Cries from the Earth (10 page)

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 lake
8
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.”

Ollokot stood there between them, gazing into his older brother's eyes. “Joseph, we should fight.”

“No, Brother,” he answered, not comfortable with that sudden betrayal by his own blood. “Peace is all that will keep our people alive. We are few, and the white men are too many. We have our troubles with them, but fighting is not the answer. War will only bring more trouble, bigger trouble. Toohoolhoolzote and White Bird, all the rest of you chiefs and warriors—you have had your say and spoken in favor of fighting. But what of the women and children? A war will kill those who never had a voice at our council this night.”

“I speak for them,” White Bird claimed. “It is at times such as these that the strong must speak for the weak.”

But Joseph shook his head. “Don't you remember what the Shadow squaw man named Chapman told us when we were at Lapwai to choose our land with Cut-Off Arm? He described what he had seen in a war between Indians and the white men: some of us would be killed; many more would be badly wounded and maimed for the rest of their lives; we would have all our horses and cattle taken from us; and then, the Shadows will force us to go far away to
Eeikish Pah,
the hot country of Indian Territory, where they will make us live apart from one another.”

Joseph could see how most of them, old and young, were deep in thought—weighing the consequences of fighting the inevitable. But he knew he had lost their hearts.

With a sigh, he eventually confessed, “We are the few, against the many and the strong. Let us make the best peace we can with the white man.”

All those gathered around him had grown so silent that he could hear the crackle of the fire.

“Is there any more talk?” Joseph asked. He slowly looked from one to another.

The war supporters averted their eyes, staring into the flames, a barely suppressed anger darkening their stony faces. So, perhaps he had silenced them—for now.

“Very well then,” Joseph finally admitted in little more than a whisper. “We must spend our last few days here among these old places where our people have come for many, many generations.… Then we will go onto the reservation to begin a new life meant to save those generations of us yet to come.”

Chapter 6

Season of
Hillal
1877

 

 

BY TELEGRAPH

THE INDIANS.

A Fight That Was Not Reported in This Direction.

CHICAGO, May 29.—Lieutenant General Sheridan has a dispatch from Red Cloud agency confirming the news of the Indian engagement reported last night. Two runners have come into that agency giving the particulars of the location and the killed and wounded, the same as the Bismarck dispatch, and saying that Sitting Bull led the band which was attacked.

Oh, how he wanted the young woman to look his way, to acknowledge him, to smile as she slowly lowered her eyes in that woman way.

He was no longer a boy. No longer merely a young man. In the last three winters, this warrior known as Shore Crossing had become a man of the
Nee-Me-Poo,
like his father, Eagle Robe, had been. Even though this handsome warrior was already married, he found himself eager to seduce a beautiful young woman from Joseph's Wallowa band, to make her his wife, too.

He hoped she would see him riding in today's war parade, the
tel-lik-leen,
a traditional practice of their people when the bands gathered here every summer on these ancient camping grounds in the meadows at
Tepahlewam.
This summer, a new, martial edge had been added to the ancient procession. This year, the young warriors didn't merely sing their songs and strut in their finest before the eligible women. Instead, for the past ten days the young men had been parading through camp shouting curses upon the Shadows, vowing vengeance upon the settlers for taking their lands, death to the army for protecting those white thieves. With each new day the war fervor tension grew around this grand procession, each afternoon's parade more like a declaration of hostilities than the last.

“Do you see her yet?”
Sarpsis Ilppilp,
called Red Moccasin Tops, asked in a whisper, leaning close at Shore Crossing's ear.

Red Moccasin Tops was seated right behind his older cousin. The two of them had grown up together, more like brothers than cousins. Sun Necklace, Red Moccasin Tops's father, had not given his son a pony to ride for this day's parade, so Shore Crossing offered his cousin a place on his old pony. Why not ride two on a horse? After all, this pair of swaggering youngsters had been worked into some cocky strutting with the rest of those older, veteran warriors of many fights against the Lakota and Blackfoot. Yes, why not ride together on a horse? These two were more than cousins; they were best friends in everything.