, the plains were filled with vast herds of antelope and buffalo, and the soldier resistance had dwindled to almost nothing. Since the Big Hole, army attacks had become less and less intense. A few warriors with rifles were all that had been needed to stop the men in the dry canyon, and the soldiers at the supply piles and at the oxen train had not even had the courage to advance once they were fired upon.

The Crow too had withdrawn to their own country, leaving the Nez Perce with no more warriors and horse thieves to fear. They sometimes saw a few Cheyenne or Walk-Around Sioux chasing after a herd of buffalo in the far distance. But these men were not enemies, just hunters seeking food for the rapidly approaching winter. Only the heavy gray skies and cold winds were now threatening them.

They had traveled only a few miles since the river crossing—just enough to get up out of the badlands and into the high open plains. But no one had minded. The people were gaining strength and the horses were beginning to heal. Only Poker Joe was bothered. He knew the white man's ways and did not yet feel secure. He also feared the coming winter. He urged the people onward, insisting that they continue to travel at his rigorous pace. But he had little support. The people now had supplies and food, and there was only open country in front of them. They had no heart for more difficult days.

Looking Glass and the other chiefs sensed this. They watched as Poker Joe goaded and demanded, shouting out orders in a voice that could be heard across the entire camp. They realized that the whole fabric of the group was fraying and that Poker Joe was slowly losing control of the people. Finally, Looking Glass spoke up. He had never made his peace with being replaced as trail leader after the massacre at the Big Hole. In their own country, back across the Bitterroots, he had been among the most respected war chiefs. To be replaced by a buffalo hunter who was only half Indian was an insult. He knew this country as well as Poker Joe, and he knew his people better. It was time to reclaim the lead.

In council, Looking Glass made his case. He berated Poker Joe for driving the people too hard. The elders were tired; the children were tired. General Howard was far behind, with weak horses and men who had no stomach for fight. The Old Woman Country was only a few easy days' journey ahead of them. Short days and long camps would build the people's strength, he said. The old people would have time to rest; the wounded would have more chance to heal; the horses could graze in the waist-high buffalo grass and gain strength for the winter. The hunters would be able to kill more buffalo, and the women would have more time to dry the meat and tan the hides to make blankets and buffalo robes.

The children too would have time to rest. Many had been crying almost constantly from cold and hunger, and many were sick. With the new cooking pots and food taken from the wagon trains and pile of goods by the river, the women could prepare better meals and the children could fill their empty bellies. They would also have time to sew new warm clothes and winter moccasins.

Poker Joe listened patiently but would not bend. Now was not the time to slow the pace, he said. Had Looking Glass not seen how soldiers arrived unexpectedly from unexpected directions? Did he think that white men would sit by quietly when they received word of the burned wagons and piles of goods?

But Looking Glass did not waver. Soldiers did not like to fight in the winter. Their horses were slow and unable to find forage in snow. No soldier leader would risk bringing his men into this open country with winter this strong in the air.

The other men listened carefully. Both men had spoken well. But Looking Glass knew the heart of the people. If there was no need to fear soldiers, then there should be no need for hurry. One by one the men made their positions known, some speaking, some giving the blanket sign of covering their shoulders when their feelings had been well expressed by another. In the end, when all had said their peace, leadership was given back to Looking Glass. Poker Joe was unhappy, but he accepted the will of the council.

“All right, Looking Glass,” he said. “You can lead. I am trying to save the people, doing my best to cross into the Old Woman Country before the soldiers find us. You can take control, but I think we will all be caught and killed.”

His words were enough to give some of the people pause. Looking Glass's prideful ways had gotten them into trouble at the Big Hole and had been responsible for their false hope of assistance from the Crow. It was not hard to be skeptical about his judgment. But he had spoken well, and his words had made sense. They were inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

With Looking Glass back in the lead, the people moved out into the broad, open plains. The scouts ranged far in all directions, watching for movement, keeping an eye on the behavior of the buffalo herds. People once again began traveling in smaller groups, with each leaving when it saw fit and all joining together at known camping places at night.

Slowly, the people began to feel that, finally, all danger was past. The scouts could ride to the tops of hills and buttes and see for miles in all directions, so any army—even a small group of soldiers—would be discovered. If they were, they easily could be attacked. This was horse country again, wide and large, where men on fast mounts could fight in the warrior way, while the slow-footed white men with their heavy wagons and heavy horses would be surrounded and cut down, as they had been in White Bird Canyon.

But there were no soldiers to be seen—only a few Walk-Around Sioux and Gros Ventre warriors, riding through distant buffalo herds hunting meat for the coming winter. A few Cheyenne too were observed riding along the hilltops. These the scouts confronted, asking them through signs if they were working for the soldiers. When the men said they were not, they were welcomed in camp and fed fry bread.

The feeling of relief was palpable. The people had food, the hunters were having success, and there was plenty of buffalo manure for cooking fires. Short days meant easy travel. When the weather got too cold and rainy or the children got too chilled, Looking Glass would call a stop and the women would make camp in a low place on the prairie or against the bank of a grassy draw, safe from the cutting edge of the hard, northern winds. The journey that under Poker Joe's guidance had felt like a desperate retreat had once again begun to feel like normal camp travel.

They began their days early with a warm breakfast. Then scouts rode off to establish a perimeter around the group while the women strapped the shelter skins and clothing into bundles on the packhorses and the young boys gathered the horses from pasture and prepared them for movement. Dogs moiled around the campsite looking for scraps of food. Young children were strapped tightly on the gentlest pack animals; the adults and older children climbed on their trail horses, and the camp slowly made its way forward, with the herd of horses and packs of dogs moving along beside.

Sometimes the hunters who had left early would return with news that they had killed a buffalo or a deer, and the women would ride off to skin and dress the animal and carry the meat back to camp. The hides would be given to the old women to cure and tan. Though there was no time to soak them in the manner of a home camp, once the group stopped for the day there would be time to scrape the flesh and smoke the skins enough that they could be used for shelter or cover. It was still not like home. But it was more like the life they had left behind than anything they had known since the time of running from the Big Hole. For this short moment, they felt again like a people on a journey, not a people engaged in a flight.