The Dying Grass, page 55
It smells like water:
the smell of the river at night and
of horse blankets and
the undulating black walls of earth around everything and
this purple sky, too humid to be starless.
2
Men, your conduct has given me great satisfaction, and I’m sure we’ll soon bring Joseph to justice. Fix your minds on the campaign ahead, and do remember that to-day is the Sabbath. I’ll pray for our success. That’s all.
General, what’s your best opinion?
I’d say Joseph is nearly played out. What would you say?
Yessir. I wish the reds hadn’t crossed the river—
A fine hot day, isn’t it, Sladen?
Yessir,
near as enervating as a high summer afternoon at Farewell Bend, O my LORD (but Arizona was worse),
and Lieutenant Bomus’s detail is shooting seven more of Joseph’s played out horses.
Doc?
Is your Morning Report Book already in order?
Doc?
Sure is, general.
That’s the spirit! When you have a moment, could you bring me the Descriptive Book? And I’d like Lieutenant Bomus to come here. Fletch, will you take some dictation, please?
Yessir.
How’s Wilkinson?
A bit worse, general. Sure thing he’s caught intermittent fever. He won’t lie down.
I’ll pray for him. Now, Sergeant Workman was unmarried, I see.
Yessir. My records indicate the father—
Dear Mr. Workman, my sincere condolences on the death in battle of your brave son James. He was in Company “A,” correct?
Yessir.
Your son James, yes, who will be greatly missed by the men of Company “A.” He died at the Clearwater River on July 12th, 1877, defending Americans from a cruel and treacherous foe. Your family can be assured of my prayers for all of you and of my personal gratitude for Sergeant Workman’s sacrifice. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to command me. Yours sincerely.
Yessir.
You have beautiful penmanship, Fletch.
Thank you, sir,
wondering if the enemy might be watching from the dense green coolnesses of the cascara buckthorn trees.
I used to write a rather neat hand myself, back in the day. Now for Corporal Marquardt. Also of Company “A,” I believe.
Yessir.
Did you know him?
Hardly at all, sir.
Who’s next of kin?
His wife, I believe . . . Yessir.
Does she reside in Lewiston?
Walla-Walla, sir.
Dear Mrs. Marquardt, my heartfelt condolences on the death of your husband Charles, who fell at the Clearwater River on July 12th, 1877, protecting Americans from hostile Nez Perce Indians. As the Scriptures say—
Excuse me, general. One of our Indians is here with a messenger from Joseph!
Well, well! Perhaps our Gatlings impressed him more than we supposed. Is that the fellow yonder?
Yessir.
He looks ill at ease, for a fact. Fletch, we’ll finish our business later. Who’s the best interpreter in camp?
James Reuben, sir, without a doubt.
Better than Mr. Chapman?
Sir, seeing as how Reuben and this emissary are both Indians—
I take your meaning. Then fetch Mr. Reuben, show him to this Indian and then bring them both to me along with Major Mason.
Yessir.
O, good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Reuben, this man seems familiar to my eyes.
That’s right, general. He was at our council—
When Joseph promised to come in to the reservation. O yes. What’s his name?
Kulkulsuitim.
And he comes officially from Joseph?
He claims so, general.
And what do you say?
Since his family’s all Dreamers—
Naturally. Fetch him coffee and a piece of bread. Now, what does Joseph wish to tell me?
Kulkulsuitim says, Joseph wants to see General Howard.
Then he should come.
Kulkulsuitim asks: Will Joseph be safe here?
He must surrender.
He says: As for Joseph, his heart is good and he always meant to go on the reservation, but he cannot speak for the others.
Is this to the point?
Sorry, general. I don’t understand.
Mr. Reuben, Joseph can come in and surrender his band if he likes. We shall then treat them as prisoners of war. If the others want to keep fighting, we’ll hunt them down.
General, Kulkulsuitim asks again: If Joseph comes in to camp, will you allow him to go out again?
Not if he comes in to surrender. And if he comes in for any other purpose, he’ll gain nothing.
General, he says, maybe Joseph can persuade the others.
The others already know everything I would tell Joseph. They must surrender without conditions. The murderers of our people will be tried and punished. The other Indians will be sent to their reservations.
Kulkulsuitim says: Joseph feels afraid, because Looking-Glass was quiet on his reservation, but soldiers attacked him anyway.
Tell Kulkulsuitim that Joseph will have enough to worry about in consideration of his own situation. What happens to Looking-Glass is my responsibility, not Joseph’s. Major Mason, something’s not right about this. Who’s officer of the day?
Captain Pollock, sir.
Fletch, find the captain straightaway and have him put the guard on alert.
Yessir.
Now, Mr. Reuben, if Joseph means to come in, he’d better do so without delay. Kindly inform Kulkulsuitim—
General, Kulkulsuitim means to say—
Ask him: Will he bring in Joseph or not?
He says he will ride to Joseph now.
We’ll wait two hours. What’s your thought on that, Major Mason?
Generous of you, sir.
Overgenerous?
I don’t know, sir.
Surely Joseph should be given one last opportunity to keep his word. Fletch, go find out the meaning of those gunshots yonder.
Right away, sir.
Mr. Reuben, did you convey my words?
Yes, general. Kulkulsuitim says: Joseph stays a little bit far, and his women and children cannot come quickly. Joseph can be here when the sun comes there.
That’s east. Does he mean to-morrow?
I believe so, general.
All right. Well, Fletch?
Somebody’s taking potshots from the north bank, sir. Seems to be just one or two individuals. We can’t see to return fire.
Send Umatilla Jim across and bring me his report. And I still need Lieutenant Bomus.
Yessir.
Excuse me, general, but I can go there—
Thank you, Mr. Reuben, but you’re needed here
and I suspect you’d ride straight off with this Kulkulsuitim to the place where Joseph sits straight and still with a hatchet across his lap, hoping to entrap you in some murderous collusion.
Were I only a surer shot, Joseph’s Indians might more highly esteem me.
Major Mason, why does that frown disfigure your usually sunny face?
Sir, I worry about them ambushing us.
Mr. Reuben, does your Indian know anything about these gunshots?
He says they’re a surprise to him, sir.
Ask him again: Will Joseph come to-morrow morning?
He hopes so, and he’ll do his best.
Then tell him to bring Joseph quickly. Fletch, Colonel Miller will receive his arms. We’ll want our troops in place at the ferry as of sunrise.
I’ll tell him right now, sir.
Mr. Reuben, tell this Indian that we’ll wait until nine-o’-clock a.m., and no longer.
Kulkulsuitim says
(the gaze of this Indian delicate, almost stately, high-chinned and decorated, over-wealthy in its painted pride, hence conditional in its friendliness—nearly provoking me to ignore the maxims of war, and seize him whose tribe has in truth violated its parole):
Our hearts have turned good. And he says—
Tell him to go instantly.
And Kulkulsuitim goes. His roach of greased black hair glitters in the sunlight like the lens of a field-glass. His horse vanishes before he does. The last they see of him is his buckskinned shoulder, which shines between the cottonwoods like a muted second sun, and then he disappears utterly in a place of purple elderberries packed together like clusters of grapeshot.
Mr. Reuben, what’s your judgment?
I’ll pray that Joseph comes in, general.
A pleasing answer! Come back straightaway when the Indians appear. By the way, how would you rate Umatilla Jim?
Neither good nor bad. He will not follow the Book of Light. But he avoids evil people.
All right; return to your duties. Now, Fletch, before we finish with Mrs. Marquardt, let’s draft a despatch to Headquarters.
San Francisco, sir?
That’s right.
I’m ready, sir.
Joseph has promised to break away from White Bird and give himself up to-morrow. He says he was forced to move to-day. I see evidence of the band’s breaking up. Splendid news, don’t you think?
Yessir.
Excepting Sladen, they all distrust me more than ever now, even Fletch, never mind Wilkinson who despite his illness ought to show greater faith, for the men no less than for his own sake.
No, forgive me, LORD: Wilkinson’s loyal.
When I released that Seminole woman Mattie at Lake Okeechobee, she led her child away and promised to establish communication with the renegade chief Billy-Bowlegs, but that was the last we ever saw of her. Being merely Chief of Ordnance, I had much ado to get my comrades to agree, and after that, how they laughed and condemned me, some in the filthiest words—
But no matter how often we break our promises to GOD, He holds out His hand to us again. Should I do less?
Is Umatilla Jim back yet?
No, sir.
Colonel Perry, you wear a hangdog face just now. Is anything wrong?
No, sir.
What is it?
General, I wish we’d kept that Indian here and squeezed him a little.
O yes. Those are General Crook’s methods, Perry. Did you enjoy serving under him?
A great Indian fighter, sir.
And a very energetic officer, a real credit to our service.
Yessir.
Even he admits there’s another side to the Indian character. It simply needs to be cultivated.
Yessir.
We need to win over the chiefs.
Yessir.
For instance, Washakie has been praised by the Indian Department for his ability to keep his Indians together. That facilitates the task of our service, wouldn’t you say?
O, yessir, without a doubt.
You know, Perry, it’s possible to be both kind and brave. Colonel Miles, for instance, was one of the most courageous officers I ever commanded during the Secession War. And yet he intervened on Grey Beard’s behalf to keep him from getting sent to Florida with the other Cheyennes.
I heard about that, sir.
Anything else?
No, sir,
remembering how the week before Christmas of 1866 it was stormy and cold at Fort Boise and I told off forty-five men of Company “F,” then nabbed my ten Indians and two citizens to follow General Crook up the Owyhee River, and by dawn we were in position in sight of the hostile rancheria. Crook
(six feet high, bright-eyed and wide-faced, most often in a private’s greatcoat)
—of course I was young and might have been happy: all of us out of the Secession War, and I possessed of some honor, miles and miles of virgin country to define and interesting Indians to fight, Crook our latest hero—and we weren’t easy to impress—
the strands of his greying beard wisping around his throat in all directions like a frayed rope, right down to his topmost glowing button)
rode forward and we galloped after, punishing so many Indians that hardly any got away, our only loss being Sergeant O’Toole, who strange to say was as cautious as a man can be and not mar his good name.
Crook sure wouldn’t be pussyfooting around like this. I wonder what the Christian Soldier would say if I told him that Crook always refuses to shake hands with any surrendering chief? He glares, rubs his nose, then puts it straight to them: I’m sorry you want to surrender because otherwise we could kill you in the field and save trouble for the Government. But our Christian Soldier declines to fight the DEVIL with fire, because he’s too d——d good for this world! How his goodness chills me!
And now comes night as black and sticky as an infantryman’s backpack, then “Reveille,” dawn, and the morning gun as Colonel Miller forms up his troops on the so-called parade ground:
smell of coffee from the commissary wagon,
rubber blankets airing on the bushes,
Wood, given a half-hour’s holiday by Captain Pollock, fondling his first-ever war trophy—a horn spoon from the Clearwater
(if I set it on a silver chain, will Nanny wear it around her neck?)—
then returns it to his pocket, yawning over last week’s paper, which Red O’Donnell “snagged” for him in town:
General Meiggs wishes to terminate the Washington Monument with a metallic spire, and
The South Cleared of Troops
and fine 4-4 bleached muslin for nine cents a yard,
Sladen, Wilkinson and the general, waiting on Joseph, sitting side by side on a log and quietly singing “Stand up for JESUS” until:
All right, very harmonious. Now, Sladen, bring Captain Trimble over here,
while Perry and Trimble, silently asserting each other’s invisibility, take roll calls closer to the river, and Jocelyn’s men struggle to fall in—a joke, ha, ha.
Still the danger of an Indian raid on Lewiston . . .
So Wood distinguished himself at the Clearwater.
So I heard.
Come on, Fletch. Admit you were surprised.
Well, sir, he’s sure sucking up to Joseph.
We’re all flattered by a bit of unction now and then, aren’t we, soldier? If the general can sweet talk Joseph into our clutches, what’s the harm?
Yessir,
the Oregon grapes in their fat pale bunches more vivid than elderberries,
and the yellow-green and silver-green needles of young junipers
and a swollen horse carcass floating down the river, evidently another souvenir from our late battle on the Clearwater.
Well, he’s finessing quite a bit. Must have trumps in strength.
Ah, he’s changed his suit. Well, the command must be against him. I’ll—
Now you’re eldest hand.
Here comes a horseman! Must be from Joseph—
Nope. I know that horse. That’s one of our tame Indians. A courier from Lewiston, most likely.
No it ain’t.
Yes it is. Now do you admit I’m right?
Sure.
Courier riding in, Lieutenant Fletcher!
Thank you. I’ll take that. Stand down and have a rest.
Well, Fletch, what’s this? Any news from Joseph?
No, sir. General Sherman has sent the Second Infantry in answer to your telegraphed request of June twenty-seventh—
Direct it to Lewiston to be placed under Colonel Sully’s command.
Yessir.
Mr. Chapman, what is it now?
General, I’ve lived in Indian country for, well, must be gettin’ on twenty-two odd years, and I’d say I know these Indians. And what I can tell you, and I’m telling you straight—
That’s enough. Wilkinson, what word from the scouts?
Nothing yet, sir.
Now what?
Pretty ugly country hereabouts.
Poor land, for a fact. Only two crops out of five seasons, they say.
Then why didn’t they leave it to the d——d Injuns and save us all this fucking misery?
Trimble, how’s your company?
All in order, general.
Perry, are the volunteers shaping up?
Well, sir, they’re learning to obey orders. I’ll give them that much—
In savage warfare, the personal qualities of the voluntary soldier count for more than does the skill of his officers.
Yessir.
You don’t think much of Major Shearer and his kind, do you?
No, sir.
So keep leading the noncomissioned volunteers by example. They did good execution at the Battle of the Clearwater.
Yessir.
Colonel Perry, that will be all. Have the scouts seen any Indians approaching?
No, sir.
Stay on the qui vive, Mason.
Yessir. We’ll keep our best lookout—
And so they wait as patiently and gently as Christians, but the Nez Perces never do ride in.
Why, look at that! Our god——d old Christian General has let Joseph fool us again! They’ve skedaddled.
IT NOW BECOMES MY DUTY TO CHANGE THE DIRECTION OF MY OPERATIONS
JULY 15
Fletch, how is Wood’s handwriting?
Very passable, sir.
Well, his reports are consistent. So are his letters to me. Have you seen his drawings?
Haven’t had the pleasure, sir. He used to doodle in the old days, but was passing shy—
All right. This will be to Major Shearer. By the way, how many volunteers does he command?
Sixteen officers and a hundred and twenty-one privates, general.
You certainly keep well abreast! Ready now?
Yessir.
Major: It now becomes my duty to change the direction of my operations,
for just as mineral-bearing waters may dissolve away certain of the rocks through which they travel, replacing, say, calcite by quartz, or lime carbonate by lime silicate, so Lizzie’s torch travels slowly up the stairs at Tenth and Morrison to alter Bessie’s nightmares of Indians hurting Papa, inducing a sweeter sleep without the child knowing or remembering why; and I, William the Blind, cannot see why this metallurgical phenomenon, which is called metasomatism, might not likewise apply to Bessie’s Papa, whose self-schooled bravery (achieved out of many silent agonies) and natural love of the right, for which he has been punished since boyhood, may finally have begun a transmutation, thanks to the seeping operation of Joseph’s latest treachery. O, his hateful Indian eyes! His rapes and murders are for a court, not me, to judge. But didn’t he make me a promise at Lapwai? And now again at Kamiah he’s made a fool of me! I know what they all say:
