Chief Joseph & the Flight of the Nez Perce (37 page)

He looked quietly at the ground. He had spoken his will.

Then it was White Bird's turn to speak. Joseph was a fool to trust these men, he said. It was offering the people up for death. He, White Bird, did not choose to die in this way. He had come back to aid his people after leading the first group out of range of the soldiers on the first day of the attack. Now he would take the rest who wished to make their escape and head toward Sitting Bull. If they were caught and killed, better to die like a wolf than a sheep. What Joseph said to Miles and Howard was all right. But he, White Bird, had nothing to say.

Old John and Captain George committed the words to memory and went back across the snowy hollows to the hill where Howard and Miles stood waiting. With tears in his eyes, Captain John recited the words he had heard. Ad Chapman then repeated them to Howard and Miles in English. Lieutenant Wood, Howard's adjutant, wrote them down in pencil on a sheet of paper as Chapman spoke. The long, hard war was coming to an end.

All that remained was to agree to the conditions by which the fighting would cease. Joseph, with good cause, had no faith in the promises of safe conduct by General Howard or Colonel Miles. He was not about to enter into the soldier camp to discuss terms. So a buffalo robe was laid on the ground on a rise halfway between the ravine where the people were dug in and the bluff where the soldiers stood. This spot, in open view of all and with a clear line of fire from each camp, would be the place of meeting.

When the robe was in place, men from each side stepped forth under the blue winter sky and made their way through the wet snow toward the rise. Miles and Howard were accompanied by Chapman to translate for them. Joseph, who did not trust Chapman, brought Tom Hill to serve as his interpreter. Though Hill's English was not good, he would speak truthfully and not twist words. Joseph also brought several warriors to serve as witnesses to any agreements that were made. White Bird remained behind.

The men met at the buffalo robe and sat in a circle. Joseph insisted on the safe return of his people to their own country, with no punishment for crimes committed in the past. Miles agreed, saying that he could guarantee their return to the reservation. Joseph also spoke of payment for the lands taken and was concerned for their horses and their weapons.

Howard held back, allowing Miles to conduct the surrender negotiations. But Joseph's constant restating of conditions irritated him, and he began to speak loudly in a threatening manner. Miles tried to maintain calm. “I think General Howard will soon forget all this,” he said to Joseph. “I will take you to a safe place for the winter; then you can go to your old home.”

Joseph was wary of Howard. But Miles seemed to be in charge and taking the lead on all issues, so he agreed to the words that had passed between himself and Miles.

“Miles is a head man,” he stated, “and we will go with him.”

Still, he wanted assurances that his people would be fed and treated well. Miles was quick to agree. “From this sun, we will have a good time on both sides, your band and mine,” he said. “We will have plenty of time for sleep, for good rest.”

Howard, sensing that an agreement was near, concurred. “The war is finished. From now on we will have time to rest.” Then, satisfied that Joseph was indeed going to turn himself over, he spoke warmly to him, like a man speaking to a brother from whom he had been too long estranged. “You have your life. I am living. I have lost my brothers. Many of you have lost brothers, maybe more than on our side. I do not know. Do not worry anymore. While you see this many soldiers living from the war, you think of them as your brothers. Do not worry about starving. We have plenty of food left. Anyone who needs a sack of flour, anything the people want, come and get it. All is yours for the asking.”

Despite Joseph's mistrust of Howard, these words spoke to his fondest hopes for the suffering people. Finally, the children would eat, and the shivering elders would have warmth and peace.

The participants stood up and stepped forward, sealing the agreement with handshakes all around. The Indians then lifted their hands toward the sun, indicating that from the place where it now stood, this agreement was a solemn bond.

With the conditions established, each side went back to its camp, stunned, exhausted, and almost disbelieving of what had just occurred.

The next few hours brought a strange combination of sadness and elation to both camps. The soldiers were proud that they had been present when the great struggle with Chief Joseph had come to an end, though they grieved for the loss of their comrades and the wounds so many had suffered. General Howard's officers still smarted from the way their leader had given away the victory to troops who had done no more than pick the fruits of their three months of hard labor. Still, the thought that there would be no more wet marches and cold nights and deaths from snipers' bullets made the surrender a moment of sweet celebration.

In the Indian camp, fear of the unknown mixed with the sadness of mourning and deep relief that the children and elders would now be fed. Some held out hope that this new soldier chief Miles would return them to their homeland and that they could return to their old way of life. Others doubted his word and feared that the hangman's noose awaited them all. But none could deny the feeling that a great burden had been lifted from their hearts.

Joseph and White Bird discussed how best to proceed. White Bird had already established that he would not give himself over to the two-faced white men and would seek refuge with Sitting Bull across the border. Those who chose to make peace with the white soldiers would follow the lead of Joseph, while those who wished to flee could leave with White Bird.

Joseph agreed that he and his people would turn themselves in slowly, leaving time for White Bird and those who wished to go with him to cache weapons and prepare for escape. If they could extend their coming forth well into the night, the absence of White Bird's people would not be noticed until the following morning. By that time those who chose to escape should have the lead necessary to make it across the border to Sitting Bull. Joesph also agreed to provide food and hiding places to the wounded who were not able to travel but did not wish to turn themselves over to the army.

For those who chose flight, it was going to be a perilous journey. They would have to travel on foot across frozen, wind-whipped country. Most had no warm clothes. Some were without shoes and could do no more than wrap strips of blanket around their feet. Almost all had sustained injuries in the course of the journey. Some were so badly wounded that they would need assistance while traveling. The soldiers would surely come after them, and hostile tribes roamed the hills between this campsite and the security of Sitting Bull. It was in many ways a doomed effort. But they had made it this far; they would not give up their dreams of freedom to the promises of men whose hearts were filled with lies.

As Joseph prepared to bring his rifle to Miles as a gesture of peace, families discussed what course of action each would take. Some of the elderly, too weak to flee and well aware of the burden they would present, counseled their families to leave without them. Other families decided to send their younger and healthier members with White Bird, while the rest would turn themselves over along with Joseph. All knew that whatever course they took, they were leaving their dead in this unmarked ground far from the land of their birth.

As the sun moved past its high point in the sky, Joseph mounted one of the few remaining horses. Flanked by five warriors on foot, he made his way across the bottomland and up the hill toward the Plateau where Colonel Miles and General Howard stood waiting beside a buffalo robe that had been spread out to mark the spot of the surrender. He rode slowly, with his eyes cast down and his rifle resting across his knees, speaking quietly with the warriors as they walked.

His hair hung in two heavy braids on either side of his head, and his scalp lock was tied back with otter fur, in the manner of the Dreamers. He wore buckskin leggings and a striped blanket riddled with bullet holes. Bullet holes also peppered his shirt and leggings. He wore no war paint. The men accompanying him kept their hands on him, as if offering him solace or power. Howard, the Christian soldier, could not blind himself to the symbolism of the action unfolding before him.

Joseph rode slowly up from the shadows of the gully onto the rise where the two men were waiting. Their aides, with the interpreter Chapman, stood at a respectful distance behind. Still farther back, a courier waited next to his horse, ready to carry a message to Fort Keogh announcing the official surrender.

As Joseph reached Miles and Howard, he dismounted and straightened himself. Meeting the gaze of the two men with a look that was strong and clear—almost defiant—he walked toward Howard. He exchanged a few words with the general, then proceeded directly to Miles. Standing before Miles, he pointed to the sky and said, “It is finished. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more against the white man.” Then he handed over his rifle. The two men regarded each other, then Miles accepted the gun and shook Joseph's hand. One by one, the other soldiers stepped forward. Joseph smiled sadly and shook each of their hands in turn.

When the formalities were finished, Howard turned to his adjutant, Lieutenant Wood, and said, “Mr. Wood, take charge of Chief Joseph as a prisoner of war. See that he is made comfortable and in no way is molested or troubled.” Wood led Joseph to a large tent that had been prepared for his arrival and ushered him inside.

At the sight of Joseph's turning over his weapon and shaking hands with the soldiers, other Nez Perce began to emerge from the gully. In groups of twos and threes they made their way out of their shelter pits and up the hillside. They were dirty and ragged and covered with wounds. Many were elderly; a few were blind and unable to walk without assistance. There were hollow-eyed, shoeless children and old men who needed to be supported as they tried to climb the hill. One woman carried an infant only several days old.

Howard and Miles stood mutely as this haggard group of people, who had eluded the best that the armies of the West had to offer, struggled across the snow-covered ground to the soldiers' camp. The soldiers who awaited them were shocked as well. This was not an army; these were starving men, women, and children.

As the sky darkened and the cold winds of evening picked up, the flow of refugees slowed to a trickle. Those who had been waiting for a chance to surrender had come forth quickly. Others needed time to decide or to say their good-byes to the relatives who were planning to escape under cover of darkness. Still others were assisting the wounded who did not want to surrender but were too weak to travel. They gave them food and weapons and helped them hide in the remaining shelter caves, covering them with earth and leaving only small air holes through which to breathe. Those who were planning to flee with White Bird gathered all the weapons and ammunition they could find and wrapped their feet in strips of blankets against the snow and cold.

With tearful good-byes, White Bird's people began moving quietly up the gullies and draws toward the north. Their friends and relatives watched them go, then turned and began their slow climb up the southern hills toward the distant campfires of the soldiers.

On the hill above, Joseph sat quietly in his tent, listening to the low talk of soldiers. His brother was dead, his twelve-year-old daughter was wandering somewhere on the wintry plains, and the bodies of old women and children he had sworn to protect lay buried in shallow graves on foreign land. Their horses were gone, their lodge poles and hunting guns were gone. His people were divided, and none knew who remained alive and who was dead. He had delivered his wounded to a man who had lied to him and an army in whose hands no wounded Indian had ever been known to survive.

The words of Looking Glass would not leave him: “If you surrender you will be sorry, and in your sorrow you will feel rather to be dead.”

T
HE DAYS IMMEDIATELY
after the October 5 cessation of hostilities were filled with both relief and confusion. Those among the soldiers who had not developed a fundamental hatred for all things Indian found themselves strangely fascinated by their captives. Most had expected something close to animals—subhuman beings with skin as tough as horses' hooves and an amazing threshold for pain, who lived more like wild beasts than humans. They had been fully prepared to receive the surrender of a pack of creatures only marginally less unruly and dangerous than wolves.

Instead, what had emerged from the draws and the gullies was a steady stream of women and children helping the wounded and elderly and treating each other with a touching tenderness. They were not animals, they were simply 418 cold, dirty, wet, frightened people, just like themselves. It was hard for the soldiers not to see echoes of their own grandmothers and grandfathers in the white-haired elderly who made their way up the hillside on unsteady legs, supported by their children and grandchildren; hard not to feel a twinge of sadness and guilt as the women dragged up their pitiful tattered sacks of clothing and cooking utensils and the children stared with fear and fascination at their captors and their weapons.

But it was the stories told by their wounded comrades that most softened the soldiers' hearts toward this ragged group of captives. To a man, the wounded who had fallen in the battlefield had lain in terror as night descended and shadowy figures moved among them in search of weapons. Well steeped in the horrors of the Custer massacre, they had expected to be flayed alive or have their testicles staked to the ground if the Indians found them. The best they could hope for was to be killed before the abominations began. Those still in possession of their weapons had even prepared to take their own lives rather than submit to the tortures they knew were sure to come.

Yet their treatment had been anything but brutal. As they had been discovered, the Nez Perce had comforted them and provided them with water, placing blankets under their heads. One young soldier had been comforted by a woman who said, “Poor boy, you're too young to die.” Another had been told, “Don't worry, we're not after your hair, only your weapons.” Not only had they not been mutilated like the soldiers who had fallen into Sioux hands, they had been treated with kindness and civility, more like unfortunate comrades than like enemies.

Most amazing of all was Lieutenant Jerome's story of his time in the Nez Perce camp. While held prisoner, he had been given food when the Indians themselves were doing without and had been permitted to walk about the camp carrying his own pistol. The warriors who spoke a little English had even bantered with him, saying that if the weather didn't improve, they'd have to go back to fighting just to keep warm. At night he had been offered a warm buffalo blanket and would have slept soundly and comfortably had his own army not kept him awake by firing down upon the Indian camp in direct violation of the truce.

In many ways, these Indians had behaved with more honor than the soldiers. One of the enlisted men noted that the only scalping that had taken place during the battle was by one of their own men who had decided to get himself an Indian trophy. This, while the Nez Perce were providing food and blankets to prisoners and offering water and comfort to the wounded soldiers in the battlefield.

Most impressive of all was their leader, Joseph, who since handing over his rifle had spent his time walking among his people, speaking gently, calming their fears, and trying to buoy their spirits. He showed no rancor toward his captors and carried himself with a quiet dignity. The soldiers had heard about his deep grief at the loss of his daughter, who had taken flight at the time of the first attack and was now wandering somewhere in these icy hills with only a thin blanket for protection. Yet here he was, quelling his own grief in order to comfort his people and meeting his captors with dignity and respect. It was hard to equate this calm, soft-spoken, powerful figure with the wily savage general they had been led to expect.

Since the surrender, Joseph and Colonel Miles had seemed to develop a kind of camaraderie. They were about the same age; they had been through a common hell, and each man carried the burden of the dead upon his shoulders. They could be seen walking together on the wintry hillsides, talking not like victor and vanquished but like two generals charged with the common task of caring for the weary and the wounded. Ad Chapman stayed near their side to serve as translator; Tom Hill had chosen to cast his lot with White Bird and had disappeared into the snowy darkness during the previous night.

Slowly, the two groups began to take on the attitudes of their commanders, developing a grudging understanding, even a wary respect. The Indians fascinated the soldiers with their self-reliance and good humor; the soldiers impressed the Indians with their willingness to provide warm food and medical treatment for people with whom they had engaged in such deadly battle. The children especially took a liking to their captors. They gathered around the soldiers, touching their beards and uniforms. The soldiers, for their part, built their captives warm fires and prepared food for them. For everyone, it was a great relief to sit before warm, roaring fires, listening to the laughter of children rather than to the cries of the dying and the sharp cracks of rifle fire in the night.

All during the day following the surrender, the two groups engaged in the grisly task of picking their way among the bloated, putrefying corpses of the horses to retrieve their dead from the battlefield. It was a strange experience to be so close to an enemy who had caused these deaths yet to feel the kinship of grief.

The soldiers dragged the rotting bodies of their comrades to the top of the ridges, where they buried them in a mass grave, while the Indians placed their dead in the shelter pits and hollows in the creek banks and covered them with layers of soft, loamy earth. The smell of death hovered over the entire battlefield, and the wails of the Indian women wove a haunting descant into the high plains wind.

For the soldiers, this was their first chance get an up-close look at the actual battlefield. They wandered among the coulees and gullies, marveling at the extent of the fortifications the Indians had constructed. There were over a hundred shelter pits, many five feet deep and twice as wide. It was hard to imagine that these people had dug such holes with only knives and frying pans while being fired upon from the surrounding hills. One man noted that trained army engineers could not have designed more sophisticated fortifications.

The soldiers also unearthed caches of weapons and food and clothing. Rumors spread about a great fortune in gold dust that some of the Indians had buried, but none was found, though many of the caches contained saddles and robes and foodstuffs like flour and beans.

In one of the shelter pits, soldiers discovered a small breathing hole in the earth extending away from the pit itself. Upon digging into it, they found a warrior with a broken hip who had been supplied with a gun and food enough to survive until his escaped comrades could come back for him after the army left. The soldiers extracted him and brought him up the hill to join the other captives.

Much to the troops' disappointment, few weapons of any consequence were discovered. The long-distance accuracy of the Nez Perce marksmen had convinced them that the Indians possessed high-quality rifles with scopes, and many of the men had hoped to procure one for themselves. But these, it was determined, must have been taken by White Bird and his people, who had escaped on the night of the surrender.

This escape was the one great source of tension between the Nez Perce and the soldiers. Howard, particularly, was incensed by the disappearance of White Bird and his band. He had turned the specifics of the surrender over to Miles, and Miles, not wanting to lose any of his men to ambush, had allowed the Nez Perce to trickle in all through the afternoon and into the night. He had assumed that allowing the Indians to come forth at their own pace would make them less burdensome and more compliant as captives. But neither he nor Howard had expected White Bird and many of the best remaining warriors to use this as an opportunity for flight. Every Indian who escaped was an Indian who could join up with Sitting Bull. Howard saw it as a violation of the terms of the surrender, and he told Joseph so.

Joseph remained unmoved, even defiant. There had been no surrender, he said, only a laying down of arms. And it was only he and those who had come with him who had chosen to do so. White Bird, like all others, had been free to make his own choice. There could be no violation where there had been no agreement. No Indian was ever bound by the promises of another, and he could no more speak for White Bird than Lawyer had been able to speak for Joseph's father when he had claimed to sell the Wallowa to the whites in the thief treaty of 1863.

A modest effort was made to seek out the escapees. Search parties were sent out into the hillsides, and a few injured Nez Perce were found and returned. Couriers rode off to the surrounding tribes to tell them that the government would look favorably upon any efforts they made to impede the flight of the escaping Nez Perce.

Considering the small number of able-bodied warriors that had come forth with Joseph, there was ample reason to think that many of the best fighting men had chosen to leave and head for Canada with White Bird. They had left with a good knowledge of the strength of the armies and the nature of their weaponry. The escape of these men, and their capacity to join up with Sitting Bull, meant that the potential for continued trouble could not be ignored.

This constant threat of the Sioux sat like a shadow over efforts to secure the battlefield. The dead needed to be buried and the wounded readied for transport, but all due haste had to be exercised so as to get out of range of a possible Sioux attack. Once across the Missouri River, a week's journey away, they would be safe. But until that time, the possibility of an engagement with Sitting Bull's warriors loomed large.

All through the day following the handing over of the rifle, Joseph and Miles continued to talk. General Howard remained with the party, but his concern lay elsewhere. His charge from his superiors had been to pursue the Nez Perce as far as necessary to effect their capture, and he had done so. He and Miles had determined that the captives would winter with Miles near Fort Keogh, then be returned to the Lapwai in the spring. Now he had to finish the administrative tasks of dealing with the troops he had left behind and reporting to his superiors. He would travel to Chicago to brief Sheridan about the long pursuit and the capture and to explain the proposed disposition of the hostiles. Then he would return to Portland and his command of the Department of the Columbia.

The pursuit of the Nez Perce had been his responsibility. Their transport and maintenance belonged to others. He left these tasks to Miles and turned his attention to hurrying back to the Missouri in order to catch a ferry east before the river froze.

But for Joseph and Miles, the task was more human and personal. It was up to them to bring this cruel and brutal war to a humane and workable conclusion. While their people were out on the battlefield burying the dead and bringing in the wounded, they tried to shape a plan by which all could arrive safely at a location where they could spend the winter before the Nez Perce returned to their homeland in the spring in accord with the agreed-upon plan.

Miles explained that he would escort them to Fort Keogh, several weeks' journey away on the banks of the Yellowstone. There the army would be able to provide for the Nez Perce's needs until the snows of the winter melted enough to allow them to be escorted back west through the mountain passes.

Joseph was satisfied with this arrangement. His people knew how to live in winter in buffalo country. If Miles returned their guns and horses, they would be able to care for themselves until it was time to embark upon the journey home. Miles listened patiently but steadfastly refused to give the Nez Perce their rifles. The handing over of arms had been a condition of the surrender, and it was not negotiable. The army would provide sufficient rations to ensure their survival until spring.

Joseph was upset, yet he had no choice but to comply. The soldiers were treating them well, and his first task had to be to care for his people, who, despite their brave demeanor, were broken and heartsick. Many had said good-bye to children and families as the stronger and healthier had chosen to leave with White Bird, and all had buried fathers and mothers and husbands and children on the battlefields and along the trail. Though to the soldiers they appeared to be relieved and in good spirits, it was only because that was the Nez Perce way. In truth, their hearts were heavy with grief.

Joseph could not expect Miles to see this, or even to care. Miles was a soldier, and as long as he was honorable in dealing with the people, Joseph would do his best to convince the people to go along with his wishes. Still, it rankled him that Miles had spoken of this as a surrender. To him and his people, it was just an agreement that would allow them to regain their strength and health before returning home in the spring.

Early in the afternoon on the second day after the handing over of the weapons, under a mountain-blue sky filled with high, running clouds, the soldiers and their captives left the battlefield on the plain of the Bear's Paw and set off toward the southeast. To the scouts and the outriders looking down on the scene from the surrounding hills and ridges, it appeared like a grand and colorful spectacle—the Nez Perce in their multicolored blankets and the soldiers in their blue coats, followed by wagons and pack trains and the great herd of the captured Nez Perce horses, all moving in solemn procession across the high, rolling, snow-covered grasslands. Now and then a cloud would pass in front of the sun, causing shadows to race like giant birds across the landscape before disappearing over the pine-steepled, snow-covered mountains rising in the distance. More than one soldier commented on the beauty of the scene and how this would be a good place to make a home when the Indian wars were finally ended.