Chief Joseph & the Flight of the Nez Perce (33 page)

Torn by this confusing welter of sentiments, the people bedded down under their buffalo robes and ragged canvas shelters in the chill high plains night. The snow had stopped, the air had cleared, and the sky was a dark, icy vault filled with distant, brilliant stars.

Fifteen miles away, on the other side of the low hills of the Little Rockies, Miles's men too had bedded down. But their night was even less comfortable than the Nez Perce's. The supply wagons carrying the tents still had not caught up, so they were forced to scrape away the snow from the ground and make do with only their own coats for cover. Miles had awakened them at 2:00 a.m., unable to get decent cooking fires going from the wet buffalo chips. By 4:30 they were loading up their wet packs and moving forward, wet to the core, hungry, and unsure of when, or if, they would ever meet any enemy.

By dawn the wind had changed and the snow had started to melt. But this did not make travel any easier. The ground now became a morass of ice and mud, seeping into the shoes and soaking the feet of the infantrymen. Reports had come in last night that the Cheyenne scouts had picked up the Nez Perce trail. But the soldiers' greatest fear was that they were moving ever closer to the dreaded warriors of Sitting Bull. Fighting a group of fleeing Nez Perce burdened with women and children was one thing; meeting a group of two thousand Sioux warriors bearing down on them with good weapons and fast horses was quite another. They had to hope that the reports from the Cheyenne scouts were true and that confrontation with the Nez Perce and only the Nez Perce was about to take place.

Their hopes were soon realized when a Cheyenne scout came riding in, shouting that the Nez Perce camp had been found. A group of warriors wearing the striped blankets of the Nez Perce had been seen chasing down buffalo. Then, while scanning the horizon through field glasses, the Cheyenne had spotted a plume of smoke rising in the distance and had followed it to a ridge. Though the ridge had obscured their view, and they had dared not move too close for fear of being observed, they had seen the great herd of horses grazing on a nearby hillside and knew that the camp of the Nez Perce had to be directly below.

This news quickened the hearts of the discouraged men. The dreary march through the early morning darkness suddenly had a sense of purpose. They picked up their step and moved forward toward the fresh trail the Cheyenne scouts had found. They were ready to meet the enemy.

M
ORNING AT THE
Place of the Manure Fires came slowly for the Nez Perce. Overnight the weather had turned colder. The creek was skimmed with ice, and the rolling plains were a sea of frost-covered grasses beneath gray and wintry skies. But at least the air was clear. Cold and bitter winds they could endure, but the days of sleet and snow were taking too great a toll on the children and the elders.

The early risers had begun gathering their pack animals from the hillside across the creek, and many of the women were already fanning buffalo chips into low cooking fires. There was less concern about smoke trails rising into the sky than at other camp stops because there was little fear that Howard was anywhere within range to see them, much less within range to strike.

Many of the children were already up, running along the creekside and playing games of tag by flipping balls of mud at each other with the ends of sticks. The scouts had packed and mounted and ridden off into the hills to kill a few more buffalo before the camp departed. Groups of women were following behind, prepared to skin any animals and pack the meat back to camp.

The people were anxious to get moving. Many among them would not feel secure until they had reached the safety of Sitting Bull and the Old Woman Land. Others simply anticipated the journey's end and did not wish to delay the conclusion any longer. It had been more than a hundred days since they had left their homes, and they had seen too much death and suffering. It was time to come to a stop and begin to establish some kind of normal routine for the families, even if it was in an unfamiliar country among unfamiliar people.

Joseph too looked forward to the rest. He had supported Looking Glass's decision to move slowly these last few days, but now it was time to finish the journey. He had done his best to keep the camp together during their ordeal and had counseled peace at every opportunity. Now, at last, a kind of peace was at hand.

He still held out hope that there were those in the white government who would listen to reason once tempers cooled. From the safety of the Old Woman Country perhaps they could open dialogue with the white law chiefs to explain what had happened. Perhaps, with the calming effects of time and distance, those law chiefs could be made to understand that it had been the young, rash warriors who had done the killing and that the people themselves had never killed wantonly but only when attacked. They could point out the humane way captives had been treated and how the people had resisted the temptation to strike back at innocent women and children, even though their own women and children had been brutally murdered at the hands of the soldiers. Even the rash young warriors, with the exception of their raid on the settlers of the Salmon River country, had neither killed nor violated white women. What white army could say the same about its soldiers' treatment of Indian women?

If there were good men among the white men, and he believed there were, surely some reasonable resolution could be found, and the Nez Perce could return to their own country without fear of reprisal. At a minimum, he hoped they would be permitted to return to the reservation toward which they had been heading when the hostilities had broken out. But in his heart he still dreamed of the Wallowa.

He surveyed the activity in the early morning camp. The smell of coffee and roasting buffalo meat sweetened the chill morning air. Packing was going well and spirits were high. After a good breakfast, the people could begin this final journey over the wintry plains toward Sitting Bull and his people.

With his elder daughter, Noise of Running Feet, he crossed the creek to the horse herd. Joseph was proud of his daughter. She was just twelve but well able to do a woman's work. He would leave her to bring their horses back across the creek while he made sure that the rest of the people found their mounts and got their families moving along the trail.

They had just begun to ready the horses when they heard a strange strident sound rising from back in camp. It was Wottolen, walking among the lodges shouting loudly. He had just awakened from a dream that had disturbed him deeply. In his sleep he had seen the very place where they were camped. The sky had been dark with the smoke of battle, and the waters of the creek were running red with blood. He had even dressed and walked out to see if this was the place in his vision. All was exactly as he had dreamed. Surely they were soon to be attacked.

Wottolen's message caused a commotion in the camp. He was a man of strong medicine, and he had seen a vision before the battle at the Big Hole and the fight at the Clearwater. In both cases, his warnings had been ignored. And in both cases, death and suffering had followed. Now he was warning the people again.

But Looking Glass was having none of this. He quickly mounted his horse and rode among the lodges instructing the people to stay calm. “There is no need to rush,” he shouted. “Build fires. Cook breakfast. Give the children time to eat. Afterward we will pack up and start moving.”

The camp was now filled with confusion. A man with strong medicine power was telling them to hurry while the man they had chosen as their leader was telling them to go slowly. Many of the women began gathering their pots and blankets and tying them onto the pack animals. Other families splashed across the creek to gather their horses. Even if there was nothing to fear, this was sign enough that the time had come to get moving.

In the midst of the confusion, two scouts came riding into camp at full run. They had spent the night camped out in the open country with a group of Walk-Around Sioux hunters.

“We have just seen buffalo stampeding,” they shouted. “Soldiers are coming.”

This message confused the people even more. Some quickly gathered up their remaining camp goods and began hurrying up the draw toward the north. Others resisted, unwilling to interpret the movements of the buffalo as a sign of approaching soldiers. Perhaps the animals were just moving north to escape the mountain snows. It did no good to alarm the children over nothing.

But the young warriors were not about to ignore such a warning. They had been wary of this campsite from the beginning. A few clambered up the bluff to the south to take up positions of defense. There would be no repeat of the Big Hole massacre while they were alive.

Order in the camp was now fragmenting rapidly. Children, awakened by the commotion, were running about in excitement. The horses, ever sensitive to the emotions of the people, were kicking and snorting. Dogs barked wildly and ran among the shelters and campfires.

In the midst of the commotion, another scout came riding at full run from the south. He reined to a stop on the rise above the camp, fired his rifle, and began shaking his buffalo blanket and riding in tight circles. There was no mistaking this message. It was the signal of an imminent attack.

People shouted for their children and grabbed what they could. Wottolen's dream had been right. Somehow, troops were upon them. There was no time to wonder who they were or where they had come from.

Joseph ran back from the horse herd to the edge of the creek. He could see the panic in the camp. “The horses! The horses!” he shouted. “Save the horses!” Clothes and cooking utensils they could do without. But if they lost their horses, they would be helpless here in open country.

More people splashed across the creek toward the herd. Those whose horses were already in camp threw their possessions into packs, gathered their families, and headed up the gullies to the open plains toward the north.

But while they were packing, a strange sound rose up in the far distance. At first it seemed to be thunder, or a herd of stampeding buffalo. But instead of passing, it grew louder, until the whole ground was shaking.

Suddenly, with almost no warning, a sea of blue uniforms poured around the bluff to the south and headed toward the plain where the horses were grazing. In the lead were Indians stripped for battle and wearing long, feathered war bonnets.

The few remaining warriors who had not yet taken positions on the hillsides dropped everything and raced up the bluffs to firing positions. Some had not even had time to dress. They knew it was up to them to hold off these attackers and give the people time to escape.

Joseph ran back to the center of the herd and began shouting orders. The soldiers' intentions were clear: they were trying to scatter the horses. If they succeeded, the people would be left on foot to be hunted down and shot like animals. He threw a rope to Noise of Running Feet and told her to catch any horse and head toward the Old Woman Country with the others.

All around him the horses were shrieking and rearing. While he was struggling to calm their panic, Indians on horseback and painted for war came charging full speed into their midst, followed by soldiers screaming and shouting and firing their weapons. Some rode past in pursuit of the escaping families, while others rode into the center of the herd and slapped at the animals' flanks to scatter them into the hills.

He could hear shouts from the men across the creek and the voices of women calling for their children. Dogs yelped and howled, and horses bolted through the camp, trampling shelters and destroying the camp goods. The air was filled with the screams of women and infants, and the smoke from gunpowder hung low in the air, burning the eyes and stinging the nostrils. On the bluff to the south, Joseph could see flashes from rifle barrels and hear the cries of warriors and soldiers. Nothing was clear except that they were under attack. Not since the Big Hole had it been like this.

He turned quickly to the north to see if Noise of Running Feet had caught up with the others, but could make out nothing through the smoke and haze. His heart was sick as he thought of her riding frantically across these snow-covered plains, pursued by soldiers and Cheyenne warriors. He knew what they would do to a twelve-year-old girl if they caught her. But she was now beyond his help. It was his wife and his infant daughter he had to protect.

Like a man in a trance, he jumped on his horse. Calling to his
wayakin
for protection, he headed toward the creek through the fire of the soldiers. If his spirit power was strong, he would make it to his family. If not, he would fall.

Bullets cut through his clothing and grazed his flesh. They whistled by his head and thudded into the soft ground near his horse's feet. He rode crouched over, trying to present as small a target as possible. His felt his horse flinch as a bullet dug into its side. But he was not being harmed. His
wayakin
power was with him.

He splashed through the frigid creek and up the small bank to the crude shelter where his wife was huddling with their infant. She handed him his gun and shouted, “Here is your rifle! Go and fight!” Then she crawled back into her shelter to comfort their terrified infant.

Joseph had not willingly engaged in combat since the battle at White Bird Canyon. But the end was near if they could not drive these soldiers back. For the first time since the Big Hole, his anger was greater than his sorrow. He took his rifle and ran up the hill toward Ollokot, who had dug in with the other warriors. There was a time for peace, but that time was gone. Now they had to fight to save the lives of the women and children.

Across the creek to the west he could see soldiers driving the horses off toward the hills. To the east other soldiers were riding hard along the bluffs around the campsite. Their strategy was becoming clear. The group that attacked the horses would scatter the herd, then secure the broad plain to the west. The other soldiers would surround the camp on the bluffs. Once they had the camp boxed in, they could mount a charge from the weakest point. If they were able to break through the defense of the warriors, the foot soldiers could rush in and slaughter everyone left in camp. If not, they could set up a siege and slowly starve the people to death.

But the situation was not without hope. Last night, despite Looking Glass's insistence that they were beyond the reach of the soldiers, Ollokot and the other warriors had surveyed the land to determine the best way to protect the people if they were attacked. A quick view of the terrain had convinced them that the camp, though vulnerable to attack, was well situated for defense. The bluff to the south was too steep for cavalry to ride down, so soldiers approaching from there would have to dismount and attack on foot. A few well-armed warriors in fortified positions near the crest of that bluff could hold an entire army at bay.

There was a low draw in the hills to the east. Soldiers on horses would be tempted to attack the camp through this crease. But it was narrow and long. Troops attacking there could be funneled to an easy death at the hands of a few well-placed riflemen.

Soldiers trying to move around the outer perimeter of the bluffs would have to travel across open, treeless hilltops without benefit of cover. They too could be held off by well-positioned warriors with steady aim and accurate weapons. It was all a question of achieving strategic positions and holding them. And, from what Joseph could see, the warriors had gained those strategic positions.

The warriors also were now well schooled in fighting white soldiers. All remembered the lessons learned in White Bird Canyon—that bluecoats panicked when they were leaderless. So the warriors knew to focus their fire on anyone who wore stripes or raised his voice in command. Once those giving orders were killed, the troops would disintegrate into a directionless mass, and the fight would become man against man. No Nez Perce feared a U.S. soldier in hand-to-hand combat.

It was the Cheyenne they needed to fear most. Like all Indians, the Cheyenne were used to fighting alone and communicating almost by instinct. They knew how to exploit weak spots, and a single man could do as much damage as a whole brigade of white soldiers if he found the point of advantage. But even if the Cheyenne did not intend to kill Nez Perce people, they would surely seek to steal the Nez Perce horses. With their skills at movement and strong spirit powers, they were a threat that could not be ignored.