by Eugeine Ware
unlikely to ever end, except with the extermination of one party or the other. But Shan-tag-a-lisk kept out of it as much as he could. His camp had been moved backwards and forwards all over the Big Horn, Rose Bud, and Tongue River country, and was again on the Powder River not far from where the three hundred horses of the Seventh Iowa cavalry perished in a September snow-storm. Ah-ho-appa's heart was broken. She could not stand up against her surroundings. In vain her father had urged her to accept the conditions as they were, to be happy and contented and not worry about things out of her reach. But she could not. The object of her life was beyond her reach. She had an ambition, – a vague one; but her hopes were gone. Shortly before her death a runner from Laramie announced to the Indians on Powder River that commissioners would come with the grass, who would bring the words of the Great Father to his Indian children. Shan-tag-a-lisk was urged to send runners to all the bands south and west of the Missouri River, and to meet at Laramie as soon as their ponies could live on the grass. Ah-ho-appa heard the news, but it came too late. It did not revive her. She told her father that she wanted to go, but she would be dead; that it was her wish to be buried in the cemetery at Fort Laramie, where the soldiers were buried, up on the hill, near the grave of "Old Smoke," a distant relative and a great chief among the Sioux in former years. This her relatives promised her.
When her death took place, after great lamentations among the band, the skin of a deer freshly killed was held over the fire and thoroughly permeated and creosoted with smoke. Ah-ho-appa was wrapped in it and it was tightly bound
around her with thongs so that she was temporarily embalmed. Shan-tag-a-lisk sent a runner to announce that he was coming, in advance of the commissioners, to bury his daughter at Laramie. It was a distance of two hundred and sixty miles.
The landscape was bleak and frozenly arid, the streams were covered with ice, and the hills speckled with snow. The trail was rough and mountainous. The two white ponies of Ah-ho-appa were tied together, side by side, and the body placed upon them. Shan-tag-a-lisk, with a party of his principal warriors and a number of the women, started off on the sad journey. When they camped at night the cottonwood and willow trees were cut down and the ponies browsed on the tops of the trees and gnawed the wood and bark. For nearly a week of the trip there was a continual sleet. The journey lasted for fifteen days, and was monotonous with lamentation.
When within fifteen miles of Fort Laramie at camp, a runner announced to Col. Maynadier the approach of the procession. Col. Maynadier was a natural prince, a good soldier, and a judge of Indian character. He was Colonel of the First U. S. Volunteers. The post commander was Major Geo. M. O'Brien, a graduate of Dublin University, afterwards brevetted to the rank of General. His honored grave is now in the beautiful cemetery at Omaha.
A consultation was held among the officers, and an ambulance dispatched, guarded by a company of cavalry in full uniform, followed by two twelve-pound mountain howitzers, with postilions in red chevrons. The body was placed in the ambulance, and behind it were led the girl's two white ponies.
When the cavalcade had reached the river, a couple of miles from the post, the garrison turned out, and with Col. Maynadier at the head, met and escorted them into the post, and the party were assigned quarters. The next day a scaffold was erected near the grave of "Old Smoke." It was made of tent-poles twelve feet long imbedded in the ground, and fastened with thongs, over which a buffalo-robe was laid, and on which the coffin was to be placed. To the poles of
the scaffold were nailed the heads and tails of the two white ponies, so that Ah-ho-appa could ride through the fair hunting-grounds of the skies. A coffin was made and lavishly decorated. The body was not unbound from its deerskin
shroud, but was wrapped in a bright red blanket and placed in the coffin mounted on the wheels of an artillery caisson. After the coffin came a twelve-pound howitzer, and the whole was followed to the cemetery by the entire garrison in full uniform. The tempestuous and chilling weather moderated somewhat. The Rev. Mr. Wright, who was the post Chaplain, suggested an elaborate burial service. Shan-tag-a-lisk was consulted. He wanted his daughter buried Indian fashion, so that she would go not where the white people went, but where the red people went. Every request of Shan-tag-a-lisk was met by Colonel Maynadier with a hearty and satisfactory "Yes." Shan-tag-a-lisk was silent for a long while, then he gave to the Chaplain, Mr. Wright, the "parfleche" which contained the little book that General Harney had given to her mother many years before. It was a small Episcopal prayer-book, such as was used in the regular army. The mother could not read it, but considered it a talisman. Mr. Wright then deposited it in the coffin. Then Colonel Maynadier stepped forward and deposited a pair of white kid gauntlet cavalry gloves to keep her hands warm while she was making the journey. The soldiers formed a large hollow square, within which the Indians formed a large ring around the coffin. Within the Indian ring, and on the four sides of the coffin, stood Colonel Maynadier, Major O'Brien, Shan-tag-a-lisk, and the Chaplain. The Chaplain was at the foot, and read the burial service, while, on either side, Colonel Maynadier and Major O'Brien made responses. Shan-tag-a-lisk stood at the head, looking into the coffin, the personification of blank grief. When the reading service closed Major O'Brien placed in the coffin a new crisp one-dollar bill, so that Ah-ho-appa might buy what she wanted on the journey. Then each of the Indian women came up, one at a time, and talked to Ah-ho-appa: some of them whispered to her long and earnestly as if they were by her sending some hopeful message to a lost child. Each one put some little remembrance in the coffin; one put a little looking-glass, another a string of colored beads, another a pine cone with some sort of an embroidery of sinew in it. Then the lid was fastened on and the women took the coffin and raised it and placed it on the scaffold. The Indian men stood mutely and stolidly around looking on, and none of them moved a muscle or tendered any help. A fresh buffalo-skin was laid over the coffin and bound down to the sides of the scaffold with thongs. The scaffold was within the military square, as was also the twelve-pound howitzer. The sky was leaden and stormy, and it began to sleet and grow dark. At the word of command the soldiers faced outward and discharged three volleys in rapid succession. They and their visitors then marched back to their post. The howitzer squad remained and built a large fire of pine wood, and fired the gun every half-hour all night, through the sleet, until daybreak.
In the morning a conference was had at post headquarters, which was decorated with flags; speeches were made, and the evils and misfortunes of the last five years were gone over. Col. Maynadier told of the expected coming of the commissioners, and made a speech. He said: "There is room enough for all of us in this broad country." Pointing to the silk flag of the Eleventh Ohio Cavalry, hanging from the wall, Col. Maynadier said: "My Indian brother, look at those stripes. Some of them are red, and some of them are white. They remain peacefully side by side – the red and the white – for there is room for each."
After this there was a brief interval of peace. A full account of this funeral may be found in the St. Louis newspapers of March, 1866.
With the grass came the commissioners. Then came the Union Pacific Railroad. Then came Indian resistance. Then war again. Then the decadence of the Sioux nation.
The daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk was an individual of a type found in all lands, at all times, and among all peoples: she was misplaced.
Her story is the story of the persistent melancholy of the human race; of kings born in hovels, and dying there; of geniuses born where genius is a crime; of heroes born before their age, and dying unsung; of beauty born where its gift was fatal; of mercy born among wolves, and fighting for life; of statesmen born to find society not yet ripe for their labors to begin, and bidding the world adieu from the scaffold.
We all of us know what it is to feel that at times we are out of tune with the world, but ever and anon we strike a node and come back into temporary harmony; but there are those who are never in tune. They are not alone the
weak; they are the strong and the weak; they are the ambitious and as well also the loving, the tender, the true, and the merciful.
The daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk wanted to find somebody to love worth loving. Her soul bled to death. Like an epidendrum, she was feeding upon the air.
When wealth and civilization shall have brought to the Rocky Mountains the culture and population which in time shall come, the daughter of Shan-tag-a-lisk should not be forgotten; it may be said of her, in the words of Buddha:
"Amid the brambles and rubbish thrown over into the road, a lily may grow."
Appendix B.
LIEUT. FITCH'S REPORT ON THE SMOKY HILL ROUTE.
FORT LEAVENWORTH, Sept. 25th, 1865.
MAJOR:
Sir – I have the honor to report that in compliance with Special Order No. 143, Hd. Qrs., Dept. of Missouri, dated Fort Leavenworth, June 9th, 1865, I left Fort Leavenworth on the 13th of June to accompany the Butterfield Surveying Expedition on the route to Denver City, via Smoky Hill River.
No assistance having been furnished me, and my instructions authorizing me to employ such as I might need, I employed Chas. H. Fitch as First assistant, and Daniel Clark as scout and Second assistant; and with my party fully equipped I took the old Fort Riley road, which I followed as far as Fort Riley.
At this point we were joined by Major Pritchard of the Second Colorado Cavalry, who was in command of the escort, which at this time consisted of two companies of the Third Wisconsin Cavalry, under Capt. Pond. From that point I proceeded on the Fort Larned road as far as Fort Ellsworth, on the Smoky Hill River, at which point I diverged from the old road and bore west up the river on the north side. Having been instructed to report all streams that should be bridged, and their depth and width, together with the estimated cost of such bridges, I commenced my observations on the old road, as I found that the only difficult part of the route, at a point fifty miles west of Fort Leavenworth, on the west side of Soldier River. The road enters upon the Pottawatomie Reserve, and through the entire reserve for a distance of thirty miles will be found innumerable small streams, most of which should be bridged. It being Indian land, private enterprise is not available, and the United States is now paying toll over no less than four bridges in a distance of thirty miles. All of these streams could be bridged for a sum not exceeding that now paid for toll in the course of a year. At present there is no bridge across Cross Creek, it having washed away while I was camped on its banks.
Between the Reserve and Fort Riley, a distance of thirty-five miles, the streams are good and need no bridges. Directly, at Riley, on its west side running through the Reserve and by its junction with the Smoky Hill forming the Kansas River, is the Republican, the largest tributary of the Kansas with the exception of the Smoky Hill. At the crossing of this river on the Military Reserve is a ferry belonging to private parties, and the Government is paying toll daily for crossing its own teams on its own reserve. This stream should be spanned by a good, substantial structure, though its cost will be considerable owing to the size and nature of the stream. I did not make an estimate of the cost of bridging, as I supposed it had already been done by engineers stationed at Fort Riley.
Leaving Fort Riley, on the Fort Larned road passing through Junction City, at a distance of thirty-five miles, we crossed the Solomon's Ford of the Smoky Hill at Whittly's Ferry. The Solomon is a fine rapid stream, with high banks, and has a water-course eighty feet in width; will require a span of two hundred feet, which can be put up there at a cost of $6,000. Should there be stone piers erected, it would cost considerable more, as the country is level and affords but little building-rock. The bridge could be built to advantage at this particular point, as there is a high island right in the middle of the stream that would afford a good foundation for a pier or bent to the bridge.
The country on this stream is the finest stretch of land in Kansas, having no bluffs, and a soil ranging from five to twenty feet in thickness, while all the streams in the neighborhood are very heavily timbered. The stream bears southeast into Smoky Hill, one mile below where we crossed it. After crossing we bear a little south of west, across a high level bottom between the Smoky Hill, the Solomon and the Saline, and at a distance of eight miles we cross the Saline at Woodward's Ferry; the upper ferry being impracticable on account of the road leading to it. The Saline is a fork of the Smoky Hill, similar to the Solomon, with the exception that the water is impregnated with salt, and it will require about the same bridge. Country is level and the timber fine. Two miles and a half west, we again touched the Smoky Hill, at Salina, the county seat of Dickson, on the eastern terminus of the great bend of the Smoky Hill, bearing south of west from Saline.
At a distance of thirty-two miles we reached Fort Ellsworth, on the western terminus of the great bend of Smoky Hill. Here we were joined by two companies of the Thirteenth Missouri Cavalry, under command of Capts. McMichael and Snell.
After resting a day and killing a few buffalo, which we now found in considerable numbers, and diverging from the old road, we bore a little north of west upon the north side of the Smoky Hill River, near our old trail of 1860, which had at this time become entirely obliterated. Our road from this point lay over a broad stretch of level bench-land, covered with a luxuriant growth of buffalo-grass, intersected every three or five miles with fine streams of water. Our party at this time consisted of Col. Eaton and his party of constructionists, twenty-six in number; eleven of our mule-wagons loaded with tools, reapers, and everything necessary for putting the road in fine condition; Major Pritchard; two hundred and fifty cavalry as escort, and the Engineer Corps. On the 14th day of July, with everything looking fair and all in good spirits, we started on our work. I was accompanied by my wife and Capt. West by his.
Five miles west of Fort Ellsworth we were fairly in the buffalo range; for miles in every direction as far as the eye could see, the hills were black with those shaggy monsters of the prairie, grazing quietly upon the finest pasture in the world. Should I estimate the number of buffalo to be seen at one view at a million, it would be thought an exaggeration, but better authority than myself has estimated them at millions, or as being greater in number than all the domestic cattle in America.
Truly it has been well said, that the Smoky Hill is the garden-spot and hunting-ground of America.
Following along on the high level bench before spoken of, erecting mounds at every station, our route lay through a fine, rich and fertile country bountifully supplied with wood, water and grass, everything necessary to make a good wagon-road or railroad, finding fine springs as we traveled along. At thirty-four miles west of Fort Ellsworth, we found a coal-bed on what we named as Coal Creek.
Parties that accompanied us on our expedition and who were capable of judging, pronounced it as being a fine vein, and capable of yielding in sufficient quantities to pay for working it.
Twelve miles farther west we came to Big Creek, a large stream having a fine valley and heavy timber. Here we made a good rock ford, erected a large mound and stake for a home and cattle station. We camped here over Sunday and Monday, to rest and hunt.
On the morning of the 18th we left camp, bearing little south of west over the same character of country, close to the Smoky Hill, which at this time, owing to the rains, would have floated a large steamboat. At a distance of twenty-eight miles we came to a large spring, one of the largest and finest in the west. Fifteen miles farther, we bore away from the river and kept on high level land about three miles north of the river, which at this point makes a southerly bend.
On the south of the river, opposite this point, we discovered high bluffs covered with cedar. Twelve and a half miles farther west, we camped at the head springs of a stream emptying south three miles in the Smoky Hill. The water and grass at this point are unusually fine; we called the place Downer Station. Nine miles west we came to a basin of springs covering an area of one mile square, one of the finest spots on the route. We called it Rushton. Nine and one-quarter mile
s farther west, we crossed Rock Castle Creek, and camped two days to rest. The scenery here is really grand; one mile south is a lofty Calcasieu limestone bluff having the appearance of an old English castle, with pillars, and castellated towers, in every direction. We named it Castle Rock.
Leaving Rock Castle Creek we once more bore a little south of west into the divide between the Smoky Hill and the creek; keeping along the bench of Smoky, crossing streams at convenient distances for stations.
At a distance of about fifty miles we found the largest spring on the route, situated on Ogallallah Creek, in a valley one-half mile south of Smoky Hill. Eight miles farther on, we crossed the north fork and kept up the south fork. The great difficulty on what was known as the old P.P. road lay in the fact that emigration kept up the north fork and then bore across a divide eighty-five miles without water to the Sandy, lengthening their route. We followed the south fork, finding wood, water and grass all the way. Twenty-eight miles from the forks we came to a bottom extending to within two and a half miles of Big Cottonwood Grove, covered with grass six feet high, and containing some splendid springs. This we called the Meadows, and left a reaper in the grass.
Two and a half miles west of the Meadows, we camped at Big Cottonwood Grove. This is a grove of large cottonwood trees, and used to be a celebrated camping-ground for Indians. Sixteen and a half miles west, we reached the Cheyenne Well, at the head of Smoky Hill. This well was built by our party in 1860, and is one of the finest of wells, yielding sufficient water to supply a heavy emigration. At this point we left the Smoky Hill, bearing south 57 degrees west, across the divide between Smoky Hill and the Sand branch of the Arkansas. At eleven miles erected a mound for a well to be dug, and at twenty-one miles came to Eureka Creek, at the junction with Sandy. Here we found a large living stream of water and good grass; we bore from this point north of west up the Sandy seventy miles, to its most northern bend, finding an abundance of water, grass, and some timber, though the latter is scarce. Fourteen miles east of this point we had our first view of the mountains, which we had been prevented from seeing on account of clouds. This morning the snow-capped mountains burst upon our view, looming far above the clouds. The long-expected view cheered our men and we pushed on with renewed vigor, now that our work seemed almost done and our goal appeared within our reach.
