Keywords: Chief Little Crow Taoyateduta Kaposia Sioux kaposia band little crow sioux warrior sioux chief american indian chiefs famous native american Charles Alexander Eastman Ohiyesa Minnesota Sioux minnesota indians
Chief Little Crow was the eldest son of Cetanwakuwa (Charging Hawk). It was on account of his father’s name, mistranslated Crow, that he was called by the whites “Little Crow.” His real name was Taoyateduta, His Red People.
As far back as Minnesota history goes, a band of the Sioux
called Kaposia (Light Weight, because they were said to travel
light) inhabited the Mille Lacs region.
Later they dwelt about St.
Croix Falls, and still later near St. Paul. In 1840, Cetanwakuwa
was still living in what is now West St. Paul, but he was soon
after killed by the accidental discharge of his gun.
It was during a period of demoralization for the Kaposias that
Little Crow became the leader of his people. His father, a
well-known chief, had three wives, all from different bands of the
Sioux.
Little Crow was the only son of the first wife, a Leaf Dweller.
There were two sons of the second and two of the third wife, and
the second set of brothers conspired to kill their half-brother in
order to keep the chieftainship in the family.
Two kegs of whisky were bought, and all the men of the tribe
invited to a feast. It was planned to pick some sort of quarrel
when all were drunk, and in the confusion Little Crow was to be
murdered.
The plot went smoothly until the last instant, when a
young brave saved the intended victim by knocking the gun aside
with his hatchet, so that the shot went wild. However, it broke
Little Crow’s right arm, which remained crooked all his life.
The friends of
the young chieftain hastily withdrew, avoiding a general fight; and
later the council of the Kaposias condemned the two brothers, both
of whom were executed, leaving Little Crow in undisputed possession.
Such was the opening of a stormy career. Little Crow’s mother
had been a chief’s daughter, celebrated for her beauty and spirit,
and it is said that she used to plunge him into the lake through a
hole in the ice, rubbing him afterward with snow, to strengthen his
nerves, and that she would remain with him alone in the deep woods
for days at a time, so that he might know that solitude is good,
and not fear to be alone with nature.
“My son,” she would say, “if you are to be a leader of men,
you must listen in silence to the mystery, the spirit.”
At a very early age she made a feast for her boy and announced
that he would fast two days. This is what might be called a formal
presentation to the spirit or God.
She greatly desired Little Crow to
become a worthy leader according to the ideas of her people. It
appears that she left her husband when he took a second wife, and
lived with her own band till her death. She did not marry again.
Little Crow was an intensely ambitious man and without
physical fear. He was always in perfect training and early
acquired the art of warfare of the Indian type.
It is told of Little Crow
that when he was about ten years old, he engaged with other boys in
a sham battle on the shore of a lake near St. Paul.
Both sides
were encamped at a little distance from one another, and the rule
was that the enemy must be surprised, otherwise the attack would be
considered a failure.
One must come within so many paces
undiscovered in order to be counted successful. Our hero had a
favorite dog which, at his earnest request, was allowed to take
part in the game, and as a scout he entered the enemy camp unseen,
by the help of his dog.
When Little Crow was twelve, he saved the life of a companion who had
broken through the ice by tying the end of a pack line to a log,
then at great risk to himself carrying it to the edge of the hole
where his comrade went down.
It is said that Little Crow also broke in, but
both boys saved themselves by means of the line.
As a young man, Little Crow was always ready to serve his
people as a messenger to other tribes, a duty involving much danger
and hardship. He was also known as one of the best hunters in his
band.
Although still young, Little Crow had already a war record when he
became chief of the Kaposias, at a time when the Sioux were facing
the greatest and most far-reaching changes that had ever come to
them.
At this juncture in the history of the northwest and its
native inhabitants, the various fur companies had paramount
influence.
They did not hesitate to impress the Indians with the
idea that they were the authorized representatives of the white
races or peoples, and they were quick to realize the desirability
of controlling the natives through their most influential chiefs.
Little Crow became quite popular with post traders and factors. He
was an orator as well as a diplomat, and one of the first of his
nation to indulge in politics and promote unstable schemes to the
detriment of his people.
When the United States Government went into the business of
acquiring territory from the Indians so that the flood of western
settlement might not be checked, commissions were sent out to
negotiate treaties, and in case of failure it often happened that
a delegation of leading men of the tribe were invited to
Washington.
At that period, these visiting chiefs, attired in all
the splendor of their costumes of ceremony, were treated like
ambassadors from foreign countries.
One winter in the late eighteen-fifties, a major general of
the army gave a dinner to the Indian chiefs then in the city, and
on this occasion Little Crow was appointed toastmaster.
There were
present a number of Senators and members of Congress, as well as
judges of the Supreme Court, cabinet officers, and other
distinguished citizens.
When all the guests were seated, Little Crow
arose and addressed them with much dignity as follows:
“Warriors and friends: I am informed that the great white war
chief who of his generosity and comradeship has given us this
feast, has expressed the wish that we may follow to-night the
usages and customs of my people. In other words, this is a
warriors’ feast, a braves’ meal.”
“I call upon the Ojibway chief,
the Hole-in-the-Day, to give the lone wolf’s hunger call, after
which we will join him in our usual manner.”
The tall and handsome Ojibway now rose and straightened his
superb form to utter one of the clearest and longest wolf howls
that was ever heard in Washington, and at its close came a
tremendous burst of war whoops that fairly rent the air, and no
doubt electrified the officials there present.
On one occasion Little Crow was invited by the commander of
Fort Ridgeley, Minnesota, to call at the fort.
On his way back,
in company with a half-breed named Ross and the interpreter
Mitchell, he was ambushed by a party of Ojibways, and again
wounded in the same arm that had been broken in his attempted
assassination.
His companion Ross was killed, but he managed
to hold the war party at bay until help came and thus saved his
life.
More and more as time passed, this naturally brave and
ambitious man became a prey to the selfish interests of the traders
and politicians.
The immediate causes of the Sioux outbreak of
1862 came in quick succession to inflame to desperate action an
outraged people. The two bands on the so-called “lower
reservations” in Minnesota were Indians for whom nature had
provided most abundantly in their free existence.
After one
hundred and fifty years of friendly intercourse first with the
French, then the English, and finally the Americans, they found
themselves cut off from every natural resource, on a tract of land
twenty miles by thirty, which to them was virtual imprisonment.
By
treaty stipulation with the government, they were to be fed and
clothed, houses were to be built for them, the men taught
agriculture, and schools provided for the children.
In addition to
this, a trust fund of a million and a half was to be set aside for
them, at five per cent interest, the interest to be paid annually
per capita. They had signed the treaty under pressure, believing
in these promises on the faith of a great nation.
However, on entering the new life, the resources so rosily
described to them failed to materialize.
Many families faced
starvation every winter, their only support the store of the Indian
trader, who was baiting his trap for their destruction. Very
gradually they awoke to the facts.
At last it was planned to
secure from them the north half of their reservation for
ninety-eight thousand dollars, but it was not explained to the
Indians that the traders were to receive all the money.
Little
Crow made the greatest mistake of his life when he signed this
agreement.
Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the cash annuities were not
paid for nearly two years. Civil War had begun. When it was
learned that the traders had taken all of the ninety-eight thousand
dollars “on account”, there was very bitter feeling.
In fact, the
heads of the leading stores were afraid to go about as usual, and
most of them stayed in St. Paul.
Little Crow was justly held in
part responsible for the deceit, and his life was not safe.
The murder of a white family near Acton, Minnesota, by a party
of Indian duck hunters in August, 1862, precipitated the break.
Messengers were sent to every village with the news, and at the
villages of Little Crow and Little Six the war council was red-hot.
It was proposed to take advantage of the fact that north and south
were at war to wipe out the white settlers and to regain their
freedom.
A few men stood out against such a desperate step, but
the conflagration had gone beyond their control.
There were many mixed bloods among these Sioux, and some of
the Indians held that these were accomplices of the white people in
robbing them of their possessions, therefore their lives should not
be spared.
My father, Many Lightnings, who was practically the
leader of the Mankato band (for Mankato, the chief, was a weak
man), fought desperately for the lives of the half-breeds and the
missionaries.
The chiefs had great confidence in my father, yet
they would not commit themselves, since their braves were clamoring
for blood.
Little Crow had been accused of all the misfortunes of
his tribe, and he now hoped by leading them against the whites to
regain his prestige with his people, and a part at least of their
lost domain.
There were moments when the pacifists were in grave peril. It
was almost daybreak when my father saw that the approaching
calamity could not be prevented.
He and two others said to Little
Crow: “If you want war, you must personally lead your men
to-morrow. We will not murder women and children, but we will
fight the soldiers when they come.”
They then left the council and
hastened to warn my brother-in-law, Faribault, and others who were
in danger.
Little Crow declared he would be seen in the front of every
battle, and it is true that he was foremost in all the succeeding
bloodshed, urging his warriors to spare none.
Little Crow ordered his war
leader, Many Hail, to fire the first shot, killing the trader James
Lynd, in the door of his store.
After a year of fighting in which he had met with defeat, the
discredited chief retreated to Fort Garry, now Winnipeg, Manitoba,
where, together with Standing Buffalo, he undertook secret
negotiations with his old friends the Indian traders.
There was
now a price upon his head, but he planned to reach St. Paul
undetected and there surrender himself to his friends, who he hoped
would protect him in return for past favors.
It is true that Little Crow
had helped them to secure perhaps the finest country held by any
Indian nation for a mere song.
Little Crow left Canada with a few trusted friends, including his
youngest and favorite son. When within two or three days’ journey
of St. Paul, he told the others to return, keeping with him only
his son, Wowinape, who was but fifteen years of age.
Little Crow meant to
steal into the city by night and go straight to Governor Ramsey,
who was his personal friend. He was very hungry and was obliged to
keep to the shelter of the deep woods.
The next morning, as Little Crow was
picking and eating wild raspberries, he was seen by a wood-chopper
named Lamson. The man did not know who he was. He only knew that
he was an Indian, and that was enough for him, so he lifted his
rifle to his shoulder and fired, then ran at his best pace.
The
brilliant but misguided chief, who had made that part of the
country unsafe for any white man to live in, sank to the ground and
died without a struggle. The boy took his father’s gun and made
some effort to find the assassin, but as he did not even know in
which direction to look for him, he soon gave up the attempt and
went back to his friends.
Meanwhile Lamson reached home breathless and made his report.
The body of the chief was found and identified, in part by the
twice broken arm, and this arm and his scalp may be seen to-day in
the collection of the Minnesota Historical Society.
