The Dying Grass, page 56
Red Cloud spurning us at Fort Laramie, then murdering Fetterman’s entire detachment;
Captain Jack shooting Canby under flag of truce
(Lieutenant Bomus, if you pay me this bill at Lapwai I’ll give you back a dollar hard money right now.
No!);
Santana sneering at Agent Tatum, drawing rations even while raiding in Texas;
Sitting Bull resisting our Government’s just demands and entrapping Custer—
All the same, I will go on offering kindness whenever circumstances allow. This effort must make me better, if it accomplishes nothing else.
I leave a force of one company of artillery, one of infantry, and one of cavalry, strongly posted opposite against Kamiah, rationed for twenty days. I wish you to guard Grangeville and Mount Idaho until the arrival of Major Green.
Is that it, sir?
I pray we can rely on him, Fletch.
I’ve heard great reports of him, sir.
We’d better catch Joseph before he flees all the way into General Terry’s Department.
Yessir.
If I entrain troops on the Northern Pacific Railroad as far as Spokane Falls, then march them east up through the Bitter Roots . . .
Yessir,
my poor general, your gaze like that of some sad little child who’s been carried West on an orphan train!
No, just thinking aloud. Message continues: Six hundred and twenty-two Indian horses were receipted for by the Mount Idaho Company. Please have the members of the companies cull out such horses as are necessary for mounting the men, or other military purposes, and drive the balance into Rocky Cañon and kill them, reporting the number killed to me. Thank the officers and men for all their coöperation and sacrifice, and assure the community at Grangeville and Mount Idaho that I shall not rest until every house is safe.
Got it, sir.
Thank you. Now could you please bring Major Mason here?
Yessir.
O, hello, major. How soon will this outfit be ready to move out?
Not before the thirtieth, general, I’m sorry to say. Our resupply—
Major, you know full well that with every day we wait, Joseph rides farther ahead.
Yessir,
staring down at an evening primrose.
We’ll start at dawn on the twenty-sixth.
Yessir.
What have your scouts dug up?
Well, general, the Nez Perces are still in the area, it seems. They lost significant mobility after the Clearwater battle. James Reuben opines that if he can speak with Joseph—
No. Do you trust Mr. Reuben?
I do, sir. An honest Christian Indian.
Where’s Umatilla Jim?
In the field just now, sir, chasing the trail. But he told Fletch that since we’ve destroyed so much of their food the other day, they’ll almost surely stop to dig camas at Weippe—
And then it’s the Buffalo Country, I suppose.
Yessir. That’s where I’d go in Joseph’s shoes.
Not if the Army can prevent it. Mason, you’re to lead McConville’s volunteers and—since you trust them—James Reuben’s bunch. Chapman can interpret. Your task is to confirm his intentions.
Sure, general. I could follow Hangman Creek—
Ask Chapman, but use your judgment. Perform a reconnaissance in detail, but take no risks. You don’t need to trail him past Musselshell Creek. The Indians assure me, and the map confirms, that the forest rapidly becomes almost impassable in the Rockies. Once Joseph’s committed to the Lo Lo Trail, he can’t turn off it.
So I’m to verify that he’s definitely gone east—
That’s right. How soon can you move out?
Within half an hour, general. Sooner, if our citizens bestir themselves.
GOD bless you, Mason! Report every day. Fletch, seal up those despatches.
Yessir.
Major Mason is a mighty fine soldier.
Yessir.
And draft something to Captain Rawn in Missoula. He’ll need to form a line to stop Joseph from linking up with the Flatheads. I don’t know what forces are available in that Department. See what you can find out.
Yessir.
Rawn’s a cipher, but he’s the senior captain out there. Make sure you mention the glorious record of the Seventh Infantry. I’ve heard his wife is ill; inquire after her. I’ll inspect your work in five minutes. Now, Wilkinson, get me Lieutenant Otis.
Right away, sir.
Lieutenant, I’m disappointed that your artillery failed to accomplish greater execution on the Clearwater. I had expected you to destroy or subjugate those Indians in short order.
Yessir.
Well, lieutenant?
Sir, Joseph seemed to understand the range of our guns
which you most unfairly demand to be as reliable as Aetna Centennial sewing machines; maybe in ten or twenty years, when everything will be more beautiful and automatic, sure, then you’ll have the right to jawbone me, but you can’t estimate my difficulties right now—all the more galling, d——nit, since you used to be an ordnance man yourself—you expect me to hit the bull’s eye
almost by instinct, and he deployed his bucks exactly as close to us as was safe. Secondly—
He showed great boldness, didn’t he?
Yessir.
Lieutenant, do you understand that your Gatlings may have a rough road ahead of them?
I do, general.
Well, if I were you, I’d be giving that matter my utmost attention. Because next time I’ll expect, shall we say, a more sweeping performance. We’re rolling out within the week.
Yessir.
You can go. Fletch, recopy the despatch to Captain Rawn as amended, and then bring me James Reuben.
Yessir. General, here he is.
Come in, Mr. Reuben. How are you getting along?
Pretty good, general. We were just fixing to ride out with the major—
In your opinion, is Joseph going home?
Do you mean Wallowa, sir?
Where else would I mean?
Yessir.
Where else would I mean, Mr. Reuben?
Well, general, Joseph would say, all this country is his, because the last treaty—
Enough. Is he returning to Wallowa?
Sir, I’m praying about this every night—
Commendable.
General, I think Joseph’s Indians are hungry for camas root. His squaws were digging camas at Tepahlewam* when the war started. Then people were afraid, and ran away. Not much camas up high in Wallowa, general. Anyhow, around this time, Joseph’s Indians, they like to go to Weippe. Good camas there, very good! Meet Flatheads, take a rest, I think that’s Joseph’s plan. Maybe then some young men ride to the Buffalo Country—
How many days to reach the Flathead country?
From here, six days. I remember well. Pretty blue camas flowers, so pretty! Before I went on the reservation—
Thank you, Mr. Reuben. Do you like the Flatheads?
Yessir. Very good Indians, except for Chief Charlot.
And what’s his defect?
He won’t go on the reservation.
We’d better induce the Flatheads not to panic and thereby swell Joseph’s host. Do you understand?
Yessir. I can ride ahead—
And run into Joseph?
General, if we go by Hangman Creek, Joseph won’t—
How you go is Major Mason’s affair. Now tell me this: Do you like Joseph?
No, general. No more.
He’s your uncle-in-law.
That’s right, general.
Are your scouts satisfied with Army life?
Yessir. They sure enjoy riding through their old places—
All right. Go see Lieutenant Bomus. He has extra rations for you. Then hit the trail. I expect you to mind Major Mason as you would your own father.
Thank you, general.
Wilkinson, as soon as Umatilla Jim rides in, verify Mr. Reuben’s assertions.
Yessir.
Your boots are a disgrace.
Sorry, general, I’ll—
Who’s the Flathead Agent?
Peter Ronan, sir. He’s said to be popular with his Indians—
That’s a marvel! Perhaps he doesn’t steal. Draft a despatch to him. I want his Flatheads on full alert. And he’s to coördinate with Rawn, to prepare for any incursion.
I’ll take care of it, sir.
Now, do Nez Perces intermarry with Flatheads?
Unfortunately they do, sir. Several of Joseph’s bunch are part Flathead, so their relatives over there may want to—
Rawn will isolate them. Entre nous, how bad is the press?
Unpleasant, general. In New York they’re alleging that you—
Yes. Read this wire:
See Associated Press despatches which state General Howard’s removal under consideration by cabinet.
Sir, I’m truly sorry . . .
What do you purpose?
Well, sir, we could correct the story.
You know very well what happens to an Army officer who communicates with newspapers.
Yessir. Wood’s a clever officer, and he owes everything to you. Why not commission him to send out his sketches and whatnot, anonymously?
Thanks, Wilkinson. You’re a true friend. Bring me Captain Pollock.
Right away, sir.
Well, captain, how are you keeping?
Good as gold, general.
That’s the spirit! Now, what’s your impression of Wood?
A very intellectual young officer, sir. He’s good at writing reports.
And did he win your men over?
He drilled the recruits to my satisfaction at Camp Bidwell. And he has a knack with civilians, so thanks to him we got invited to an extra dance or two—
Nothing against him?
No, sir.
Thanks, Pollock. That’s all. Fletch, assemble all the company heads immediately.
Yessir.
Are you recovered from your fever?
Yessir.
Who’s more ill—you or Wilkinson?
Neither of us, general.
Don’t lie to me, Fletch. I’ll be demanding even more of you for awhile now, and I need you not to funk.
General, I won’t funk, I promise.
You showed great initiative at Clearwater.
Thank you, sir.
And then bring me the four most energetic mule drivers.
Yessir. Company heads are all here, sir.
Men, we’ve defeated Joseph’s treacherous allies under Looking-Glass, and driven them off.
Yessir.
We have freed the Department of the Columbia of their presence.
Yessir,
you lying incompetent Christian gasbag; they should have hanged you after Chancellorsville. Can’t even round up half-dead squaws encumbered by papooses—
The campaign has been a brilliant success thus far. We will continue as we have begun until Joseph is destroyed. Within the hour, each of you will furnish a written report on your companies’ strength and readiness. That’s all.
THE BERRIES WILL NOW BE TURNING RED
JULY 15
1
The berries will now be turning red in the Buffalo Country, where perhaps we shall go
by way of the Lice-Eaters’ lands,
leaving Kamiah, where some of us once lived,
riding farther from Wallowa, where something once was,
past the hot springs,
to stay awhile, just awhile, with our relatives the Salish,
with whom we once hunted buffalo and fought the Shinbones,
then with our friends the Crows:
Chief Blackfoot, the lucky man,
Curly and even Horse Rider
and all the warriors whose hair touches the ground:
brothers to Looking-Glass, who has given away so many horses,
Looking-Glass, who knows the way,
and thence to the infinite fat meat of the Buffalo Country
—or shall we ride home
to Wallowa, the Chinook Salmon Water, Red Owl’s country, Looking-Glass’s reservation?
Now that Cut Arm has been punished, perhaps he will tire and sail away down the Enemy River,
although no matter how many times we defeat the Bostons, they come after us again, again, like evil POWERS which never fail to rise up and return to life, seeking to suck marrow from our bones.
2
So we fill our pipes here by the river at Weippe,
where our People first met Lewis and Clark and saved them from starving,
and afternoon’s last coolness, such as it is, shelters behind the thickety branches, leaves and young green hips of cluster roses;
smoking tobacco mixed with kinnikinnick, our old and young men consider what to do,
even as the bluejays say: Chá-á, chá-á!
and our horses say: Hinimí
in this place of cluster rose’s close-gathered ovoid leaves, soft, green and moist,
this place of camas and bunchgrass,
the young women drying serviceberries
while Shooting Thunder, Loon, Stripes Turned In, Toohhoolhoolsote and the Three Red Blankets burn down every ranch that the Bostons have inflicted here upon our home
(before this summer there were none);
then we kill their cattle, revenging ourselves on Cut Arm while feeding the People;
but Sun Tied leads his wife into a shady place to massage her sore belly
(she has now reached her eighth month)
as his sister Crystal makes grass beds for their lodge;
and in the forest Ollokot shoots twice and finally kills a deer—Looking-Glass laughs at him for wasting a bullet—
but White Thunder sits quiet with his war-brother Wottolen; now their griefs are visible: they have lost their dream for the other young men who could not make themselves brave;
yet still they would ride on to the Buffalo Country if our best men agree,
for Wottolen wishes to give the People two buffalo robes for each one that Cut Arm has burned
(Wottolen cannot fear; his WYAKIN is strong),
while White Thunder’s heart lusts to steal a Cutthroat pony whose bridle shines with German silver,
even as our hunger-fearing old women and our women whose treasures Cut Arm devoured and who can scarcely believe in this new wealth of meat now dig camas, although the season is late:
flowers have fallen, blue and white alike, so that death camas cannot be distinguished from what is good to eat; all the same, the bulbs have grown larger
(time once more to Dream of WOWSHUXLUH with His shining metal eye, His squat beak and worn feathertail; watching high on His single round leg, He knows when summer’s camas must begin to die);
Good Woman sends her daughter to help Toohhoolhoolsote’s wives
—Wolf Old Woman and Place Of Arrival, scrawny grandmothers who understand the ground—
now they are teaching her how to know death camas without its flower, and she is grubbing up deep roots for them with all her young strength,
while Wolf Old Woman makes her laugh by telling the story of how it was back in the days when GOPHERS used to bake camas, and COYOTE married five GOPHER sisters, who dug Him a long tunnel so that He could creep secretly all the way to TRAVELLER THE SUN;
then Place Of Arrival shows her how in one more MOON-waning the wild onions and wild carrots will have ripened underground exactly here—not yet—
and presently she runs back to show Welweyas what root-lore she has learned
(for the half-woman, who is actually much older and should not now be forsaking her own mother, behaves toward Sound Of Running Feet like a grateful younger sister)
even as Toohhoolhoolsote’s wives boil up a soup of the Bostons’ beef, thickening it with well-cracked marrowbones, fresh camas and a little cous bread
while fat bubbles nicely out of well-roasted cow intestines
as Toohhoolhoolsote races horses with Burning Coals, who wins and wins with Lucky One,
and Heinmot Tooyalakekt wonders with Ollokot what kind of luck Looking-Glass carries in his heart.
Springtime, leaving the baby to sleep in her cradleboard near Good Woman, creeps down to the creek in hopes of killing something new for soup,
catching a shoveler duck with her husband’s dip-net:
—so beautiful, that bird! red belly, blue wings and orange eyes—
so that she returns singing with happiness, and boils the meat with Fair Land and Cloudburst
since this creature is the WYAKIN of Good Woman, who may not eat of it.
Ollokot, laughing at his brother with seeming cheerfulness only, says: So it happens! First she refrains from the women’s lodge; then she plays with what only a man should use,
to which the elder chief replies: My dear brother, since we have lost our country, let us at least keep our wives’ affections. If she uses my net, this cannot harm me.
About that we shall see, replies Ollokot
as Good Woman, having trimmed the purple-red strips of beef and hung them over the fire to smoke, now begins to make her sister-wife a new cap of beargrass, since the People may be riding far, and the nights will be getting cold;
