Massacre of Eagles

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Crow village on the Meeteetsee

Falcon, Cody, and Ingraham picked their way through the bodies and residue of the Indian encampment. There were many more women and children than there were warriors. Like the warriors, the women and children had been scalped and mutilated. They found one pregnant woman with her stomach sliced open, with the dead baby half in and half out of her womb.

Cody had been a guest here in this very camp many times, so he knew several of the Indians and identified them for the others, at least those who had not been so badly mutilated that they could not be identified.

“That is Gray Antelope,” he said, pointing to a warrior. “And that is Howling Wolf.”

He saw a young woman with the top of her head gone. There were two children lying beside her, and the children had also been scalped. “That is White Deer and her children,” Cody said. Then, seeing one of the Indians wrapped in an American flag, he pointed.

“And that is High Hawk. Five years ago I introduced him to President Chester Arthur, who gave him that flag.”

“I can’t believe the people of DeMaris Springs actually regard this as a great victory,” Ingraham said. “Why, this was nothing more than a slaughter.”

“They know only what they read in the newspaper,” Cody said.

“Someone should tell the true story,” Ingraham said.

“Well, there is only one of us who is an experienced writer,” Falcon suggested.

“Yes, but after what the newspaper published in an extra declaring this to be a great victory, the editor may not be interested in publishing what I would write.”

“It depends upon what the owner of the newspaper tells him to publish,” Cody said.

“What are you saying? That the newspaper editor doesn’t own the paper?”

“He does in a way,” Cody said. “I loaned him the money to start the newspaper, with the idea that when my town is built, he would move the paper to Cody. He is one year in arrears in repayment of the loan. I believe that if I would mark the loan as paid in full, he would be most amenable to publishing the truth.”

EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA

Raid on Crow Village Re-evaulated

NOW CONSIDERED A MASSACRE

Two years previous High Hawk, a sub chief of the Crow, was the guest of Buffalo Bill Cody in New York City. There, High Hawk met the cream of American society, winning many over by his friendly demeanor and native intelligence. He was also taken to Washington and presented to many high officials of our government, and he met President Chester Arthur. He so impressed Mr. Arthur that the President of the United States honored him with a flag that had flown over the White House itself.

The Crow nation, long friends and allies with white America, have fought many battles at the side of our soldiers, including that most devastating of battles, the one in which Custer and all his gallant men fell. The Crow were among those who fell on that fateful day, including Bloody Knife, High Hawk’s own brother.

But Buffalo Bill Cody, Falcon MacCallister, and Prentiss Ingraham, the writer of this article, have just returned from the Crow Village, where we discovered the truth of the so-called victory of the Wyoming Civilian Militia. While there, we saw High Hawk lying dead in the dirt, wrapped in the same flag given him by President Arthur. From a view of the site firsthand, the evidence is clear that it was not battle between equal belligerents meeting on a field of honor. Instead, it was a massacre of the peaceful Indians at the Crow Village. Since returning from those terrible scenes, Buffalo Bill, Falcon MacCallister, and your humble scribe were approached by a member of Bellefontaine’s Wyoming Civilian Militia who, sickened by what he witnessed, has willingly agreed to tell the truth.

Contrary to the report previously published in this newspaper, the recent event cannot be described as a victorious battle, or even as a battle. Our witness tells us that Bellefontaine approached the village in the middle of the night, thus ensuring that all the occupants would be asleep. Then, with no warning, and without offering the Indians a chance to surrender, Bellefontaine ordered his troops to open fire.

The Indians, believing that they were at peace with the white man, watched in surprise as rifle and pistol balls flew through their village. Many of the hapless Indians had gathered under the American flag fluttering above High Hawk’s tipi, thinking this would afford them protection. High Hawk drew down the Stars and Stripes and then, wrapping himself in it, raised a white surrender flag on the same pole. Some of the militiamen, seeing the white flag raised, ceased firing, but Bellefontaine ordered them to ignore the surrender flag.

The militiamen used every weapon at their disposal as they continued to slaughter the unfortunate villagers—rifles, pistols and even sabers which they employed with devastating efficiency against the women and children. The Indians ran in horror, but there was no place to hide. The soldiers herded the women and children into groups and murdered them in cold blood.

In one instance a six-year-old girl clutching a white flag was brought down in a hail of bullets—dead before she hit the ground. Babies’ brains were dashed out against trees. The Bellefontaine men then performed outrageous depravities to the corpses. Bodies were scalped and ripped open with knives. The final grisly toll was 118 women and children, and forty-six warriors, including Chief High Hawk.

Buffalo Bill and Falcon MacCallister are filing a formal complaint with the United States Marshal’s office, as well as the United States Army, charging Pierre Bellefontaine and those who accompanied him with murder. And knowing those two stalwart gentlemen as I do, the readers of this newspaper may rest assured that Bellefontaine and his minions will be brought to justice.

In the same issue there was another story, telling of the real heroes of the recent Indian engagements.

Mean To His Horses Defeated: To Buffalo Soldiers Goes the Glory

While the white man must face the disgrace of the shameful massacre of High Hawk and the innocent and peaceful residents of the Crow Village, we can celebrate the victory of elements of the Ninth Cavalry. But six days previous, Major Benteen dispatched two platoons of his battalion on a reconnaissance in force, one platoon proceeding northeast along the Stinking Water River in the direction of the Big Horn River, and the other proceeding northeast along the Graybull River with the same objective.

The northern platoon was under the command of Sergeant Major Moses Coletrain, he, as are all the brave soldiers of the Ninth, being a Negro. On the second day of their deployment, Sergeant Major Coletrain, with Falcon MacCallister acting as a scout, encountered a large body of Indians. It was suspected that the Indians were renegades led by Mean to His Horses. When the leader of the Indians came under closer observation, the hideous paint of his face, one side red and the other white, bore out the suspicion.

A charge was made by the mounted Indians, but it was most nobly and bravely repulsed. Many of the attacking Indians were killed, falling from their horses, some less than one rod from the defenders. But the soldiers also suffered killed and wounded.

A second charge was made by the Indians, but once more they were prevented from taking their objective. During the darkness, there was a cessation of hostilities, and Sergeant Major Coletrain thought to use the cover of night to dispatch two couriers, but they were discovered by the heathens and forced to turn back.

Although they were completely surrounded, outnumbered, and more than 30 miles from any hope of aid, the brave soldiers did not despair. During the night they much improved their breastworks. So efficiently did they do so that yet another attack by the Indians the next day was, as had been the previous attempts, turned back, this time without a single loss of life to the men of the Ninth.

Then the Indians tried a new tactic. They presented for the defending soldiers to see another soldier, not colored as were they, but a white man previously captured by them. This was Sergeant Lucas Depro. A threat was made to kill Depro if Sergeant Major Coletrain did not surrender his men, but Falcon MacCallister and Sergeant Major Coletrain foiled Mean to His Horses’ plan with their excellent marksmanship. With unerring aim, Coletrain and MacCallister killed the two Indians in whose grasp Depro found himself. Then, following quickly with a second shot from his repeating rifle, MacCallister killed Mean to His Horses. A volley from the other defenders killed more Indians and the remaining savages lost all desire to continue the attack.

Subsequent to Lucas Depro’s rescue, it was discovered that he has been facilitating the renegade depredations by supplying them with guns and ammunition. Major Benteen issued an order for Depro’s arrest, but the villainous sergeant has disappeared.

Dance to Honor Militia Cancelled Parade and Picnic to Honor Buffalo Soldiers

The celebration plans have been changed. While it would be unseemly to hold a dance for colored soldiers, there being no colored women in town, Mayor Cravens and the DeMaris Civic Association have agreed to hold a parade and picnic in their honor.

The order of the parade is thus: Mrs. Foley’s Grammar School students, DeMaris High School Cadets, the DeMaris Volunteer Fire Brigade Pumper, the Fire Brigade Band, followed by Major Benteen and the mounted troopers of the Ninth Cavalry.

After the parade, there will be food tables featuring fried chicken, baked ham, potato salad, cookies, pies and cakes, all furnished by the ladies of the town. In addition there will be ice cream, provided by the DeMaris Civic Union. Mayor Joe Cravens will give a speech.

Mme. Mouchette’s House for Discriminating Gentlemen

Although Madame Mouchette advertised her establishment as a place where gentlemen could “engage in stimulating conversation with well-mannered and attractive young ladies,” it was a whorehouse, pure and simple, and everyone in town knew it.

At the moment Sam Davis and Sergeant Lucas Depro were in the lobby of the house, waiting for Lee Regret, who was upstairs with one of the “well-mannered and attractive” young ladies. Both Davis and Depro had already had their “stimulating conversations,” and were reading the latest copy of the DeMaris Springs newspaper.

“Hey,” Davis said. “Depro, have you read this? They’re sayin’ what happened out at the village was a massacre of Injuns. Bellefontaine ain’t goin’ to like this. He ain’t goin’ to like it that they’re callin’ it a massacre.”

“Well, that’s what you done, ain’t it?” Depro asked.

“Maybe so, but there ain’t no call to put somethin’ like that in the newspaper. It’s Cody and MacCallister that’s causin’ all the trouble. What’s a minion?”

“What?”

“It says here that Cody and MacCallister are goin’ to see to it that Bellefontaine and his minions will be brought to justice. What’s a minion?”

“I don’t know,” Depro said.

“I don’t know either, but whatever it is, it probably ain’t good.” Davis said.

“Sum’ bitch!” Depro said. “Davis, did you tell anybody I’m the one sold them guns?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“It says here that they know I’m the one that sold the guns to the Injuns. Only it warn’t just me, it was me, you and Regret. And I ain’t plannin’ on takin’ all the blame my ownself.”

Upstairs at Mme. Mouchette’s

As she poured water into the basin, the girl saw Regret staring at her from the bed. She picked up the basin and started to step behind the dressing screen.

“Where the hell do you think you are goin’?” Regret asked.

“I’m going behind the dressing screen for my ablutions,” she answered.

“For your what?”

“To wash myself.”

“Why do you have to go behind a screen, just to wash yourself?”

“Because I’ll also be washing . . .” she started then stopped in mid-sentence. “Because there are some things that a lady would like to do in private.”

“You ain’t no lady, you are a whore,” Regret said. “I paid five dollars to be with you, that means you ain’t got no privacy around me. I want to watch.”

“You didn’t pay for this,” the woman said, stepping behind the screen.

“I said I aim to watch!” Regret said angrily, and getting out of bed, he padded naked over to the dressing screen, then knocked it down.

The girl let out a short shout of fear, then cringed, frightened that he was about to hit her.

“I ain’t goin’ to hurt you none,” Regret said. “I told you, all I want to do is watch. Now, you go on with your—ablutions.”

The girl, cringing silently in fear and embarrassment, dipped the cloth in the water and continued to wash herself. There was a loud knock on the door.

“Mabel, is everything all right in there?” Madame Mouchette called.

“Don’t you be worryin’ none about Mabel,” Regret called back. “Me ’n her is gettin’ along just fine.”

“Mabel?” Madame Mouchette called again.

Regret walked over and jerked open the door. He saw the woman he had conducted the business with last night, the madam of the whorehouse.

“Get on with you now,” Regret said. “I told you, there’s no need for you to be worryin’ none.”

“You are naked,” Madame Mouchette said. “You should have dressed before you opened the door.”

“You tellin’ me a woman what runs a whorehouse ain’t never seen a naked man before?” Regret asked.

“I want to see Mabel.”

“I tole you, there ain’t no need for you to be worryin’ about Mabel.”

“I want Mabel to tell me that,” Madame Mouchette insisted.

“Tell her ever’thing’s all right,” Regret called back over his shoulder.

“I’m fine, Madame Mouchette,” Mabel said. “Really, it’s like he said. Ever’thing is fine.”

“I thought I heard you call out,” Madame Mouchette said.

“It’s nothing,” Mabel said. “I knocked over the pitcher and spilled water on me. That’s all.”

“All right,” Madame Mouchette replied. The tone of her voice indicated that she didn’t quite believe what Mabel was telling her, but neither did she want to challenge it any further. “You call me if you need me,” she added, and again, the tone of her voice was in direct opposition to the words themselves.

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Mabel replied.

“You satisfied?” Regret asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, get on back to doin’ whatever you was doin’, and let us be. I got to get ready for the big celebration today.” Regret smiled broadly. “I’m one of them heroes the newspaper was talkin’ about.”

When Regret turned around, he saw that Mabel was no longer squatting down over the wash basin.

“What are you doin’?” Regret asked.

“I’m finished,” she said.

“You’re finished? That’s all there is to it?”

Mabel nodded.

“Hell, what was so damn private about that? You didn’t do nothin’ but splash a little water onto yourself.”

“Do you want me to bathe you?” she asked, smiling seductively at Regret, trying to get him back into a less belligerent mood.

“What?” Regret replied, as if surprised by the question. “No! Why the hell would I want that? I don’t need me a bath, hell I took me a bath not no more than two, maybe three weeks ago. And I done it all by myself, too. And whenever the time comes in the next two weeks or so that I’ll be takin’ me another one, why, I’ll take that one by myself too.”

“Whatever you say,” Mabel replied.