4* j^t
-
f^m
r
*
V'
2t* S
*»»**»»
X
4
i i
mm ■!
>
#■
&S&f
■ t
L
ft
^AtP
V ® 1 1 » *
HI
4- 4t
1
•1 #
JL
f*
\'^->
-tr
fei
'V
i
*
**
4
lw
LIBRARY Brigham Young University AMERICANA /RARE
.*.'
SITTING BULL CUSTER
)./%^^ t&looo -!U~S<LwJ
£*~Z «-«- <? ^L'£ZZ*Za~*-*
9-*c*o-t,-
J-CS $_
A^ J/ /fijj^^i A— ^^— ^
766
WINONA
Sitting Bull-Custer
By A. AcG. BEEDE
ILLUSTRATED
BISMARCK TRIBUNE CO. Bismarck, North Dakota
Copyright 1913, by
A. AcG. BEEDE
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including Scandinavian
THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to the soul of Simaqua, a noble Chippewa woman. Joyful in youth, separated by Fate from Sakan'ku, her lover, for fifty years, mar- rying him when she was 70 years old, affectionately laboring with him till strength failed them both, she finally died, aged 103 years, of slow starvation, be- cause of the awkward system of "Indian Affairs" by whioh the U. S. government exhausts Indian re- sources in "administration," while leaving the old and infirm generally to suffer. I believe she was a saint. She did not complain of her lot, or blame anyone.
A. McG. Beede.
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE
It is nothing more than fair that the author of this work, who is an excellent gentleman, a student, a scholar, a man of wide experience and an earnest and faithful worker in his Master's vineyard, be given an introduction and recommendation to the reader, in order that it may be thoroughly understood who he is, and that confidence may be established in him before the reader begins. It is believed that the reader, thus familiarized with the author, will find a keener interest in the work, for he may rest assured it is as authen- tic as any work of a similar nature can be. It is worked out from the actual .cenes, actual occurrences, actual statements of the characters depicted; the lan- guage and construction merely being the polished gem as it appears when worked out from the crude, original state. First let the reader understand this one thing: There is no more beautiful romance in the world than that of the Indian; his life is filled with it; his legends are most beautiful and his logic and reasonings won- derful; his tendency is kind and loving; he is the most misunderstood creature on earth, and the author is appreciative of these facts.
Aaron McGaffey Beede, Ph. D., a. priest of the Epis- copal church, laboring among Indians, has had good opportunity for knowing the things about which he writes. He knows many times more than he writes. First knowing Indians when a boy, he has alwavs studied them. His position has been such as afford- ed him opportunity for careful, hrst-hand study of human nature in all its forms and phases. In Germany he tram: ed 1,500 miles with vagrants for the purpose of learning how they lived and regarded life. He has tented with Gypsies as a learner. He is per- fectly at ease with all sorts of men, from the camp- fires of the Indians to the city clubs. He is not a cynic or a pessimist. He avers that human nature is
unimpeachable and while liking a tent or a log shack, with a bear for his company, yet he meets a refined lady with ease and with dignity. He thinks indi- viduals should always follow their own tastes and in- stincts where imperative principle is not involved. The life-long students of Indians, living at Bismarck and vicinity, realize that he knows Indians. For many years he has been constantly with Indians. Some may have been with them more years, but none have studied them more conscientiously, and the true worth of his observations and opinions as recognized by his- torical societies, attests to his reliability.
In this drama it is his intention to give the Indian view of a great tragedy. He intends also to show that the old Sioux Indian religion was something more than a "huge joke." He says "As long as a people's re- ligion is despised, the people themselves must be des- pised, though unjustly." His efforts are to be com- mended, and it is believed his drama will be heartily appreciated and that it will be given a wide circulation. The style of his literature is simple, yet beautiful. His monogram regarding Sitting Bull may be challenged at some points, but the challenger will meet an able and honest defender of his thesis, for Sitting Bull was probably the most misunderstood of all Indian leaders. In closing, let the reader be impressed with the authenticity of this narrative, and remember that it portrays many facts and phases of the conditions, scenes and occurrences which led up to and took place during the greatest tragedy of the American conti- nent's savagery and which our historians have not thoroughly understood.
The undersigned takes pleasure in recommending Rev. A. McG. Beede and his drama which follows herewith.
Respectfully, The Bismarck Tribune Company.
SITTING BULL
CUSTER
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
This book is something new. It gives a picture of the "Custer Massacre," so called, as Indians themselves saw the battle. The whole picture would be too large. The glimpse I give of the entire picture will be more vivid and real than the whole picture would be.
The Sitting Bull speeches in the drama are based on his own sentences as he used them on various occa- sions. And I have truthfully depicted his persona] ambition, among his other habits. Not unwilling to face Sitting Bull with my honest intent, I give this drama and book to the public without apology.
If stage artists wish for more of the harrowing de- tails I wish they would obtain true Indian material from me, or from some reliable source. I do not care to write more of the harrowing scenes myself. It gives a sense of pain which is too real. The agony of that half-hour in the desert must be left with that sea of human agony which "human beings cannot fathom. If eyes of creatures weeping Were tumbling 'neath the deep, The surface wider creeping, Would lull the shore to sleep. Unable to give all the Dakota (Sioux) chiefs a place in the drama, I let Chief Gall represent all of them. I am sure this would meet with their approval. He was, by common consent, the genius who won the day for the struggling Dakotas (Sioux). All of these chiefs, excepting Peji (now called John Grass), have gone to that land where all races meet together.
For an account of my sources of information, and a sketch of the persons depicted in the drama, one should read the back pages of this book before he reads the drama.
W. A. Stickler, A. B. Welch and C. H. Fish have my hearty thanks for advice and assistance in the pro- duction of this book.
A. McGaffey Beede.
THE SCENE
An Indian village on the Little Big Horn river, Montana. At dawn, June 25, 1876. S. Bull will go to a "medicine booth" by a thicket on the river to learn from "holy ones" what will soon happen. There is a suspicion that he does not "tell out" what "holy ones" tell him, and so six persons, Echonka, Gall, Rain-in-the-Face, Old- man, Old-woman, and Cld-woman-diviner, are concealed near the booth to spy.
Fool-mink, a "happy-hooligan" Indian "Story- teller-and-Singer," is everywhere present. His "crazy ways" please the "holy ones," and so S. Bull is glad to have him present.
Before S. Bull arrives Fool-mink dances along to the spies singing a seventh cavalry song, as he once heard it on a piano at Fort Yates post. The words are his own. The air of the song re- minds Rain-in-the-Face of the time when Tom Custer handcuffed him at the Post, and so en- rages him.
There is music (not singing) by the "holy ones" continuously. To an Indian, music is the unvoiced melody of "holy ones," and is the via sacra into the great regions of the occult. The words in brackets will, I hope, give some idea of the kind of music which an Indian ear would require. Other ears will suit themselves.
CHIEF GALL
Old Mother Yellow Eye (Copyright by F. B. Fiske) THE OLD WOMAN
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
SCENE I THE SPIES WATCH SITTING BULL
FOOL-MINK
(Comes to the spies singing.) (Far-azvay mellow, percussion peals.) Mi-la, la-la-la-la, Do-do, do-do-do-do.
Mi-la-la-ia-piano-do-do-do-do-tone. Don't tell the "mellow story"
in the morning blown, With zephyrs from the dawning
over hills and streams, While meadow-larks awaking
tell their happy dreams. The campfire in the evening
tells its prophesy, The tom-tom music leaping,
tells its rhapsody; The spiders tiptoe coming,
tip-toe, glide along, The "gnost-bells" in the evening
tell their happy song.
(Ecstatic, trilling tones.)
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
{Pf
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Clutching Fool-mink.)
I'll gag you with a moccasin, If you don't gag that Fort Yates ghost! It makes you sing that Custer-song The soldiers sang at Fort Yates Post The day Tom Custer handcuffed me. He meant to hang me ! I was smart Enough to get away. I swore Revenge, and I will have his heart !
FOOL-MINK
(Singing and laughing.)
Your little eyes are like a mole, You better dig a little hole, And hide yourself a little while, Till you can smile a little smile.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Shaking him.) I'll face Tom Custer!
FOOL-MINK
(Singing and laughing.)
Bye and bye, When he's a ghost — and so will I.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Jerking him.) I'll eat his heart!
FOOL-MINK
(Singing and laughing.)
The worms won't eat Your heart, if they have sweeter meat.
GALL
(Clutching each with either hand.)
You stop this noisy brawl, or I
Will gag you both ! We're here to spy.
Keep still, and watch for Sitting Bull.
Page two
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Sneering.) His tricks are something wonderful!
fool-mink (Singing loud.) "The holy man, great Sitting Bull! His medicine is wonderful !"
GALL
(Throwng them apart.)
Now you stay there ! And you stay there,
Fool-mink, and "braid that crazy hair!"'
(Fool-mink goes to braiding his hair.)
OLD-MAN
(To Rain-in-the-Facc.) Your envious mind cannot applaud Another Indian.
RAIN-IN-TIIE-FACE
(Sharply.)
He's a fraud!
GALL
(In a lozv voice.) He comes! Keep still, and watch his acts And words. We want to know the facts!
OLD-WOMAN-DIVINEIi
It's mean to spy !
GALL
But this will prove Him true, if he is true— If not, We'll see his tricks, and he is caught !
OLD-WOMAN-DIVINER
(As he conies.) Ah, what a noble man he is! And yet he has his enemies.
Page three
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
(S. Bull comes to the booth dressed simply — moccasins with high leggings, a neat blanket rcachina low, and a buckskin shirt under it, open in front and showing his neck and massive upper- chest. His hair is carefully braided. He looks at the dawn wistfully, then looks into the booth. Then by rubbing pieces of zvood taken from be- neath his blanket, he starts a "sacred fire." Put- ting fagots on the fire, he sits down on the ground before the booth, south of the fire.)
SITTING BULL
(Speaking rapidly.)
(Jolly-quick monor music.)
The Whiteman calls us savages.
How cleverly he manages
His tricks ! He'll check our enemies,
He tells us, — then our land is his !
He'll teach us how to worship God, —
That means, obey his every nod!
To make us safe, he'll build a fort,
He says. Ha, ha, and then for sport
He'll kill our game ! With hunting gone,
There'll come a "civilizing" dawn, —
For him ! Despair for us ! They know
That when our "sacred cattle" go,
We die. We cannot climb the sky
And be with ghosts till bye and bye !
The Whitemen have their bedbugs frisky,
And rats and mice and lice, — and whiskey;
They take their partner Dy the "mid-way,"
And dance their merry twirling "jig-way,"
And we are savages, because
We have our wholesome, simple laws !
(He puts fagots, on the fire, looks at the dazvn and listens earnestly. Then he gases at the fire, then sits down and speaks.)
(Tremolo minor music.)
There'll be a battle soon, I feel Afraid. No "holy ones" reveal To me how this event will turn. I know their haughty armies spurn
»)
Page four
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
Our weapons- — well, Great Spirit's eye
Is over all, and if we die,
There'll be a larger spirit-world.
Will haughty banners there unfurled
Out-shine our own? Ah, that would give
Our hearts repining! While I live
I'll kiss the gun and still defy
The Whiteman's arrogance ! — Then die.
FOOL-MINK
(Singing and dancing by S. B.) I'll never yield, I never will, While trout can find a merry rill, Where they can hide their gleeful noses, And cricKets sing among the roses.
SITTING BULL
(Standing by the fire.) (High-keyed minor music.) Ha ha, the "sacred fire" is singing, And "ghost bells" in the flame are ringing. The voices have a wailing cry; This means a battle. Who will die?
FOOL-MINK
(Out by a tree, singing.)
I'm shaking like a crazy leaf, I'm twitching like a captured thief. A crazy snake right here by me, Is climbing up a hollow tree.
(Sitting Bull takes ashes from the fire in his hand, and sozvs. them in the breeze, meamvhile speaking.)
SITTING BULL
(Discordant lozv minor music.)
Like ashes taken from the fire, And scattered, so are treaties till We win a battle ! Thev desire Our land, and that is why they kill The people ! We would gladly flee And leave their thieving treachery, But where? The earth is full of fear.
Page five
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
There is no place where we can flee. The avaricious Whitemen rear Their Christian forts from sea to sea ! There's Custer, Crook and Terry — that's Not all. They come like thieving rats.
(Pausing a moment, he continues sorrowfully.) (Soft minor, quavering monotone.)
Could not compassion spare the land
To us, between the "Rockies" and
The old Missouri river ? No !
Their treaty reads, "While rivers flow
And hills abide, this land is yours."
The greedy heart of man ignores
What fingers write in treaties. We
Are friendly. We would sooner flee
Than fight. At bay before the foe,
We hear the wicked bugle blow.
Unless God helps us win a battle.
The Sioux must give their homes to cattle.
The "stock-men" hunger for our land.
Their hunger has a cruel hand.
Ah, this is it — to rob and steal
Is all there is to Christian weal.
With Christian water on his head
An Indian's manliness has fled.
Our fathers' spirits lingering here,
Behold Injustice's cruel tear,
And gliding mid the trees and flowers,
Vouchsafe the Sioux propitious hours !
I'll ask the oracle once more
To tell the good, or ill, in store!
Page six
SCENE II SITTING BULL FORETELLS THE BATTLE
(Abruptly he rises and goes into the booth to prepare the "holy medicine" for the oracle. The curtain falls. "Red Wing," or similar music, is given. When the curtain rises he is pouring the "holy medicine" from a rawhide pouch into a wooden bowl two feet east of the fire. Return- ing the pouch to the booth, he sits doivn.)
FOOL- MINK
(Dancing and singing.) (Far-away percussion minor peals of music.)
Let's try to hide like minks, and breathe What bonny air we can beneath The water. I was born a mink. Beneath a muskrat house I'll sink. And they will tear the house away, And look for me in vain. They'll say, Fool-mink has dodged the gun today. And while they look and peep, you see My water-colored nose will be Just even with the water, Ho-o ! ! The Whitemen's eyes are dull, you know. One finger-tap would drive me down, And then Fool-mink, Oh, I should drown. But Whitemen's eyes can't see a nose, Unless a coughing creature blows Its nose. I'll breathe the bonny air Close bv the soldiers unaware.
4n
Page seven
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
Ti-li-li-li, I'll breathe the air. Ta-lu-lu-lu, they'll look and stare. Wa-hoo-hoo-hoo, they'll curse and swear.
SITTING BULL
(Perplexed.)
(Tenor minor monotones, broken notes.)
The mink-souls born in him advise
Concealment. I think otherwise.
One battle bravely fought removes
The taunt of cowardice. It proves
That we have pluck. The truth apart
From weapons has a teasing heart,
Arousing their sarcastic grin.
The truth must firmly fight to win
Its way with savage Whitemen. They
Are cowards with artillery.
If Indians argue righteousness,
They promise, then withhold redress.
But will my Indian warriors fight,
Or will they fire, then flee? The flight
Of Crook gives courage — also fear.
My warriors know the end is near
And fear of dangling in the air
When caught, deters them. I'm aware
Of that. I'd sooner have my feet
Down on the "holy earth" than meet
The ghosts while hanging. There's a twang
Of dread in hanging. I'll not hang!
Whoever else may strangle, I
Will kiss the gun and bravely die.
(Shrill minor, ending in a trill calling to the dead.)
"A massacre!" they called it. Forty Choked like dogs in Minnesota ! For what? With hope of justice gone, Grim desperation hurled them on. If Whitemen die, it's "massacre!" If Indians die, it's "hip-hurrah !"
(While Sitting Bull looks at the "medicine- bowl" despairingly, because it does not move, Fool-mink dances and sings.)
Page eight
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
FOOL-MINK
(Dancing and singing.) (Merry minor monotone.)
I'd sooner swim, I'd sooner fly,
I'd sooner have a wife than die
By hanging. Sitting Bull and I
Are twins. We laugh, we sing, we cry.
And if you ask me why I cry,
I'll tell you. Portents in the sky.
When I was born, made me a mink;
And minks have tearful eyes, I think.
I'm jolly as a mink can be,
I dance, 1 sing with merry glee.
And when today I feel some sorrow,
I take a fishing trip tomorrow.
SITTING BULL
(Looking at the bowl.) (Far-off quavering minor.)
He-he, he-he, my heart is sad,
The days are gone that made me glad.
I've seen that bowl go round the fire,
With nothing save its own desire
And God to help. It moves no more
To tell us good, or ill in store.
My hopes grow fainter every hour.
If Indian warriors get a taste
Of reservation beef and flour,
Such pleasing luxuries will waste
Their loyalty to me, their chief.
I fear the Whiteman's promised beef.
Men bocst of freedom — precious gem !
Then appetite makes slaves of them.
And while they're fed, relentless bands
Are twisted round their willing hands.
Starvation doesn't bother much,
Till starving men consent to touch
A cunning villain's luxuries.
They take his meat, then they are his!
The Mandans had experience.
They took the ration stores, "immense !
Now Mandans boil a rawhide door
>)
Page nine
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
For food ! They're men no more ! I know the Whiteman's treachery Beneath his promised "charity." A reservation Indian, Ha ! An eagle caught ! A weeping star ! A wailing ghost in endless grief ! They vow to give, then steal the beef!
FOOL-MINK
(Dancing and singing.)
( One-heavy-three-light tom-tom strokes.)
Any wild bugle suits my ear, Only don't bring a cannon here ; Any piano suits my wits, Only don't blow my brains to bits. Any new thing will do for a fool, Only don't send a fool to school; Turnips and buffalo meat are good, Beef, I dare say, is decent food.
SITTING BULL
(In despair.)
(Dying tenor minor discords.)
And must I cease to be a chief,
And be applauded? There's the grief!
No more a chief! I'd sooner die
Than have the people cease to cry,
"The holy man, great Sitting Bull !
His medicine is wonderful !"
Does not each Whiteman seek renown?
Because I seek it, wherefore frown?
My cause is just. The Whiteman wishes
To make us dogs to lick his dishes !
I am not trying to expand
Our twice-restricted treaty land.
I have had nopes. My hopes are dead.
They're sleeping where my people bled
And died in vain. I simply try
To save our homes. And Whitemen cry,
"The trouble-maker, Sitting Bull !
His warfare is detestable !"
My hopes are dead, yet I defy
Such arrogance, and here I'll die!
Page ten
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
(The bowl suddenly moves and circles several times round the fire, and rests in front of him — a good omen.)
(Mystic wierd melody.)
SITTING BULL
(Chanting.)
Ha ha, the bowl !
The Great One's soul
Is in the bowl ! It throbs with life, it sings, it moves. It circles round the fire. This proves That "holy ones" from heaven are sent. This day will be no accident ! I prayed to know, and now I fear To know what destiny is here ! Mysterious voices coming near me Speak hopefully to me and cheer me. Perhaps this coming war will turn As I have hoped. O let me learn, Thou Great Mysterious One, if this Grim battle-day will bring us bliss ! If my three thousand men are true, Like Custer's soldiers dressed in blue, We're safe today. But timid lack Of confidence may hurl us back. An omen, "something holy," given, Would make faint valor leap to heaven There's nothing quite impossible In heaven. Show vis a miracle !
(Muffled, laughing music.)
Whitemen with occult vision dead From whiskey lead them on, instead Of captains. This is my chief hope. Whiskey makes good spirits mope Away disgustedly, destroys The occult powers of men, makes toys Of giants, courts disaster, fills The soul with arrogance, and kills Compassion. Half men's woes are due To this ill drink which devils brew. From this good bowl, O let me learn How this terrific day will turn !
Pape eleven
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
(Feeling the trance coming over him, he cov- ers his face with his hand-palms and bends for- ward like a section of a circle. The profile view of the figure covered with the yellowish white blanket is zveird and awe-inspiring. His soul has ceased to be conscious of things present, and is traveling away in search of the armies. The spies converse among themselves.)
(Undulating minor monotone.)
OLD-WOMAN DIVINER.
You saw the bowl go round the fire. Do you believe?
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
But he's a liar! His dream will tell what's coming true ! But this one man alone will view The thing. On him it all depends. He'll twist the thing to suit his ends.
OLD-WOMAN DIVINER.
But we are listening here. Don't miss The spirit voices.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
Artifice ! He's cute ! Perhaps he knows we're here.
OLD-MAN
An envious man is full of fear.
OLD-WOMAN-DIVINER.
I'm glad he speaks out loud while dreaming, So yau can hear the vision's meaning.
OLD-WOMAN.
A disappointed man will always scold. What makes you always try to mar The fame of one who never told A lie? He's true as dewdrops are!
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
(Full of wrath.) We fought the Crows. When all was o'er Twice twenty men were dead, and more
Page tzvelve
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
Than these were wounded. Now they sing His praises. All the eagles wing His fame on high. But no one heeds The unpretentious man who bleeds His life away. His holy lie Makes vision-loving people cry, "The holy man, great Sitting Bull ! His medicine is wonderful !" He never fights. He prophesies! Then women laud him to the skies. Our weapons kill the foe as well Without the things his dreams foretell Each morning. I'm disgusted. Let The humbugged women have their pet !
FOOL-MINK
(Dancing and singing.)
It's pity how you groan and cry, And bleed and die ! You'll never die From wounds received in battle. I Have seen you skulk when foes were nigh.
(Rain-in-the-Face leaps for Fool-mink, but Gall seizes him.)
GALL
(To Rain-in-the-Face.) Just hear his words while spirits move His speaking in this rhapsody. And what we six shall hear, will prove Him true, or show his infamy.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
(Yielding to Gall.)
O yes, he'll fool us till we die, While all the humbugged people cry, "The holy man, great Sitting Bull ! His medicine is wonderful !"
(Sitting Bull has become rigid as a statue, and motionless as a sphinx. Amid pauses he speaks in a far-away weird, ghostly voice, zvell known to Indians. On seeing such things among In- dians I haze sometimes asked myself, What is the us.e of the fire, the "holy medicine" and the "sac-
Page thirteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
V
red bowl?" Then I remember that all religion has its "media sacra," while the last analysis of all is psychic and spiritual.)
SITTING BULL
(Light tom-tom tenor touches.) Great Yellowhair himself will come Before the west receives the sun.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
(Quickly.)
And you'll believe so strange a word As that? Why, every child has heard How Custer kissed a bow and swore He'd fight with Indians nevermore !
SITTING BULL
He's coming on a mighty steed. The steed, like Custer, does not heed How many Indians. O how brave He is ! ha, ha, what makes him shave His moustache ! I would hardly know The man ! And yet his two eyes glow With splendid valor ! O how brave ! He'd plunge into an open grave To meet a foe ! His bravery Has pleasing, doubtful destiny.
FOOL-MINK
White-women make their husbands shave, I've heard, or wear a beastly beard. It's just As any morning's notion may behave — Today's delight, tomorrow's quick disgust.
SITTING BULL
His men are heroes ! They'll not care For death ! They're men to do and dare ! Each soldier with his glittering gun A star ! Great Custer is the sun !
FOOL-MINK
(Dancing and singing by Sitting Bull.)
We'll fly away from here like geese. With every word my fears increase. Must I stay here and sing and sneeze? No, I'll be going, if you please.
Page fourteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
SITTING BULL
His curious thoughts that make him bold Are many colored, many souled.
OLD-MAN.
Divisions in his camp, we'll win ! Defeat is sure when discords grin.
SITTING BULL.
(Silvery triumphant major.)
Great Custer speaks. I hear him say, "Brave action crushes calumny. No lies can crush a glittering fact, If man, ignoring self, will act. I'm not a man without a flaw, What man has not his foibles ? Pshaw ! Courtmartial me! For what? To blight My name ! I swear, by yonder light Of morning, I've no serious wrong! The truth will flame abroad ere long. Their teeth shall bite the dust today, A soldier's grave can sing a lay Of praise, while foibles dare not peep, And those who twisted foibles sleep Forgotten. They suppose I shrink From death as they do. As they think They judge me. Open your sweet jaws, Brave Death, and swallowing petty flaws, Make Custer's rightful honor bright And clean as youthful morning light !
(Silvery weird tremulo music.)
To die ! To die gives them the shame, And me, I ask no word of fame, Save this, — that ere I slept in dust My scanty life was true and just." He pauses, waves his lifted hand. He's beckoning toward the spirit land.
ECHONKA
(Music halts.)
Great soul ! He'll be victorious. His men will trample over us !
Page fifteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
FOOL-MINK
(Dancing and singing by Sitting Bull.) (Light tripping music.)
If I could only dive and hide,
Like jolly minks and Mandans, I'd
Go fishing for a little while,
Till this grim day would frown or smile.
Come, Rainy Face, come on, let's go ;
We'll hide and live a day or so,
While braver men leap to and fro,
And "ghost-bells" ring and bugles blow.
What "holy ones" are saying peeves
Your heart. We'll hide among the leaves;
We'll say we didn't, we'll say we did,
And that was why we ran and hid.
(Rain-in-the-Facc leaps for Fool-mink, and he
skips away.)
SITTING BULL.
(Far-azvay martial percussion. I In every move his men are brave As old-time heroes were, How brave ! If I had men like them to fight For me, I'd win what's mine by right !
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
(Snappishly.) (One clang, then music stops.)
How trickingly his thought advances !
His artifice creates his trances.
There's something more in all these speeches,
Than simple occult vision reaches.
OLD-WOMAN-DIVINER.
(Soothingly.)
It's not his voice. The truthful voice Of spirits makes true men rejoice.
SITTING BULL.
(Weird ebbing music.) Great Yellowhair and all are dead, Ere half one battle-hour is sped.
Page sixteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
OLD- WOMAN-DIVINER.
A miracle !
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE.
(Angrily.) (Occasional musical discords.)
For Sitting Bull! And I am grieved. My heart is full Of bitterness. God helps this man, While others live as best they can. Is he more noble than the rest Of us? Why is he always blessed? He mopes along and finds big game, While better hunters, full of shame, Come home with nothing; cry all night To "something holy"; morning light Gives hope, noon brings a hare in sight. It's hares for us, big game for him. There's "something holy" in this grim Sad world, which gives him constant light. Can such partiality be right?
FOOL-MINK
(Singing.) ("Give-away dance music")
His nature makes him always free To help a begging fool like me.
OLD-MAN.
(A trembling voice.)
He gives away the game he hunts
To those who thank him with cold grunts
Of envy. Any man wins fame
Who gives away his biggest game.
OLD-WOMAN.
He gives away his venison,
And that is why his medicine
Is good. Tne best his hand can pluck
He gives away for future luck
In hunting. Human charity
Gives him the power of prophesy.
Page seventeen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
SITTING BULL.
(Seraphic lilting music.)
A creature bright and beautiful
Is telling me, "And Sitting Bull
Through this event shall have renown
Forever." I will no more frown
At grim disaster. Let it come
Today. Tomorrow has the sum
Of life. Truth lives. Base falsehood dies.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Sharply.)
(Painful, jarring music.)
His prophesy has truth — and lies. There's lurking human pride within it. He thirsts for fame — and so must win it. A fire in his own nature gleaming, Awakens half his holy dreaming.
OLD-WOMAN DIVINER.
Events will show it otherwise.
ECHONKA
(Leaping to his feet.) A herald, hark ! A herald cries !
(A herald coming from up-river shouts sonor- ously. This awakens. Sitting Bull from his trance, and as he meets the herald the spies come also, as if by accident.)
HERALD
(Sonorously. He enters R.) (Bass monotone music.) They're coming, coming. Yes a mass Of soldiers coming to harass Our town. They're like the leave. A boat ! Like hungry wolves they come ! They'll gloat In eating up the people. I Have seen them all. I've played the spy As you commanded me, and quick Return to camp with news. The pick Of that great army come in haste. There's not a day of time to waste.
Page eighteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
SITTING BULL
How far away?
HERALD
Not many sleeps.
GALL
Does Custer lead them on?
HERALD
He leaps Along like rushing fire before A wind. Five hundred men and more Besides a cannon.
GALL
(Startled.)
(Reverberating music.)
Ah, that gun Means slaughter ! With the noontide sun We'll flee ! Such firearms gloat In carnage. I have taken note Of them.
HERALD
(Sonorously.) (Agitated music.) I hurried back as soon As possible. There was no moon By night. I made a circle through The hills and forests. Custer threw His line of scouts so wide away I had to use great care by day, And nights were dark. A bullet put My horse to sleep. I came on foot With all my might. I left the troops Behind five days ago. Their whoops Mean slaughter. We must flee, or die.
SITTING BULL
(Taking his hand.) (Soft trilling music.)
I'm pleased with what you've clone to spy. You're weary. Go to my own ten':
Page nineteen
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
And rest. If soldiers come here spent And tired like yon, their limbs will not Allow retreat. We have them caught. Give no alarm. Let warriors rest. A few of us will plan what's best.
(The curtain falls,, then rises showing a hastily called council at a little before noon. A few men are seated in a circle on the ground, while a few half-seen faces of men and women are looking on. The lighted "sacred pipe" is presented to the Heavens, the Earth, the North, the East, the South and the West, and then it is passed around the circle. Music before the curtain ris.es.)
Page twenty
SCENE 111 THE SUDDEN BATTLE ENDS THE COUNCIL
AN OLD MAN.
(Rising, leaning on a cane.) (Plaintive music.) We'll rouse the sleeping warriors. They Should know that war may come today.
GALL
(Rising.) No danger. They will prowl about And spy. They simply come to scout.
SITTING BULL
(Rising.) Great Yellowhair is bold as fire, And burning with intense desire For vict'ry. Though his men are few, No man can tell what he may do.
AN OLD MAN.
(Stooping and crippled.) (Pathetic zvcird music.) The faithful warriors danced all night For vict'ry o'er the Crows. With light Of dawn they sang and went to rest. Another battle soon will test Their strongest valor. Let them sleep, While maidens dance and widows weep.
Page twenty-one
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
bi
Y
With vict'ry won, some hearts must grieve
For old familiar friends, who leave
This realm of earthly life, and go
Where spirit zephyrs softly blow.
The living — they are few. The ghosts
Of creatures dying are the hosts.
The battle with the Crows was fierce
And long, but untold grief will pierce
Our hearts, if Custer comes today.
Let warriors sleep, while sleep they may.
It's merry dancing, silent sleeping,
Wipes out the cruel pain of weeping.
RAIN-IN-THE-FACE
(Full of self satisfaction.) (Occasional mock-heroic musical strains.)
I've told now I escaped when I Was jailed. I watched, I leaped. I lie? Not I! I'm true, I'm brave! I'll die If I have cause! I'm ready! I Will face Tom Custer! I — I will! I'll meet him, I've no fear ! I'll spill His blood! I'll have his heart! I'll be Revenged on him — he handcuffed me.
(Unexpectedly, and contrary to custom, a woman leaps to the center of the circle and speaks in a high-keyed soft hysterical tone. Even zvhen she shrieks her voice has the Indian-tvom- an soft tone.)
WOMAN
(Whose words ring truth.) (High-keyed minor music.) There's sagebrush yonder, go and hide Yourselves like hares. The soldiers stride Like imps, and you're afraid to fight! The Great Mysterious One gives might To brave men, you are cowards ! Give Your guns to women ! Hide and live ! Brave men will gladly die to save Their wives and babes. You are not brave! You talk and boast and brag — you speak Like old-time Heroes, then you'll sneak
Page twenty-t'ifo
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
Away, and let your babies die !
You call yourselves brave men. You lie!
That fearful cannon — is it God?
That thing which scares you — is it shod
With wings as cyclones are? God rules
The cyclones. You're afraid of mules !
Brave men you are! If mules but blare
Your hearts are wretched with despair !
Your wives have vowed to kill these men,
Then they will never come again.
We've had a council, we've no fear;
For God, Wakantanka, is here !
"The holy man great Sitting Bull"
Has promised us a miracle.
Leave us the guns ! You go ! We'll fight !
The "holy ones" will give us might !
(Note — This paragraph records the actual words of the women on this occasion — and they said much more. My information w this matter, as on all set dozvn in this play, is first-hand. It was the valor of the zvomen, no less than the prophesy of Sitting Bull, which nerved the men to fight, before they knew there was no cannon coming.)
GALL
(He alone could truly command.) Be-gcne and hold your tongue, or I Will beat you, woman ! Men will die And win this battle for you. Go ! You bother us. We'll meet the foe!
(She and the other women depart, shrieking hysterically.)
GALL
(Continuing his speech.)
We'll make a treaty if we can. If not, we'll fight till every man Of us is dead. We, in our need, Are trusting God. They do not heed The "holy ones" in earth or sky. We cannot trust their oath. They lie.
(All rise to greet a herald coming.)
Page twenty-three
SITTING BULL-CUSTER
Ho!
COUNCIL
(Speaking in unison.)
HERALD.
(Sonorously.)
(Weird, agonizing music.)
Custer had a cannon when He left the Powder river. Then Desiring haste, he left it. Soon He'll be here. Look for him by noon!
GALL
(All are standing.) They will not fight. They're simply spies !
AN OLD MAN
(Leaning on a cane.) The vision told us otherwise.
(A bugle is heard in the distance, a herald comes.)
HERALD
(Excitedly.)
They