Cries from the Earth: The Outbreak Of the Nez Perce War and the Battle of White Bird Canyon June 17, 1877 (The Plainsmen Series)

by Terry C. Johnston

  All the leaders felt as if they had been shamed by the soldier chief, given no chance to salve their wounded pride. When Cut-Off Arm not only talked about using force in the council but actually used force in dragging old Toohoolhoolzote to the iron-barred house, it was the same as if the soldier chief was showing them the rifle. In peace councils, a man simply did not speak of force, much less use it!

  Nonetheless, Joseph bravely asked the soldier chief for more time to reach the reservation than Cut-Off Arm had given the Wallowa band initially. Joseph attempted to explain how his people had to cross both the Salmon and the Snake on their way to Lapwai and at this time of year the snowmelt had swollen those rivers so the mighty waters roared and raged between their steep banks.

  Couldn’t the Wallowa put off coming in to the reservation until the rivers had quieted?

  “No,” repeated Cut-Off Arm in a stern reproach that only served as one more serious wound to the Nee-Me-Poo pride.

  “I think the soldier chief and agent believe that the more time they give us,” Joseph explained later to his headmen and warriors, “the less likely we are to comply with their demands. Before we left the agency, Cut-Off Arm told us that any delay on our part might risk a dangerous confrontation with the soldiers already in the Wallowa.”

  And to further impress his audience of Non-Treaty leaders before they left Fort Lapwai to gather their peoples, the soldier chief had read aloud a petition he recently received from a large number of settlers along the Salmon River: Shadows who accused the Nez Perce of stealing horses, rustling cattle, and destroying the property of industrious white people. That petition, which demanded the immediate removal of the Indians from the river valley, had been signed by fifty-seven settlers who threatened to take matters into their own hands if the army didn’t resolve the tensions.

  “So it’s dangerous for you to stay in the Wallowa any longer, Joseph,” Cut-Off Arm had declared. “Surely you don’t think you should stay where you’re not wanted, do you?”

  Even when the chiefs had gone with Cut-Off Arm to select the sites for their new homes, the soldier chief led Joseph and the others to some land that was already occupied by some Treaty Indians and a few white settlers.

  Nonetheless, Cut-Off Arm pointed about him and announced, “If you will come on the reservation, I will give you these lands and move these people off.”

  Even though his own home was being taken from him, Joseph had shaken his head, explaining, “No, that is not right to do. It is wrong to disturb these people. I have no right to take their home. I have never taken what did not belong to me. And I will not start now.”

  Later that day, Looking Glass rode on one side of Cut-Off Arm and White Bird rode on the other as they traveled from site to site. Agency interpreter Joe Rabusco translated for them.

  “Toohoolhoolzote meant no offense to you with his strong words,” White Bird did his best to apologize. “We were told to come to Lapwai to speak our minds. That is what the old man was doing.”

  Looking Glass had nodded in agreement, saying to Cut-Off Arm, “If you free the old man, he will be fine in the days to come.”

  The soldier chief had meditated on it a few moments without speaking, then shook his head.

  So White Bird pleaded more strongly, “He was only speaking his mind, as the men of my people have always done when in council. I know he will not do anything bad—but you can shoot me if he does.”

  “I agree,” Looking Glass emphasized. “If the old man causes you trouble, you can bring me in and shoot me, too.”

  That’s when Cut-Off Arm smiled and told the two chiefs, “I am glad to hear your support for the old man. But I am not going to shoot anyone. Toohoolhoolzote gave some bad advice to the council today. I want him to understand he must not give bad advice ever again. So Colonel Perry is going to keep the old man for a few days until you chiefs have selected your lands and started back to collect your people. Then I will release him, on your promise that I can punish you if he does not act right.”

  “This is a good thing to do!” Looking Glass cheered. “Now I feel like laughing again!”

  But the soldier chief still appeared doubtful that all had been made right. “There are three kinds of laughter: one from fun, another from deceit, and the third from real joy.”

  “Mine comes from real joy!” Looking Glass exclaimed, laying a hand flat against his breast. “I shall never forget this ride we are taking together, Cut-Off Arm. I shall never forget these moments with you when we talked of our new homes.”

  Having gone out with the soldier chief to choose their new lands, the chiefs turned homeward for the last time, returning to their ancient haunts to bring in their bands. All told, these Non-Treaty peoples numbered no more than seven hundred.

  Satisfied that he had struck a lasting peace, Looking Glass marched southeast for the Clearwater with his forty warriors to rejoin their Alpowai band.

  Angrily licking his wounded pride, Toohoolhoolzote eventually reached his Pikunan band of thirty warriors in that wild country of the Grande Ronde and Asotin Creek, so rugged the Shadows never came to look for the precious yellow rocks or to farm.

  Wounded in battle3 many summers before by a cannonball that had grazed his head, leaving a large hairless patch, Huishuish Kute, the tewat called Bald, or Shorn, Head, returned home to that rocky country south of the mining town of Lewiston to bring in his small band of some sixteen Palouse warriors.

  White Bird and his fifty sullen warriors made their way back to the country of their Lamtama band near the junction of White Bird Creek and the Salmon.

  A saddened Joseph and a brooding Ollokot rode south by west, crossing the swollen Snake to the Grande Ronde, then over the next high ridge into the Imnaha. From there they climbed high into the land of the Winding Water, returning home for the final time. Before leaving the Wallowa behind forever, the brothers visited the resting place of Old Joseph. There they raised two freshly painted red-striped poles and laid a fresh horsehide over their father’s grave.

  Once he and Ollokot had argued down the shrill voices that shouted for war, once those sixty Wallowa warriors had reluctantly crisscrossed their homeland gathering up the last of their horses and cattle, Joseph’s In-an-toin-mu people began their slow, dispirited march north with what animals they could find and bring in before their time ran short. Down the valley of the Imnaha they began their two-hundred-mile ordeal, pushing their herd of some six thousand ponies and about two thousand horned cows toward the first dangerous crossing at a point called Dug Bar—where the mighty Snake plunged north through a narrow canyon. At this long-used ford the Joseph people stood on the west bank,4 staring in dismay at the frothy river swollen with the snows melting in the faraway Yellowstone thermal region. The Idaho side of the Snake lay more than ten long arrow-flights away.5

  After selecting a quartet of the strongest young men to ride four of their strongest ponies, Ollokot sent the group into the roaring current with a raft made of lodgepoles upon which sat buffalo-robe bundles of their belongings. All four were soon swept off the backs of their ponies as the river foamed about them, shoving each bobbing youth and animal downstream some distance as each struggled just to stay above the strong current. Eventually the young men managed to reach the other side, clambering out of the swirling waters more than three long arrow-flights downstream.

  But they had done it! Now the rest could follow.

  On more rafts and in bullboats, the men pulled their women and children into the current, one craft making that dangerous crossing at a time. When each boat or raft reached the far shore, those left behind raised a cheer for those who had survived the turbulent journey at the mercy of the furious water spirits.

  By the end of that long, exhausting day, no more than half of Joseph’s people had reached the far side. But by the time the sun began to set the following afternoon, all of the Wallowa band stood on the north bank, save for those young men who watched over the cattle and pony herds. All that remained was
to take their prized horses into the boiling river.

  At sunrise the next morning they discovered that during the night some white settlers had sneaked in among their herds sheltered there beside the mouth of the Imnaha and stolen what horses they could lead away. Angry at this treachery, but undeterred in his mission, Ollokot called out to his young pony herders. They formed the vanguard of this attack on the swollen waters, clinging atop their ponies as long as they could, until the strength of the current hurtled them off, when they had to grip a tail or mane, each warrior crying out his encouragement to those coming behind, yelping at the ponies battling those waves lapping around them. To hear those hundreds and hundreds of horses scream in terror, snorting with their exertion, eyes wide in fear and nostrils flaring as they struggled to keep their heads above the surface—the Wallowa people watched in horror and held their breath.

  A young colt was the first to go down, swept away from its mare in the fury of the snowy runoff. Then a second: this time an old horse too weak to fight the mighty current. And still the warriors cajoled, whistled, and growled at the ponies. A third colt and a fourth were sucked under before the first of the herd reached the far bank. Now more of the younger animals, the weaker horses, were beginning to tire with their exertions, starting to struggle. Where they could, the warriors worked their stronger ponies in among the weaker animals—to encourage, perhaps to blunt some of the water’s force as it tumbled against their upstream side, draining the horses of every last shred of endurance they might possess.

  Those animals least able to make the hazardous crossing, the first to disappear beneath the turbulent waters, were the fresh cows and brood mares, along with their calves and foals. The little ones birthed just that spring, and their mothers too, were drowned by the hundreds or hurtled with the river’s fury against the rocks. Joseph knew he would never forget the frightened screams of the children and the terrified cries of the women, the bawling of the cattle and the screeching horses.

  By the time Ollokot’s warriors had the last of the great Wallowa herd on the north side of the Snake, the most liberal accounting confirmed they had lost nearly a third of those ponies they had forced into the river earlier that morning. No more than half their cattle had survived the deadly crossing.

  “But we have the rest.” Joseph did his best to cheer the people. “And we have our families!”

  “Joseph is right!” Ollokot had rejoiced as many grumbled sourly. “Look around you and see—not one of us is lost!”

  Cold and soaked, their souls troubled by the terrible losses they had just suffered, dogged for years by the insatiable greed of the white man, and constantly reminded of the impatience of Cut-Off Arm’s soldiers, the Wallowa people limped up the steep, ages-old trail that took them to the plateau. Despite how the Snake had swallowed up all those horses and cattle, the Wallowa band pushed on, descending to the rain-swollen Salmon, where they made a second, less-costly crossing near the mouth of Rock Creek. Not far beyond, just beyond the cleft of Rocky Canyon, lay the small lake at Tepahlewam, meaning “Deep Cuts” or “Split Rocks,”6 a sacred, traditional gathering site where the chiefs had agreed to rendezvous for their last few days of freedom. White Bird was already there. Huishuish Kute and some other minor chiefs too. Toohoolhoolzote’s people came in about the time Joseph’s band arrived.7

  Of these Non-Treaty peoples, only Looking Glass’s band of forty warriors did not come to enjoy this last celebration of freedom, for they were already camped at Kamiah, well within the southern reservation boundary.

  Here at Tepahlewam, Joseph’s people and the rest would celebrate life as they had known it for generations beyond count, far back to that long-ago time before the first white faces came among them—a small band of Shadows on their way to the western ocean and back again. It was here near the lake8 at the southern edge of those rich camas meadows where the women gathered the kouse and camas roots that—when steamed, mashed, and dried—would provide much of their food through the coming winter. As far as the eye could see, the meadows extended toward the far buttes and mountains in all directions, a veritable ocean of blue flowers waving beneath the warm summer breeze.

  Even some members of the Treaty bands showed up to spend these last few days, too, eager to listen in on the Dreamers’ creation tales, as well as some war stories from the buffalo country. Perhaps even to travel over the White Bird Divide to visit those traditional burial grounds near White Bird Hill where they could pay their respects. So beloved was this ancient gathering ground, that for generations the Nee-Me-Poo had reminisced during this time of melting snows:

  “My son was born here.”

  “Our daughter was married beside these waters.”

  “My brother’s son killed his first deer in that patch of timber over there.”

  Bone dice rattled in horn cups and wagers were placed on who might have the fastest horse. Yes, here at Tepahlewam the young people courted and coupled, old men recounted their war exploits against the Lakota and the Blackfoot, and women gave birth to children who would soon be living in a new world.

  Women like his wife, Driven Before a Cold Storm—the one called Ta-ma-al-we-non-my—so heavy with child and ready to deliver any day now as their people rested here among the hills and meadows around the lake. As she grew more and more uncomfortable, exclaiming that her time was near, Joseph set up a small lodge for her away from the circle, by tradition raising it in a secluded spot.

  That night after they returned from their deer hunt, Joseph and Ollokot found the chiefs and headmen of the various bands embroiled in a fiery debate: the hotbloods who spoke in favor of taking vengeance against the whites for countless winters of abuses arguing against those who saw nothing short of suicide in making war.

  One after another the young warriors stood and recounted for the council how they had a sister or mother shamed by the unspeakable attacks committed by the white men. Or told how an uncle or a father had been murdered in a dispute with a settler, only to have the white man’s courts release the guilty Shadow. A growing number argued that now was the time to give blow for blow, shed blood for blood. Especially old Toohoolhoolzote, who stood and ranted that the Shadows must pay for how Cut-Off Arm and his soldiers had humiliated him.

  Joseph looked at White Bird’s wrinkled face, remembering the promise that older chief had given to Cut-Off Arm if Toohoolhoolzote made any more trouble.

  “Why should we be driven like dogs from the land of our birth?” the angry tewat ranted.

  The young men hooted and screamed for battle, even many among Joseph’s band. They noisily shouted out a recitation of injustices at the hands of the Shadows: the unpunished murders and rapes, and those arrogant orders of the soldier chief who had shown them the rifle in a peace council!

  With angry pride Toohoolhoolzote raged, “Only blood will wash away the stain of disgrace Cut-Off Arm has put on us!”

  “But if we fight and kill the soldiers who have come upon our land,” Joseph stood all but alone against the swelling tide of war, “the Shadows will only send more.”

  Toohoolhoolzote whirled on the tall chief, his body tensing. “Instead, we will be forced to go out and kill the settlers who have stolen our land from us!”

  “That would be wrong,” Joseph declared. “The settlers did not steal anything that the government hadn’t already taken from us first. Nothing that the reservation treaty signers hadn’t already given away.”

  “You are wrong, Joseph!” Sun Necklace snarled. “It was a settler who killed Eagle Robe, the father of Shore Crossing!”

  Joseph’s eyes found that war chief standing in the crowd, the flames of the council fire licking shadows across the harsh lines of the man’s face, his jaw set and lips a straight line of growing fury.

  “One after another,” Toohoolhoolzote argued, stepping right in front of Joseph to stab a finger in the air between them, “the settlers have defiled our women, killed our men, or stolen our horses and cattle—even as we crossed the Snake
River, on our way to the reservation! They have cheated our people in their stores, and they have whipped us like disobedient dogs. Why do you continue to counsel peace with the Shadows?”

  Shadows. Something dark, even evil. Something not altogether human at all. A mere wisp or shape of a human being, but without substance, without heart or soul. Maybe, Joseph thought, they truly were a race of shadows, these white men.

  “The settlers … those Boston Men,” Joseph began as the council hushed, “they are few, but they have many soldiers behind them.”

  “We will escape into the hills and kill all who come after us!” a shrill voice cried from the outer ring of warriors.

  Joseph turned toward that call for war. “We cannot fight the whole government the white man will keep sending against us. Look around you. There are not many of us. We are not that strong. We must make the best peace we can, then live by the peace we have made as men of honor.”

  “If you wish to be a coward, Joseph,” Toohoolhoolzote hissed, “so be it. But as for me, I will wash away the stain to my honor with the blood of as many soldiers as I can kill before I watch Cut-Off Arm die beneath my knife.”

  “What you and your people would do, let them do it,” Joseph said, wagging his head dolefully. “But do not give your bad advice to my people. I do not want to see any of my band killed because you still lick your wounds from the house with the iron bars. It is better for my women and children to live at peace than to have the magpies and jays pick at their flesh, tear at their lifeless eyes, because they were killed in your fruitless war.”

  “You surely are a coward—”

  “My people!” Joseph interrupted Toohoolhoolzote’s slur as he turned away from the shorter man, flinging his stentorian voice over the crowd. “Do not follow those who counsel war with the white man or his soldiers! My people … know that I love you far too much that I cannot stand to lose you!”

  Old man White Bird stood slowly and walked up to Joseph, laying his hand on Joseph’s forearm, then said, “I am for war. Because of all the wrongs done my people, we must fight.”