Joseph M. Marshall III (38 page)

Across meadows and dry creek beds they moved steadily, now and then stopping to rest briefly, and then finally to the base of a long slope. There, they rested once more, and then found a narrow trail that took them to their final destination.

Sunrise found them back among the people at Beaver Creek. Worm paused to look across the land and went into the lodge that had been pitched for them. The old woman walked to a far hillside and found a rock to sit on. There, she sat looking across the valley until the sun went down.

No one asked the old man or the old woman where they had taken him because they knew that knowledge would go with them to their graves. But many could see that Worm carried the spirit bundle, and when he spoke of his son, there was one thing he would always say:

Life is a circle. The end of one journey is the beginning of the next.

Reflections:

So That the People May Live

—Lakota warrior philosophy

Historians, anthropologists, and other outside observers of indigenous cultures on Turtle Island are still quick to conclude that the native tribes of the northern Plains were “war-like.” Catchy phrases may be exciting titles for papers or dissertations or effective leverage to gain funding for a sociological study, but they obscure reality. For example, one anthropologist stated that the Oglala Lakota would start a fight just to see if their bowstrings were taut enough. Such sensationalist pronouncements are nothing more than attempted validation for ethnocentric bias rather than an honest, objective conclusion as a consequence of unbiased study. And, unfortunately, one of the realities obscured is the Lakota warrior’s strong belief in serving one’s community and nation.

The Lakota fighting man of old has long suffered from an image of flamboyance, aggressiveness, and mean-spiritedness. Those observers who didn’t or wouldn’t look beyond the feathers and war paint are responsible for foisting that image upon us. Behind the warrior’s accoutrements and habiliments was a man, a thinking, feeling, mortal man with strengths, weaknesses, hopes, dreams, and a family and a strong sense of commitment to cause and country. During the recent initial fighting in Afghanistan, American combat casualties were publicized by the press, giving television viewers a personal insight. Consequently the serviceman became more than one of many wearing the same uniform because we heard his name, saw photos of his childhood, the names of his wife and children and parents, the length of his military service, and his particular job in the Army, Air Force, or Marine Corps. We found much in common. We connected him to ourselves, or a father, brother, or close friend who served and perhaps died in combat. But if we chose, for some reason, not to look beyond the camouflage uniform, he would be just another “serviceman,” an expendable commodity, a faceless extension of us, one of many sent to a strange land. But we - didn’t. We did extend our thoughts and prayers to his loved ones because he died in the service of his country; he died for us.

If we as a nation have learned anything from the tragic events of September 11, 2001, and of the issues and challenges that have unfolded since, one of the lessons surely is that we are not immune to attack no matter how strong or invincible we think we are. Within the shadows of that lesson is one as equally important: we must be prepared to defend ourselves. The survival of any group, society, or nation is directly connected to its willingness to defend itself, and the willingness and ability to defend itself is dependent on the depth of the devotion of its people. That kind of devotion is not the exclusive domain of any one culture or race of people. It is a basic human characteristic augmented by cultural beliefs and traditions. Such devotion is part of the history of the Lakota people.

The summer of 1876 was truly exciting and significant for the Lakota and the nation overall. It was a culmination and a turning point. First there was a strong response to Sitting Bull’s message to gather. Few, if any, leaders on this continent then and since have had the level of credibility and influence that would galvanize
one fourth
of the population to travel hundreds of miles to meet and discuss issues of national importance. Crazy Horse’s considerable reputation and quiet charisma matched Sitting Bull’s skill as a politician and orator. Although there were many other well-known and respected political and military leaders present, none had achieved the status of either Sitting Bull or Crazy Horse in the hearts and minds of the people. Together they provided visionary leadership and a sense of cohesiveness and a feeling of strength.

In the summer of 1876 Sitting Bull was undeniably the most powerful political leader among all the Lakota bands. He was still capable as a fighting man but his real strength was in his ability to communicate. He was feverishly attempting to convince enough Lakota to serve the good of all by uniting against a formidable common enemy, one that threatened to destroy their way of life. No enemy had ever faced them with that possible consequence. He knew that his purpose was to bring everyone together under a common cause; after that he was counting on the military leaders, Crazy Horse first and foremost, to step up and lead the Lakota militarily. Both men, each in his way, were calling their constituents to serve, to put their time, talents, and experience to work to solve a very large problem. Therefore, as Sitting Bull watched Crazy Horse invoke the ancient ritual of
Wica Mnaiciyapi,
he probably felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction that his message was getting through.

As Sitting Bull watched the throng of fighting men answer the call, he certainly realized what they would encounter in combat, but he may not have fully considered what lay ahead for those several hundred warriors as they left the encampment. History has not focused as much on the battle toward which Crazy Horse was leading his men. It is known as the Battle of the Rosebud because it occurred in the valley of Rosebud Creek, one of the tributaries that flowed north into the Yellowstone River. It occurred on June 17. There is obviously more attention to the battle of eight days later, the Battle of the Little Bighorn. But to understand fully the reason for the outcome of both battles, we should examine the significance of the night of June 16, 1876, and what it reveals about service to one’s cause and nation.

The Lakota encampment on June 16 was near Ash Creek, a few miles from its confluence with the Greasy Grass (Little Bighorn) River. The scouts had reported the soldiers to be in the area where Goose Creek flowed into Rosebud Creek, a distance of about fifty miles from Ash Creek in a southeasterly direction. Crazy Horse and his men departed from the Ash Creek encampment at dusk. The summer solstice was days away, so daylight lingered further into the evening. From today’s perspective that meant the warriors left the encampment around 10 P.M. on June 16 and the first shots were fired seven hours later at dawn, or about 5 A.M. on June 17.

Moving troops at night is a sound tactical maneuver but can often prove to be a logistical problem. In this instance at least three factors contributed to the success of this action. One, the Lakota, especially men from Crazy Horse’s band, knew this particular area well. Two, at least one scout who had ridden north with the news of the soldier column was leading the way back, over the trail he had traveled only hours before. And three, riding great distances at night was nothing new to the Lakota and the Sahiyela. Nevertheless, anyone who knows the West or is an experienced rider understands that the seemingly simple act of riding a horse for fifty miles is not, even in the daylight. The fact remains, however, that several hundred riders, many leading a second horse, traveled through the night over the rough, uneven terrain of the Wolf Mountains.

Fifty miles and some seven hours afford ample time to think. No one knew specifically what would happen when they reached their objective or where exactly the enemy would be. The one unavoidable fact facing them all was that there would be a battle. Many of the men riding through the night were combat veterans and many had fought against white soldiers. They knew what to expect. But this particular situation had an added dimension. The older veterans understood the circumstances and concerns that had brought them all together at Ash Creek. They knew that riding through the night to face a persistent enemy was part of the process of alleviating the threat to the very existence of the Lakota. This was not a war party to demonstrate how much braver the Lakota were in battle. This was a mission wherein the enemy had to be thoroughly defeated, where body count was just as important as tromping the enemy’s spirit. It was the message Crazy Horse had been preaching: Kill the white enemy because that’s how he counted his victories and assessed his defeats.

Most, if not all, had answered the call in this particular instance because of the man issuing the call: Crazy Horse. Riding into battle with such a man was something to tell the children and grandchildren. But once the initial fervor had dissipated somewhat, reality set in. Thoughts of family rode with them and certainly thoughts of the enemy they would face. Many prayed for courage, strength, and victory. And those with little or no combat experience were likely plagued with uncertainty about themselves, hoping and praying they wouldn’t break and run when the shooting started.

So they rode through the night—eager, apprehensive, circumspect, perhaps talkative, but most of all silently introspective—picking their way up the western slopes through the sagebrush and prickly pear cactus, and over the divide and down the eastern side. At dawn they reached their objective and immediately engaged the enemy. In spite of the fifty-mile trek, they and their horses, without any significant rest, had enough stamina to engage in combat for ten to twelve hours. Half of that time was under a fierce sun.

The enemy was cavalry and mounted infantry of the United States Army, a 1,000-man force augmented by 300 Shoshoni and Crow Indians, under the overall command of Brigadier General George Crook, known as “Three Stars” to the Lakota. They were encamped along Rosebud Creek in a valley a few miles northeast of the present town of Sheridan, Wyoming.

The scrutiny of hindsight suggests that the battle was a draw. Crazy Horse and his men withdrew from the field in the late afternoon, and Crook’s soldiers could do little more than watch them leave, although there was one aborted attempt at pursuit. Perhaps it was a draw because of the weariness of Crazy Horse’s warriors and their horses after an all-night ride. If Crazy Horse - could have engaged his enemy with fresh men and horses the outcome would have been a decisive victory. But that they could fight a numerically superior and better-armed force to a standstill
after
a seven-hour ride is testament to commitment. Although the Lakota and Sahiyela suffered many wounded, incredibly only eight were killed in action.

Crazy Horse’s warriors displayed a devotion to duty because the course of human events too frequently causes men and women to take up arms in defense of life, community, nation, or ideals. Their efforts were nothing new, unfortunately, in the annals of human history. And there have been many similar examples since throughout the world. But during the summer of 1876 the foundation for Lakota victories in two significant battles eight days apart were established during that long night ride over the Wolf Mountains. That long and arduous journey to battle taught them much about themselves individually and collectively. It taught them, or reminded them in many cases, that engaging in combat is only part of the commitment to serve, that sometimes commitment and devotion to duty is a long, quiet ride.

Honoring songs are common at Lakota pow-wows, sung in recognition of a notable accomplishment, a noteworthy deed. The gathering, hence the community, pauses to give recognition. Many honoring songs are sung for Lakota military veterans, sometimes as a general commemoration and sometimes specifically to honor those present at the gathering. One of the lines of the honoring song is:

 

In Lakota society of the past, woman was the source of life and man was the protector of life. So what is the “this” that “I do” for the people? Women gave birth, taught the children for the important first formative years of life, and nurtured the family. Men had to provide the material for the family and community to survive, grow, and prosper, and to ensure that there was the freedom to do so.

In the Sun Dance, the most solemn of Lakota religious ceremonies, males are the primary participants, some as helpers and observers, and some make the focal sacrifice and are pierced. Those who are pierced practically and symbolically offer and give the one thing that is truly theirs: themselves. The giving of self is the core philosophy of the fighting man, the warrior. The male as the warrior is prepared physically, emotionally, and spiritually to give all that he is on behalf of the people. It is a process that begins at the age of five or six and continues throughout a lifetime. If a man does not die on the field of battle and reaches that part of his life where his physical skills are not as sharp, he enters that phase where his experience and wisdom are just as important as his physical skills and his deeds once were.