by Tatjana Soli
Her Monroe friend avoided Autie and Libbie both, so nervous she circled around the large group without alighting on any individual. The poor thing probably waited for an avowal of intentions from Autie that would not be forthcoming. As was his habit, he slept in the grass under a tree, surrounded by his dogs, oblivious to the turmoil he had unleashed. The whole long day Libbie watched the two carefully. They refused to acknowledge each other, until she could almost convince herself that the night before had been only a fevered dream.
The day was a perfect one, a cool breeze tempering the hot sun, the grass fresh and moist in the shade so that they lingered well past lunch. Several of the men shared a flask of whiskey back and forth. Some had had the foresight to bring fishing poles and were making use of them. A group of women sat together and sang songs. It was a bucolic setting marred only by the presence of her erstwhile friend.
When Tom went to approach the lady, Libbie called him back. She hissed at him to stay away. His amusement turned to dismay. Since he was a Custer, he guessed her reason. Showing his loyalty, he stayed by Libbie’s side and rendered the lady in question invisible. Tom would prove himself loyal time and again in future years. Not for the first time did Libbie wonder if she had married the right brother.
Perhaps the girl sensed how quickly sentiment could turn in such a tight-knit community. A few of the other bachelor officers gallantly offered to walk with her, one in particular an aristocratic young man from New York with a narrow face and fine blond hair. Giddy over escaping her exile, she used the pretext of gathering wildflowers to distance herself from the group.
When the sun began to cast shadows, they gathered their things to begin the long ride home. Libbie was searching for Eliza to give her instructions when she heard a curious popping sound. Not until she saw the reaction of the men did she realize it was the sound of gunfire. In the large space it sounded toylike and harmless. Without more warning they saw through the trees a Cheyenne hunting party. The Indians raced at them full speed on their ponies, and the women ran, clustering in a group around some boulders while two soldiers watched over them. The rest of the men ran for their weapons and horses. Tom led the repulse.
Libbie was so frightened she buried her head in her hands and refused to look. The sound of gunfire quickly diminished. Once the soldiers were mounted, the two parties were evenly matched, and the Indians retreated. Autie explained that Indians pursued only when they had the clear advantage.
The men were ordered to stay in place and not pursue as there were too many women to leave alone. That’s when Libbie heard the scream from her Monroe friend. She pointed as one of the remaining Indians, mounted on a particularly fine horse, came from behind the rocks. In their panic they had not noticed one of their number was missing—the aristocratic young officer from New York. They could see him lying in the grass with an arrow sticking out of his back. When the rider came up beside the fallen man, he leaned down as casually as picking a flower and with preternatural strength lifted the young man across his lap.
Libbie marveled at her thinking in that moment—she could only blame it on an imagination fed on too many serials—that the warrior would deliver the man to their care. This turned out to be far from his intention. What happened next took her years to reconcile. The officer wasn’t dead. Faint moans could be heard from him. The warrior rode back and forth in front of the party as he casually took out a knife and cut away the soldier’s scalp. Even that was not the end. He then used a tomahawk and proceeded to smash the poor man’s head.
Her Monroe friend got sick in the bushes. After three more passes, it was clear that the young man had mercifully passed, and then the Indian shifted him off his knee like a skinned animal and let the body fall to the ground. The hunting party left in a gale of war cries the memory of which made Libbie light-headed with terror.
They rode home in the silent dusk, stunned, subdued. Rifles ready, the soldiers rode on each side of the women, who were corralled in between, and even a rabbit would not have been safe crossing their path.
In her months spent on the plains so far she had yet to take their task on the frontier seriously. It had seemed a grand adventure, but there in front of her slung over a mule traveled the body for whom the posting had been a final one. Someone who that morning ate breakfast, planned on flirting with a pretty girl, and looked forward to a long life. It was a reminder of their tenuous position lest they forget. This early incident formed the fabric of Libbie’s life in the years that followed: constant, rational dread.
Early next morning at the fort, her Monroe friend was already packed and moved out. Although the plan had been for her to stay on through the summer months, she had a sudden change of intention no one cared to probe. At the sutler’s where she waited for the mail train, she bade a frosty goodbye although Libbie remained cordial as could be. Something had changed in the girl’s eye, something unhinged by the events she had witnessed. She disappeared from their life with the train. Autie made excuses of work as the reason he could not come see her off. At the very least Libbie hoped that he realized he had chosen rightly in a wife.
Upon suffering beyond suffering: the Red Nation shall rise again and it shall be a blessing for a sick world. A world filled with broken promises, selfishness, and separations. A world longing for light again. I see a time of Seven Generations when all the colors of mankind will gather under the Sacred Tree of Life and the whole Earth will become one circle again. In that day, there will be those among the Lakota who will carry knowledge and understanding of unity among all living things and the young white ones will come to those of my people and ask for this wisdom. I salute the light within your eyes where the whole Universe dwells. For when you are at that center within you and I am that place within me, we shall be one.
—CRAZY HORSE
THE SEVENTH REMOVE
Delay—Presentation of the child—Against the Crow
No opportunities for escape presented themselves after the birth of her daughter. Through the winter, she remained in a weakened state from her confinement and did not recover as quickly as she should have. A new mother was given no privilege of rest or increased food in the native culture. As a captive, Anne was treated exactly as she had been before, albeit now she had the added care of a baby.
After the child had survived to a month old, she was presented to Snake Man and his wives during a feast day. The chief chucked Solace under the chin but after that took little interest in the babe. He did insist that Anne again sleep inside the teepee, where he visited her nightly. Luckily, due to her poor health, she did not conceive the whole following year.
Neha had gone for the winter to visit her father’s tribe, and although Anne had begged to accompany her, such privileges were not given to a captive. The wives would not want to do without her labor. Anne was bereft without her company.
During the third year of her captivity the tribe covered twice the distance as the previous year in search of buffalo. The women lagged and complained that the pace was too arduous for the young and the old.
In the fourth year they traveled equally far but were not even rewarded with adequate hunting. They were reduced to scavenging nuts and berries, and the future held no promise of their lot improving.
* * *
ON ONE PARTICULARLY DIFFICULT JOURNEY, the grandmother of one of the chiefs, a woman so bowed and wrinkled as to appear beyond age, sat down roughly and dropped the sack she carried. The women around her stopped and urged her on, one even willing to shoulder her sack. The old woman would not yield.
Camp was made early, and a lodge erected specially for the old woman. The women cooked her dinner, and then sat with her all night telling stories of past exploits in which she had figured. Anne was touched by their solicitousness, thinking it reflected well on them. In the morning they stored the food from the night before, along with dried meat, pemmican, nuts, and gourds of water, in the lodge, along with a supply of firewood. They exited, packed up, and readied to resume
the trek.
Anne was stricken, realizing they meant to leave the old woman behind. The previous night’s kindness had been a leave-taking. The cruelty stung her, more so because it had been done to one of their own. Anne crawled into the tent with the woman.
“Come, I will help you walk.”
The woman would not meet Anne’s eyes.
“Go, daughter.”
“Then I will stay.”
“I am going to the beyond country. It is not your time.”
Anne stood outside, bawling, when a young warrior came up behind and gave her a hard kick. Her reactions shamed not only the family but the whole tribe. Her tears were judgment. This private necessity of survival was accepted by both the old woman and the family, by everyone except a stranger.
* * *
AS WAS THEIR CUSTOM, the chiefs met in council and decided to solve the problem of scarcity by going to war against the adjoining Crow tribe and taking over the hunting lands they possessed. The territory had been ceded in a battle against the Sioux so long ago that only the eldest of the tribe could recall its legend from their childhoods. The area was so vast it could not be ridden across from sunrise to sunset, and the game on it was enough to again make the tribe fat.
The village operated at a feverish pace for days in celebratory preparation: warriors cleaned and sharpened their weapons; women prepared food to carry in case of a prolonged battle; horses and warriors were painted for strong medicine and bravery. The tribe was a warrior society, and this activity gave it life. In spite of herself, Anne was drawn into the excitement. The yearning for greatness among the young men matched that of young men back home. The warriors wheeled fearlessly around on their horses.
As was always the danger, the delay for preparation allowed the enemy to learn of the coming attack and take the offensive.
* * *
SHE WOKE TO the high-pitched war cries of enemy Crow riding through their village and shooting guns. Warriors quickly sprang to action and overcame the invading force. A half-dozen enemy fighters were killed; the survivors fled to regroup with a party waiting in the hills. While the women packed to retreat, the warriors prepared to counterattack.
Anne watched one old grandfather hurriedly paint his face. With difficulty he dressed himself in skins and needed help to climb onto his horse’s back.
“He is too old,” she said to Neha.
Neha shrugged. “In the old days, when the men became weak they would go to war. It is not so necessary now, but some still choose battle. They do not want to burden their families.”
The grandfather did not return, and there was great mourning over his bravery after his passing.
The Cheyenne warriors followed the Crow back to the main enemy camp. Thinking themselves safe, the Crow had lodged along a river to repair from the rout they had suffered. When warriors appeared on the bluffs, crouching along the necks of their horses and draping themselves in buffalo robes, the disguise worked so well that a dozen Crow jumped on their horses for this easy target. The Crow were halfway to their enemy when they realized their mistake, and by then it was too late. The fight would go down in legend, proving the cunning of the Cheyenne.
Back in the village, warriors went about torturing the enemy Crow prisoners left behind. The attack had breached the rules of warfare: why had they not simply counted coup instead of killing? Instead they had intended carnage, fighting as the white man, with as little mercy. The Crow had learned bad ways.
Anne was horrified by the hilarity and carnival atmosphere with which they went about the punishment. While one prisoner was still alive, they made a puncture in his abdomen and pulled out his intestines, unspooling them to wrap him around a small sapling tree. As he fainted they set brush and logs around his feet then roasted him alive. Unfortunately for him, he revived in time to understand his fate. His cries most certainly haunted his friends in the hills.
When the victorious warriors rejoined the tribe, they were proud and yelled in triumph at their victory over the Crow, yet it was clear that their numbers were diminished. As each family learned of its loss, anguished cries rose up. Anne was astonished at the severity of their mourning given how they cherished warfare. Women cut off their hair in rough chunks. Both men and women made ritual gashes on their bodies to express their grief. Many painted their faces black, which combined with their bloodied bodies rendered the scene into a hellish vision.
Runs Swiftly, the brother of Snake Man, lost a grown son. He slashed his own arms and legs so severely he almost died from loss of blood. When warriors returned to him the bones of his son, he put up a special tent and set the bones inside it. Each day he had his wife bring a clay bowl filled with all the dishes prepared that day. He set the bowl outside the tent flap. Runs Swiftly spent each day sitting beside it, explaining to passersby that his son was sleeping inside, recovering from his wounds.
“When he wakes he must eat to gain his strength.”
As Anne passed by, he stopped her.
“Child, my son needs fresh water.”
Anne was confused, but the old man seemed so sorrowful she went along with his wishes. She brought a container of fresh water from the river and placed it by the food.
“Sit with me,” Runs Swiftly said.
So she sat, enjoying the small respite from her duties. She flinched when one of her chief’s wives spotted her, afraid she would be beaten, but they dared not anger him.
At the end of the night when Runs Swiftly fell asleep by the campfire, exhausted by his vigil, Anne devoured the food and drank down the water.
The next morning, the grieving father seemed comforted by this evidence that his dreams were true. He demanded his wife bring another filled bowl. The woman suspected what was going on but did not dare upset her deranged husband.
No one begrudged Anne the food because it was clearly cursed, and she would suffer for it. At least she would suffer fat, she reasoned.
One night Runs Swiftly awoke as she was finishing the food. He stared into the fire without comment. Anne was unsure how much he understood of what had happened to his son and did not dare apologize.
“My son is a very brave warrior.”
“I have heard.”
“It was enough in the old days to be brave. I do not think it is enough any longer.”
“No.”
“He knows you are hungry and shares his food.”
There was no reply that Anne could make to that.
She recalled the terrible days after the loss of her own family. Such self-torture as the Indians practiced might have been a relief, matching her turmoil inside. Or perhaps it would have been better to live in delusion as Runs Swiftly. Her only relief then had been to repeat her prayers, yet how bloodless and pallid a mourning that seemed by comparison.
Let them kill, skin, and sell until the buffalo is exterminated, as it is the only way to bring lasting peace and allow civilization to advance.
—GENERAL PHILIP SHERIDAN
KANSAS, JULY 1867
The cavalry were supposed to go out on campaign in the spring to protect the nascent railroads, but nature decided otherwise. In April the storm of the century descended so severely that the canvas of the tents hard-froze, water in buckets went solid, and Custer allowed his horse into his tent for fear of the poor beast expiring. Thankfully Libbie wasn’t there to hear of it. She would think him going soft in the head.
Ferries full of supplies were encased on iced rivers. Their first major crossing over the Republican turned disaster. Then, with a warm spell, bridges were destroyed by the ramrod, swift-moving ice. Trains and wagons throughout the region became water-bound over a month.
Sent out to avenge attacks, Custer met with failure after failure. He gave chase yet never caught up. When he spotted a band, he pursued and learned his disadvantage. The Indian ponies were faster and had greater stamina. They outdistanced the troops easily. Following a camp, the enemy quickly branched off into smaller and smaller groups, like a river divi
ding into tributaries, until the army ended up chasing a ghost. Not knowing which branch to follow, Custer pursued the largest until it petered to nothing. One time he lost the trail of more than a hundred warriors in such manner.
He had not experienced failure in the War of the Rebellion, and it did not sit well with him now. All he wanted was to go home and be with Libbie, his only remaining comfort. He had spent too much time away. He was losing the memory of her scent.
A reporter was assigned to accompany them and write articles about “the long-haired hero of Shenandoah” now on the plains, making the land safe for civilization. He readily sensed the reporter’s disappointment with his changed demeanor. The soldiers’ complaints of him had also colored the man’s opinion. The men criticized he was too hard. Wrote one:
He keeps himself aloof and spends his time in excogitating, annoying, vexatious, and useless orders which visit us like the swarm of evils from Pandora’s box, small, numberless, and disagreeable.
When he at last read the treacherous newspaper months later the article claimed he was not the same leader he had been during the War. He flew into a black rage, deciding to ban future reporters unless they were proven loyal.
He was determined to work his way out of this purgatory. The rub of it for officers who had served during the War was that their rank dropped when entering the regular army from the volunteers. There were simply too many generals and not enough troops after the government mustered them out. The key to success would be to understand the Indians. The nomadic life they followed greatly resembled that of a cavalryman, a life Custer loved beyond all others.
